“I do, though it’s not something I often discuss. Girls are supposed to sew and learn how to manage a household. Be the perfect hostess.”

“Why must it be one or the other? My mother spent quite a lot of time meal planning and working with our cook.”

Yes, but Alice’s interest was not in the planning of a meal, as such, but rather the preparation and improvement. However, she couldn’t tell that to Lockwood. She was willing to be honest about most things, but not that—not yet, anyway.

They had just started on the clam fritters when there was a disruption behind her. People were staring at something over her shoulder, so she glanced in that direction—and froze. Kit was in the dining room, headed straight for her.

His gaze, dark and troubled, did not leave her face. Why on earth was he here? How had he known she was in the dining room?

“What is Ward doing?” Lockwood murmured, but she couldn’t answer because Kit was coming closer, almost alongside their table. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, as she drank in the sight of his tall, gorgeous form eating up the ground with his long legs, fierce determination stamped in the set of his jaw.

Her head tilted as he arrived, his body nearly vibrating with tension. Without preamble, he said, “May I speak with you? Privately?”

She cast a nervous glance at the duke, who was frowning at Kit. Clearing her throat, she said, “Mr. Ward, you remember His Grace, the Duke of Lockwood.”

“Lockwood,” Kit said with barely a nod in the other man’s direction. “Alice, now.” He reached for her arm to help her up, and the duke came to his feet.

“Ward, what is this about?”

“A bit of an emergency,” Kit said, guiding Alice toward the kitchen. “I’ll return her in a few moments, I promise.”

“Miss Lusk,” Lockwood said, confusion evident in his voice. “Are you all right with this?”

Alarmed by Kit’s behavior, Alice nodded. She had to find out what was behind his strange interruption. “I shall return in a moment, Your Grace. Go ahead and order dinner.”

Kit nearly dragged her away from the table, his fingers firm on her arm. She leaned in and spoke sharply under her breath. “Kit, what are you doing? Why are you dragging me into the kitchen?”

“We have a problem, but we cannot discuss it out in the open like this. Follow me.” He pushed open the swinging door that led to the busy kitchen. The sous chefs and waiters looked up, but relaxed when they saw her. She waved as Kit tugged her to the tiny table Franconi kept along the wall. “You might want to sit down for this.”

“Kit, you are scaring me.” She lowered herself into a chair. “What is it?”