Page 33 of The Baker and the Wolf

“Yes.”

A heaviness in his voice bothers me. “Is something wrong?”

He draws and releases a long breath before answering. “I wish I could watch over you in her place.”

I lean in closer. “Sorry, but you’re too big to hide under my cloak.”

Although he smiles, his eyes hold concern. “When I was first ordered to watch and protect the DuBois’ granddaughter, it was a duty I couldn’t escape. Now, if given a choice, I would protect you for the rest of my life.”

He speaks quietly, yet I tremble at his words, at the depth of emotion they hold. “You scarcely know me,” I protest, then softly add his name, “Benoît.”

“I have spied on you, researched you, and protected you longer than you know,” he admits. “I believe I loved you even before I ordered that first éclair.” A glint of humor glows in his golden eyes, then melts into humble sincerity. “When you kissed me, I finally understood words I’d never comprehended before: Devotion. Fidelity. Love. Family. I would gladly die to save you if need be.”

I can scarcely breathe. My thoughts are so scrambled, I can’t even think.

Elation . . . and guilt rise to the surface. Elation, because this powerful, beautiful, terrifying, fascinating man actually cares about me! Guilt, because when I kissed him, it was more of an experiment, a game, for me than anything deeper. I was like a child playing with a wondrous new toy—or, honestly, playing with fire—not a worthy young woman expressing genuine affection, let alone true love.

“Oh Ben, I don’t deserve that . . . I don’t deserve such honor from you. I’m just a thoughtless girl, who—”

He lifts one hand, and I stop talking . . . mostly because I don’t know what to say next.

“You’re neither guilty nor undeserving, Cerise. I know that your kisses did not signify love for me. I expect nothing from you. You owe me nothing. Simply knowing you, loving you, is the best thing ever to happen to me.”

I am utterly dumbfounded. I cannot comprehend the tangle of emotions roiling inside me. So I do my best to ignore them.

“I promise not to drink the milk tonight in case it’s drugged.” My tone is too bright, but I can’t seem to help it. “With Miette close to warn me if Gisella tries anything again, I’ll be safe enough. I should probably hurry to the bakery now and collect the leftover pastries before someone else takes them home. And I must make sure Lizzy can handle the shop again.”

“In the morning I’ll shadow you to the pocket-world door and open it, but then you’re on your own.”

As we near the edge of the wooded area, I feel my nerves stretch tight. “Rina won’t let anything happen to me in her world. I’m more worried about you, guarding the door. How can you fight a bronze statue with an axe?”

When he turns to face me, I let my hand slide down his arm to grip his gloved hand. He gently squeezes it. “Let your grandmére and me handle Gisella. Please.”

The urgency in his voice and eyes send my heart back into a gallop. I desperately want to kiss him again and tell him not to worry, but I don’t know whether that would be kind or cruel, so I dither—and then the moment is gone. He steps back and releases my hands. “Remember that I’m near if you need me.”

One more look into those stunning eyes, then he vanishes as if he simply ceased to exist. Yet, I sense his presence still. On a whim, I say, “You remember that I’m here for you too.”

For all the good I and my magic would do a master mage like him. I can’t remember the official terms for mage levels, but I know he’s got to be near the top.

I hurry to the bakery to collect the pastries and my bodyguard cat.

No carriages crowd the drive on a Monday evening, and the mayoral mansion is quiet when I slip into the back hall. Savory scents drift from the kitchen, and through its open door I hear the maids chatting. Hoping to go unnoticed, I set down my basket and the cashbox, hang up my cloak, turn toward the back stairs . . . and nearly jump out of my skin.

My mother stands directly before me, her white brow creased by a heavy frown. A wave of her floral scent reaches me too late for advance warning. “Why were you not in your shop today?” she asks. I can tell she’s working hard to sound pleasant.

“I visited my grandmére again.”

Her jaw clenches. “I can understand a Sunday visit, but why would you neglect your responsibilities and leave the shop in the hands of mere assistants? For all you know, they might have robbed us blind!”

My first reaction is to apologize and grovel, but tonight I sense magic cautiously testing the edges of my mind. “Today’s takings were well within the normal range,” I say firmly. “Lizzy did a great job, and—”

“That is entirely beside the point!” Gisella snaps. “The shop is your duty. The crowds were down today. You should be there.”

“You went to the shop to check on me?” I ask.

She hastily regulates her facial expression to one of parental concern. “No, dear. Jean-Paul mentioned that you were absent when he dropped in to call on you, and no one knew where he might find you. Or so they said.”

I draw a blank. “Jean-Paul?”

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