Page 8 of Miss Delectable
He paused with the butter knife in one hand and cocked his head to the side, raising one brow. He did not smile, but by the light of the hearth, Ann saw merriment in his gaze.
“Probably the same qualities you consider obvious about the male?” he replied, collecting slices of cheese.
“The male? You mean the gender that assumes a tiny set of peculiar appendages renders them the lords of creation, superior in intellect, wit, strength, and all worthy measures?”
“You disagree?”
“Superior in stupidity and arrogance, perhaps. What are you doing?”
“In my stupid, arrogant way, I’m trying to make sandwiches and stave off starvation. The cheese goes between the slices of bread, as best I recall.”
Was he teasing her? Aboutfood?“If we are to enjoy the bread, butter, and cheese, then the sandwiches are better served toasted, and that means the spices must be dusted over the cheese before we melt—” She reached over to remove the top bread slices from the sandwiches he’d proposed to ruin. The colonel did not budge, which meant she nudged up against his arm.
“You barely come to my shoulder,” he muttered, “and yet, you scold me.”
“I scold you in the kitchen because I am a professional cook. You might scold me in the stable because your expertise lies there. You will talk to Benny before you do anything?”
The colonel jammed the cork lid onto the crock of mustard and tamped it down with one large fist.
“The difficulty,” he said, “isn’t Benny. The difficulty is what to tell the other lads. If they don’t know Benny is female, then they have exhibited all manner of vulgar and unseemly behaviors around her. The lads will be mortified, and Benny will lose her friends, while I will be branded a traitor because I knew and didn’t warn the boys. Morale will suffer. Regimental politics are more complicated than waging war.”
Something wistful in his tone caught Ann’s ear. “Do you miss the military?”
“Not in the least. You mentioned spices?”
“Tarragon, thyme, a dash of dried onion if you have it.”
He waved a hand toward the pantry. “Explore to your heart’s content, but mind you, I am truly hungry, and all of your subtle art will be lost on me.”
“It won’t be lost on me.” Ann soon had toasted cheese sandwiches cut into triangles. She served that fare with a plate of peach slices and tankards of summer ale. Peaches were still a rarity in most households and not a fruit Ann had worked with in a professional sense.
Perhaps… but no. If an idea originated anywhere but in Monsieur’s handsome head, the idea was not worth pursuing.
“Best eaten hot,” Ann said, taking a seat at the worn table near the hearth. To her surprise, the colonel held her chair. “Thank you.”
He took the place across from her and bowed his head. “For what we are about to receive, we are pathetically grateful, and that includes gratitude for the company as well. Amen.”
They ate with their hands, the colonel exhibiting the sort of focused enthusiasm for the food that would gratify any cook. He left not a crumb on the plate, but partook only sparingly of the peaches.
“Finish the fruit,” he said. “You enjoy it.”
“I do,” Ann said, picking up another succulent slice. “The peach would go well with cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, perhaps a dash of vanilla, though the fruit flavor is subtle, and thus the spices must be understated as well. This is a fruit that would make excellent dessert sauces, and a peach compote has possibilities as well.”
He took a considering sip of his ale. “You are passionate about cooking.”
The colonel offered a mere observation, but Ann’s guard went up from long habit. “Every creature must eat, and preparation of safe and nutritious fare ought to be of central importance to any society.”
He regarded her in the flickering light cast by the hearth fire. “The kitchen is more than that for you. It’s a calling. You put up with the tyrant in the Coventry’s kitchen because you learn from him, though flattering his vanity grates on your soul.”
Ann took the last peach slice, wanting to savor it. “Has your soul been grated?”
“Like a hard cheese upon the reality of military life. I’ll walk you back to the Coventry when you’re finished eating.”
A mental portcullis had just been dropped. “I’ve no need of an escort, Colonel. I am not your sister, a fine lady who marries into titled families.”
He gave her an appraising look. If Ann had been one of his subordinates, that look would have inspired her to part with her innermost secrets and most desperate dreams. She’d cast them before him like a child emptying her pockets to exonerate her from a crime that had yet to be named.
The crime of independent dreams, in her case.
