Page 55 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
Oh, the cuisine was superb. The company was silent. Angry.
The turmoil gave him indigestion. Plus he had a devil of a time getting to sleep.
He rose early, cursing his fate to find a woman who inspired him to consider marrying her, no less! He must be mad.
He fled to the kitchen, happy the maid had not come this morning to witness his poor attempts at the coffee. But with time, and a little jostling of the utensils and provisions, he had a brew. He’d downed two large cups of coffee so strong that his hair could walk down to the cathedral on its own, push aside the lawyers who had taken up residence a few years ago, and ask for penance. He was about to prepare another pot when he heard Gus pad down the main stairs.
She sailed into the tiny kitchen, humming her delight at the aromas of coffee and bread. If that was what it took to get her to be congenial with him after last night’s debacle, he’d cook all day long. And so, without greeting, she came to peer over his arm at his preparations. The feline smile she conferred told him she was not only grateful for his efforts, but also pleased he was doing the work.
So be it.He’d play carefree, too. After cutting off chunks of yesterday’s boule of bread, he placed them on long forks and stuck them in the fire. The roaring fire, by the way, that he hadstoked tremendously high out of frustration at their argument, his lack of sleep—and his desire for her, so close in the next room.
This morning, she wore a heavy robe of forest-green wool, tied with a sash at the waist. Her black curls tousled, her dark eyes drowsy with sleep, she looked delicious. He refused to praise her. She might preen, and he might get caught ogling her. Not a way to continue their friendship.
Spinning away, he busied himself with the coffee. Sad to say, his cock did not get the message that this was only breakfast. He winced, grateful for the concealing folds of his own woolen banyan.
She huddled near the fireplace on a wooden chair, kicking her long, bare legs out to catch the fire’s heat.
Tease.
Silent, he extracted one hunk of sizzling bread and offered it to her by the tip of the fork.
She grinned and tested the heat of the bread with her fingertips. But she shook her head and gave him a wrinkle of her nose.
Too hot still?
Hmmm. That was not the only thing that was. To his regret. And frustration.
No matter. He bent to the small table between them, pushed the crispy bread to a small plate, and slathered a pat of butter on top.
Grunting her approval, she pulled the plate toward her and bit into the toast, licking her lips and making little moans of delight as she crunched the thing. Flakes of the crust gathered on the rise of her plump lower lip, and she swept them off and into her mouth with her tongue.
He could not take his gaze away.
She ate slowly—ignoring him or flashing green eyes at him, the wench. Was she a practiced seductress?
He’d never thought so. But with him, she was flawless.
He shook his head—and poured himself more coffee.
She picked up the knife and slathered more butter on the bread. It melted and slid to the plate. She scooped it up with her forefinger and put it in her mouth. There, she sucked at it, as her gaze locked on his. He could have jumped the table and put her on it to have his way.
She was a temptress.
He was in agony.
He shot to his feet and went to the counter. He’d boiled water and set tea leaves to steep long minutes ago, not knowing if she’d prefer that. No matter. He needed something to do, so he poured tea into two different mugs.
With his cock blinding him, he slammed her cup to the wooden table.
She tsked at him. “You’ll break the crockery.”
“You break my patience.”
“Well, at least it’s just that,” she said, and got up.
“Don’t go.” His words stopped her at the stairs. “I’ll have our groom go into Reims and pay the local farrier for the use of two horses from his stables. The village we’ll visit today is only four miles up the north road. We’ll pretend we are out for a diversion. We’ll take a towel in our saddlebag filled with bread and cheese and buy a flask-full ofvin blancfrom the localcavistefor our luncheon.”
“We pretend, do we, that we are a couple sharing a rendezvous?” Her question was full of defiance and irony.
