Page 15 of The Sweetest Season
“Beatrice,” Noel said, “not many people would have the will to do that.”
“You mean run away?”She sighed.Then realization jolted through her.He washolding her hand, offering comfort without asking for anything in return, and she hoped he wouldn’t stop.
“I meant living an independent life,” he said.“So you never went back?”
“No,” she said.“I trained in Paris, fending off two more proposals which I wasn’t the slightest bit interested in.And then I chose to go into business for myself.The dowry was just sitting there, after all.And my parents still live in fear that I’ll suddenly reveal to thetonthat I bake cakes for living, so they looked upon the money as a sort of bribe to ensure I’ll stay far away.I had to agree to never open a shop anywhere in England, of course.”
“That’s England’s loss.”He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.“Well, I don’t know what made you choose this city of all cities.But I’m glad you did.”
“What flavor is next?”she asked, trying to keep her attention from the delightful sensation of his lips on her skin.
He looked almost shy.“You want another flavor?”
“Of course.Why wouldn’t I?”
“I thought you might be done with me.I pushed you further than you expected to go today.”
“Maybe, but perhaps I was being silly about not telling you.I’m not very good at being mysterious, after all.Perhaps next time, I’ll return the favor and push you.”
Desire flashed in his eyes.“I would be at your service.Literally any service you could imagine.”
“Name me a flavor, Noel,” she ordered.Lord, it was too easy to picture some services she’d like to request.
He licked his lips.“Do you have a recommendation?”He seemed to be having trouble thinking at the moment.
Beatrice gave him a sweet smile.“Rosewater.People overlook rose as a flavor.It can be cloying.But done correctly, it’s luxurious.Subtle.Smooth.Silky.”
“Christ,” he whispered.
“I’ll take that as a yes.And as for the color of your next painting…I’d like to see what you can do with pink.”
He assured her, “I can do a lot.”
* * * *
For Noel’s next visit, Beatrice crafted a rosewater meringue, which floated in a dish of warmed cream, with a few icy-pink rose petals scattered over the top as a garnish.
Noel walked in and stopped short when he saw it sitting on the humble kitchen table.“That’s beautiful,” he said.
“Wait till you taste it.”
“I’d best show you my effort first, so that it’s not disappointing after what you’ve made.”
Noel unwrapped a landscape of the river at dawn, and while she’d never thought of landscapes as being pink, this one was.The snow-covered ground turned a delicate pink in the first light of day, the sky was the lightest blue, striped with long, lacy pink clouds, and even the river glinted pink.“I got up very early to see it,” he told her with a smile on his face, “so don’t say I haven’t sacrificed myself for my art.”
She was pleased by the painting.“It’s so lovely.I’m glad you chose dawn, rather than sunset.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.Dawn is more hopeful, perhaps.”
Noel smiled at her.“You may be correct.Shall we sample yours?”There was a glint in his eyes.
Bea blushed.“I hope you like it.”
“Darling girl, have you ever offered anything I didn’t want to devour?”
She gave him a spoon.“Eat.”
