She had an adorably exhausted smile on her face as she rinsed all the wet dough off her hands, and then sank onto a stool with a sigh of relief. “As soon as the ladies come by to collect their bowls, I shall properly wash up, take a quick nap, and then ready myself for the fair.”
He grabbed a clean drying cloth, dipped the end of it into cold water, and sat on the stool beside hers. “Why don’t you run up now and tend to yourself? Just tell me what to do and I’ll take care of the ladies when they come by.”
“Absolutely not! You’ll hand the wrong bowl to the wrong lady, and everyone of them will linger and inanely smile at you. Not to mention, they’ll wonder what you are doing here, and– dear heaven– wonder whether you spent the entire night here.”
“I’ll make certain they know I only arrived a few minutes before they did. Send Mrs. Bligh down to hand out the bowls with me. No one will question my presence if she is here.” As he spoke, he began to gently wipe the flour and bits of dough off her face and neck.
She was remarkably pretty, especially with the soft blush to her cheeks.
Her nose was also pink.
“Hold out your hands. What is that red spot on the tip of your finger? Blood?”
“No, just strawberries. I guess it was stubborn and did not wash off as I cleaned my hands just now.” She held up the finger in question.
Unthinking, he drew it into his mouth and licked his tongue along it.
Viola almost tumbled off her stool.
He caught her about the waist to steady her, which was another mistake because having his arm around her set him on fire.
Lord, how could he be so foolish?
He released her, leaving her to grip the edge of the stool to regain her balance.
“Strawberry and rhubarb,” he said, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened between them. Oh, sure. Licking her finger was bad enough, but he’d also suckled it between his lips.
She was still staring at him, wide-eyed and ashen.
In the next moment, her face burst into flame.
He groaned, not only because he was sorry…but because he was not really sorry at all. He wanted more of her. All of her. “Viola, I owe you an apology. I did not think. And that mix of strawberry and rhubarb was delicious. I was proud I helped make it and curious to taste it, even if it was on your finger, so I…just hit me with the frying pan and put me out of my misery.”
“I had better go upstairs. I’ll send Mrs. Bligh down.” She knocked over her stool and almost fell over it in her haste to run away.
He caught her again as she was about to go flying onto the hard floor. This time, he drew her up hard against his body. He heard her softoofas her back slammed against his chest. He wrapped both of his arms around her while also contorting in every way possible to avoid placing any part of him in contact with her bosom as she turned to push away from him. Not to mention his immediate contortions to hide the explosion going on in the lower part of his torso the moment her delectable derriere had collided with his male parts.
Mrs. Bligh chose that inopportune moment to walk into the kitchen.
She dropped the ewer she was carrying, frozen in place as it smashed into a thousand pieces on the floor. “Lord, have mercy!”
“Mrs. Bligh,” he said in a calm manner, trying to ignore Viola desperately struggling to wriggle out of his arms, “this is not at all what you must think. Miss Ruskin has been working herself to the point of exhaustion. She knocked over her stool and was about to fall over it. I merely caught her before she cracked her head open on the floor. And now I must insist on sweeping up the ewer’s shards. Just tell me where I may find the broom and I will take care of it as soon as Miss Ruskin calms down.”
His hands now rested gently on her shoulders to keep her facing him. “I have thick boots on. You ladies are wearing house slippers. You will cut your feet if you attempt to move about. You know I am right. Now stop fighting me and let me carry you away from the kitchen.”
“Are you mad?”
“Perhaps, but it has nothing to do with that broken ewer. When must I take the tarts out of the oven?”
“What are you talking about? I’ll do it. You are not to go near my tarts, my lord. Nor the broom. I’ll–”
He emitted a soft growl of frustration. “Do not contradict me. I am sweeping up and that’s an end to it. You are to go upstairs and rest before you collapse in a heap on the floor. What good will you be to your father if you are so exhausted you cannot even walk straight? Mrs. Bligh, take her upstairs now. Miss Ruskin, do not fight me on this. That is an order.”
Viola pounded her fists on his chest. “I will not have you ordering me about my own kitchen. Those tarts will be ready in five minutes. Only once they are out will I agree to go upstairs and rest. But only if Mrs. Bligh agrees to remain down here and hand off the bowls to the ladies as they come by. As for sweeping, I’ll attend to it.”
“As you attend to everything? Look at you, Viola. You are so pale, you cannot even stand up on your own. Can you not see yourself wobbling?”
“Who invited you here? Go home.” She inhaled deeply. “My tarts!”
