That’s why he’d gotten a dog.
Bram’s desire for Lizabet, up until he’d realized she enjoyed bedding every man in London but him, paled in comparison to the way his entire body seemed to curl in arousal at the mere sight of Rosalind.
Dear God.Rosalind inspired the most erotic visions. He often imagined dribbling chocolate over her naked form, which he would then lick off every inch of her skin. Now he had the image of her sucking on his finger to add to it.
Today, when Bram had seen her standing at the dining room table, proudly displaying the custard for his approval, he’d found himself...longingfor her. It had caused a physical ache. And not just in his cock.
Bram slapped his palm against the seat in frustration once more. He was in a trap of his own making. One built of patience and not only for Rosalind’s sake, but his own. He didn’t care for the subterfuge being practiced, but neither did he want Rosalind to end up hating him. Another union as he’d had with Lizabet would be untenable for Bram. ButforcingRosalind to do anything would be a mistake. She would be resentful of having her choice taken from her.
Yes, but you’ve already taken her choice.
His fingers drummed on the leather.
He had. He’d probably regret doing so.
But Bramcouldn’tallow Lady Richardson to continue to toss Rosalind at a series of unsuitable gentlemen, not when he meant to have her. Not only was it humiliating for Rosalind, but the idea of another man even taking her arm made Bram long to punch something. None of them appreciated her as he did. Lady Richardson didn’t understand, but she had agreed Bram could handle things as he saw fit.
His chest tightened right over the area of his heart. Now that organ throbbed in tandem with his cock, and Bram willed it to stop. He would need to make arrangements for a box of oranges to be sent to Rosalind later today so she could make the sponge cake. Bram prayed, as he rarely did, she would perfect the damned cake sooner than she had the custard.
In the meantime, Bram meant to pay a visit to Mr. Rudolph Pennyfoil.
It hadn’t been difficult to find the identity of Rosalind’s business partner. Taking a hack from her home and allowing the driver to drop her a block away from Pennyfoil’s establishment, then walking down the alley to enter a back door wasn’t incredibly secretive. Rosalind hadn’t so much as looked over her shoulder as she’d knocked on the door for entry.
Careless of Rosalind. Reckless. Much like licking the custard from his fingers in Lady Richardson’s dining room. Or raising her skirts so Bram could trail his hand along the curve of her knee.
A groan left him at the memory.
Bloody hell.
Bram rapped on the top of the carriage. “Take me to Hagerty’s,” he instructed his driver.
A few rounds in the boxing ring were sure to take his mind off Rosalind. It was difficult to stay aroused when you were being pummeled. If he were lucky, Bram would return home in a few hours, a little worse for the wear but with a head clear of amorous thoughts.
He’d be bruised. Sore. But nothing that a snifter of brandy and a hot bath wouldn’t fix. And his mind blissfully not on Rosalind.
9
Two weeks after she’d nearly been ruined in the dining room, Rosalind was once more contemplating seduction. She’d thought of little else while perfecting the orange sponge cake since Torrington’s last visit. It was a daring, scandalous thing she meant to do. It was possible that most young ladies of good family didn’t think overmuch about physical relations. But thanks to Lord Richardson’s extensive, obscene collection of books, her opinion on the subject was far different from that of her contemporaries. Also, there was the matter of Cousin Amanda, the dowager duchess. She believed all young ladies needed to be forewarned about what their futures held and not be led blindly into the marital bed. The dowager duchess had been quite thorough in her descriptions.
The point being, Rosalind was fairly knowledgeable but still innocent, which made her vastly curious and not the least afraid. A dangerous combination.
Since she intended to remain unwed and free of the encumbrance of a relationship so she could devote all her energies to her craft, Rosalind saw no reason to not satisfy that curiosity. Remaining unwed didn’t necessarily mean she must remain a virgin or deny herself the benefits of physical pleasure.
Rosalind stood before the mirror in her bedroom, turning back and forth in one of her oldest dresses, slightly out of fashion, but one cut loosely enough that it didn’t require the wearing of a corset. She thought the absence of the corset much more important to today’s mission than the style of her dress.
Tugging at the bodice, she fluffed the lace at the neckline, making sure not too much flesh revealed itself. Her bosom hadn’t been nearly so large when she’d been fitted for this dress, and she didn’t want bits of her poking out in the wrong places. Torrington seemed to like her more generous form—or at the very least, didn’t seem to want to seduce her less because of it.
Do not wear a corset when you present me with the sponge cake.
Nothing in the world could make her wear a corset today after hearing such a declaration.
Arriving at Torrington’s home, alone, with no chaperone, stretched the very bounds of what was proper. Even Viscount Richardson, who undoubtedly had seduced a great number of young ladies, Rosalind’s mother included, wouldn’t have approved his daughter’s course of action.
Actually, Lord Richardson would likely have been far more scandalized at the knowledge his daughter had entered trade.
Yesterday, Rosalind had spent the entire day in Pennyfoil’s company, preparing the orange sponge cake and discussing their future. They were in agreement that the current space housing Pennyfoil’s would not be large enough for their future plans. The small bakery was already overflowing with customers. Word had spread about the custard. Largely due to Rosalind convincing Pennyfoil to allow their patrons to sample it. She’d had him set out several small plates, offering a taste to anyone who came in to purchase another pastry. One of those customers had been the valet of Baron Rothwell. After tasting the custard, he’d immediately asked for a full order, which he’d then taken back to his employer in Mayfair.
The very next day, Rothwell’s cook had arrived to place a rather large order of the custard for a dinner party Lord Rothwell was giving the following evening. The day after Rothwell’s dinner party, the small bakery was inundated with requests for the custard. Pennyfoil had even had to hire a girl for the front counter.
