Carefully she took the paper from his fingers before bending to pick up the basket, still heavy with the remains of the sponge cake. She could feel the stickiness of the chocolate between her thighs. It had never occurred to her that he would draw such a conclusion or that he might wish something more from her than merely to become lovers.
“Watkins will show you out. Good day, Miss Richardson.”
Torrington didn’t move or turn in her direction as she made her way up the stairs and out of the kitchen. Resolutely, she straightened her shoulders, fingers biting into the handle of the basket. This was for the best. It really was. Happiness. Affection. An excess of feeling. She wanted none of those things. Not from Torrington or anyone else. Her judgement, as evidenced by coming here today, was already clouded. Better her relationship with Torrington come to an end now before any true damage could be done.
It was best to put her efforts, hersoul, into her pastries.
11
Bram was a fool.
Desire had a way of making idiots out of the most intelligent of men. He’d tried to keep it from happening, yet here he was, allowing himself to be beaten senseless as a way of banishing Rosalind from his thoughts. It hadn’t worked over the last week since Rosalind’s visit. Still, he kept trying.
The punch from his opponent, an enormous man built like an ox, hit him square in the jaw, making Bram’s head snap around.
Christ, that hurt.
“You might wish to pay attention, my lord.” Hagerty, the owner of this fine establishment, stood at the edge of the ropes, watching Bram take his beating with great interest.
Bram wiped the blood from his lip and put his fists back up. This was his fourth time in the ring today, the second with the Irish butcher named O’Leary, who was now circling him with a nasty grin on his thin lips. O’Leary had taken it easy on Bram during their first go-around. Not so, this time.
When Rosalind had arrived at his house, with no corset and lacking her underthings—
So brazen. I adore that about her.
—Bram had thought things would soon be settled between them. Whatever objections she’d been harboring against Bram and marriage had been set aside. Because coming to his house, alone, with no underthings, meant she wished to be seduced. Ruining her would result in a marriage. Sheknewthat.
A left jab from O’Leary caught Bram along his left side, and he staggered back.
Instead, Rosalind had thought him an unprincipled bastard. She’d expected them to be lovers, and only that, while he continued to toss obscure French dessert recipes at her. The only thing worse was Bram’s own stupidity in thinking Rosalind wanted something else.
Him.
“Milord, perhaps you should call it a day.”
“I’m fine,” Bram snarled, staggering just slightly.
Actually, he wasn’t fine. There was a terrible pain in his chest. But it wasn’t due to O’Leary and his meaty fists. No, the insistent ache which never seemed to fade was because of Rosalind and the fact she wanted a tart recipe more than Bram. He’d thought—
Another brutal blow caught him in the ribs, pushing all the air out of his lungs. Bram fell back against the ropes and Hagerty started toward him, but he waved the man away.
Obtuse.A perfect description of Rosalind. Couldn’t she see howincredibly suitablethey were for each other? Not only sexually but in every other way that mattered?
He danced away from O’Leary, who was strong but lacked agility.
No underthings. No corset.Friends who understood each other.
Bram threw a right hook at O’Leary, who stumbled back and snarled.
Rosalind was fully prepared to take him as a lover, but nothing more. He’d as much as told her that a husband could support her ambitions. Encourage them. Who the hell had she thought he was speaking of if not himself? He’d be a much better partner than Pennyfoil, in and out of the bakery. How could Rosalind not see that?
Well, even if she didn’t, Bram wasn’t about to allow her to go about kneading bread and baking pastries with fucking Pennyfoil.
O’Leary hit him again, sending Bram to his knees.
“Hold,” Hagerty yelled from the edge of the ring.
“Just need to catch my breath,” Bram mumbled through a mouthful of blood.
