“We may dispense with this, my lord. I’m not the least thirsty and the other refreshments Lady Ralston has put out for her guests aren’t the least appealing.”
He raised a brow, a curl laced with silver falling over his forehead. “Does anything appeal to you, Miss Richardson? Because I have my doubts.”
Rosalind purposefully ignored the sarcasm. “I only meant, my lord, that the biscuits and small cakes are disappointing.”
“Not the sort you would provide, if you were in the business of doing so.”
Torrington had overheard far more than she’d wished him to at Granby’s. The fact that he recalled her words disturbed her even more. “Eavesdropping is a terrible habit,” she murmured. “I realize I have no reason to ask, but I would appreciate—”
“Don’t worry, Miss Richardson,” he said, interrupting her. “I’ve already surmised you would rather be fondling dough,” his voice dipped, “than anything else.”
A shocked puff of air escaped her. “What an inappropriate thing to say. You are—”
“Ancient and repulsive. Yes, yes, I’m aware. No need to explain further.” He took her elbow and pulled her once more in the direction of the refreshment table as if anxious to rid himself of her company. “Cuisiner pour les Rois.”
Rosalind struggled to keep up. “If you are attempting to be charming, my lord, you may cease. I don’t speak French.”
“You’ve declared yourself immune to my charms. I’m only seeking to give you some friendly advice.Cuisiner pour les Roisis what you need. A collection of recipes for pastries and other desserts. One of a kind. More exquisite than you can possibly imagine. No one in London has seen the like.” He handed her a glass of lukewarm lemonade. “And I assure you, no one at Gunter’s has a copy.”
* * *
Abraham Landsdowne,Earl of Torrington reminded himself again, as he looked down at Miss Richardson, that his life would be so mucheasierhad he just not attended that bloody house party. Bram might never forgive Margarite. He wanted to strangle his sister for bringing Miss Richardson to his attention.
I know just the girl. One you can wed quickly and with little effort should Stanwell expire.
Blithe words uttered by Margarite. His sister had heard him remark in more than one instance that an obstacle to wedding again was the tedium of a courtship. He’d endured two and didn’t care to have to suffer through a third because it would inevitably lead to marriage. Thus, the necessity of Stanwell, a distant, mildly disgusting relation who had been Bram’s heir for the last five years.
But then, Stanwell had, in fact, expired. In the arms of his mistress, as it were, after an attack brought on by an excess of alcohol and rich food.
The idiot.
Just go have a look at her. Granby’s house party is the perfect setting. No one else has piqued your interest.
Because Bramwasn’tinterested. Certainly not in marriage. Two wives had been enough,thank you. His second marriage in particular, which had been more armed combat than union, had cured him of ever wanting a wife again.
Bram had strayed.Often. And though it had earned him something of a reputation, it was only partially deserved.
Both marriages had been so brief, neither had produced the requisite heir.
She’s polite. Unassuming. Possesses a robust constitution. Best of all, convenient. In her third season. She would be grateful should you offer for her.
Bram took in the girl before him. Polite? Miss Richardson had insinuated he wore a bloody corset, for God’s sake. A robust constitution was Margarite’s way of inferring Miss Richardson was full-figured, which didn’t put Bram off in the least.
His cock stirred as a brush of arousal slid around his waist.
Claiming Miss Richardson to be unassuming was ridiculous, at best. The lowered eyes and soft way of speaking were more tools so she would not draw male attention. An excellent strategy if you were avoiding an overbearing mother who was determined you marry. Miss Richardson couldn’t wed if no one offered for her. Grateful? Highly doubtful.
What traits Miss Richardson did possess consisted of a wide, almost sinful mouth. Better suited to a courtesan than a well-bred young lady. And an uninhibited, sensual nature as implied by the fact that she’d surrendered immediately when he’d kissed her and hadn’t slapped Bram afterward. She’d been clinging to his coat. He’d very nearly compromised her in a duke’s garden.
“A cookbook of desserts? In French?” Lovely dark eyes, the sheen of melted chocolate, looked back at him, the steely determination to pretend boredom in his presence fading away at the mention of a cookbook.
Oh, and Miss Richardson apparently had a passion for pastry, which Bram, for some unknown reason, foundhighlyarousing.
“Yes.” He plucked a nonexistent piece of lint off his coat. Miss Richardson wasn’t the only one who could pretend boredom.
She gripped the lemonade tightly, staring at him with a calculating look on her pretty face.
The girl before him planned on going into trade, at least from what he’d gathered from the conversation he’d overheard between her and her cousin. It was a brave, clever, and scandalous thing to do. He admired her for it. Maybe that was what had made Bram mention the cookbook his mother had brought from France.
