“Yer jesting,” she said, the silver flecks in her eyes twinkling.
Arran smoothed his features. “About baking?” he touched his hand to his chest. “I would never.”
Lucy’s smile returned. “You have baked before!”
She sounded so absolutely delighted at the prospect he hated answering with a declination.
“Never.”
He hated even more the disappointment that flickered in her revealing eyes.
Another flash of color formed in her cheeks. “Of course, you haven’t,” she said. “It was a silly question.”
Silly because a nobleman wouldn’t ever be familiar with the kitchen.
He liked even less how presumptuous the truth made him sound.
Arran began rolling up his sleeves. “I am a quick study.”
Lucy stared at him. Did she gauge his seriousness? Or did she see more than she should see? More than he should show.
By the time he got his second sleeve up, she was all smiles. “Fortunate for you, we have arrived at the most fun part, Arran.”
“You never did say what it is we are making, Lucy?”
Lucy held up a finger.
Turning in a swift whir of skirts that sent her hems snapping about her, she rushed to the counter.
Blackguard that he was, Arran’s gaze lingered on her delicate ankles.
“Here it is!”
She turned around quick, and he managed to draw his gaze up just in time to avoid being caught leering like a bounder. Guilt clawed at him.
Lucy came skipping over with the item in question. “It is—”
“A biscuit mold,” he finished for her. “We are making biscuits.”
His hadn’t been a question. She nodded anyway, setting her enormous midnight coils dancing wildly about her shoulders. She clarified. “Gingerbread.”
“Gingerbread,” he repeated.
Campbell’s favorite.
“It is Mr. Smith’s favorite,” she echoed Arran’s silent reflection.
Yes, Campbell did love gingerbread. Arran’s cousin had a history dating back to age five of plucking them from the family’s plates when their focus was elsewhere.
“He once told me that when he was a lad, he’d filch his brother’s gingerbread when he wasn’t looking.”
“Did he also tell you he continues to do so to this date?” he said, his voice sharp.
As soon as the petty pronouncement burst from Arran, he let silent curses fly inside his head.
Lucy froze. She looked up from that lone biscuit cutter.
Lucy burst out laughing. The mesmerizing minx doubled over with the force of her amusement, her hilarity so great she gripped the edge of the counter to keep from doubling over.
