“Because I enjoy it,” she explained, permitting Rhys to delicately towel her hand dry. “I’ve always been entranced by the art of cookery, for as long as I can remember. When I was a girl, I would steal into the kitchens and watch our cook, Mrs. Simpson, begging her to share her recipes with me. My nursemaid didn’t mind having one less child to look after, so she never breathed a word of where I spent so much time. But as I grew older and had a governess, she told my mother where I was. My mother was horrified that any daughter of hers should have spent so much time in the kitchens, a place that, in her mind, belonged to servants alone.”
She stopped before she revealed even more, aware that she was rambling. Rhys’s proximity wreaked havoc upon her. But his gaze, focused and intense as he cradled her injured hand in his, was every bit as potent.
“You must think me silly,” she said, feeling suddenly foolish for sharing so much.
“Not at all.” He shook his head, lowering the towel and releasing her hands. “I think you incredible.”
Miranda couldn’t quite contain her bitter laugh. “You are the only person of that opinion.”
“Surely not.” He frowned. “Stay where you are. I’ll fetch the ointment.”
“Ammondale was disgusted by my interest in cookery,” she said, watching as Rhys prowled to a nearby piece of furniture and extracted a tin from a drawer. “He said he wanted acountess, not a servant. He forbade me from visiting the kitchens or speaking with our cook.”
“So, he was an autocratic bastard in addition to being a notoriously small-pricked bore,” Rhys said as he returned to her.
This time, her laugh wasn’t bitter. “You are outrageous, sir.”
He grinned. “And you love it.”
She smiled back at him, trying to cling to her determination to keep her desire for this man at bay and failing.
“Conceited as well,” she commented archly.
“Your hand, madam,” he requested with a gallant air.
She dutifully held it out, allowing him to tend to her. Enjoying it, even. He unscrewed the lid on the ointment tin and smeared a dollop on his forefinger before gently layering it over her burn.
“The dessert was extraordinary this evening,” he said softly, head still bent as he performed his task. “Everyone was astounded that the baskets could be eaten. The raspberry and chocolate cream ice was delicious, and the ice mushrooms were perfectly formed.”
She knew that her latest creation had been impressive, but she didn’t want his praise to originate from pity. “You need not say so on my behalf.”
“My dear, I can assure you that I speak truth. Grown men were fighting over ice mushrooms. I very much feared Kingham and Richford would come to blows over it.”
He had finished applying the ointment to her burn and turned to wash his own hands. Now was the time for her to remind them both of how improper her presence was here and return to her room.
And yet, she could not seem to make herself leave.
“I doubt that they were truly motivated to come to blows,” she murmured.
“Would I lie?” he asked, giving her a look that was somehow innocent and yet scorching all at once.
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
He finished drying his hands and pressed one over his heart in dramatic fashion. “Will there be no end to the mortal blows you deal me, my queen?”
She bit her lip to stifle her laughter. “I was not aware there could be multiple mortal blows.”
“Nor was I until you arrived in my life with your decadent desserts and your resistance to my charms.” He screwed the lid back onto his ointment but left it on the table.
“I fear I am hardly as resistant as I ought to be,” she admitted before she could think better of it.
“I’m pleased to hear it.” His smile was wickedness personified as he closed the distance between them yet again. “Why did you leave my bed before dawn?”
It was his first acknowledgment of what had happened between them the night before, and it made wanton heat roll through her. Forbidden longing. Desire she didn’t want to feel. And shame too. For here was the reminder that she was every bit as sinful as the scandal broth had suggested she was.
“Because I had a great deal of work awaiting me today,” she said primly, hoping he could read none of the turmoil passing through her in her face or tone. “And because I had no wish to be caught there by your valet or my lady’s maid. And because what happened last night cannot happen again.”
“Of course it can.”
