“Am I to be blamed?” he asked rhetorically, defending both himself and his wayward cock. “I can’t help myself where you are concerned. I’m selfish.”
“As much as I would love to do so, we cannot stay here together.”
He sighed, knowing she was right. “Very well. But I do hope that if I’m forced to return to London, you will at least pacify me with your delicious confections.”
She turned fully in the tub, retreating to the opposite end. “What did you think of this evening’sAnanas Glacé à la Redalia?”
He grinned, thinking of the pineapple-flavored cream ice she had lovingly molded into the shape of real pineapples, complete with pistachio cream ice for the leaves. “The pineapple was divine, but all I kept thinking about was how lovely it would be to swirl it over your pretty nipples and then lick it off.”
“Wicked man.” She splashed him lightly, but her words had no bite.
“Always.” His gaze dipped to the water, where said pretty nipples were pert and pink and begging to be sucked. “If I behaved, I don’t think you would like me very much, darling. I’d be dreadfully dull. Only think of how tiresome it would be if I wanted to recite sonnets all day or read theological texts or debate tedious subjects no one else cared about.”
She bit her lower lip, clearly trying to stave off a smile of her own. “You are incorrigible.”
He winked. “I pride myself on it.”
Miranda’s countenance turned serious then. “You truly liked the Redalia Pineapple Ice?”
“God yes. I like everything you make. And I likeyou, full stop.” It was the closest he could bring himself to making an admission to her.
Hell, it was the closest he could bring himself to making an admission to himself. He wasn’t just obsessed with Miranda. He liked her. Too much.
“I like you too.” Her soft voice wrapped around his heart, squeezing it like a mighty fist.
But he didn’t want to wallow in complications like emotions. He wanted to plan the next month at least. To make certain that nothing changed between them after they returned to London.
Beneath the water, he found her foot and began gently massaging. She was ticklish, yes. But she adored having her feet rubbed. And he found he enjoyed making her feel good in whatever way he could.
“When do you typically end your classes in your school?” he asked.
“Late afternoon,” she answered, making a soft sigh of contentment that sounded rather like a cat trilling her delight. “No later than five o’clock, usually.”
Hmm.That was rather a bit later than he would have preferred, but he could still dine with her each evening. And he didn’t wish to interfere with her school, even though the selfish monster within him certainly would have liked to have her all to himself.
“I’ll send a carriage round every day at one quarter past five,” he said.
Her response was instant. “No.”
This was not what he had expected to hear.
He raised a brow. “No?”
She shook her head, and he was briefly mesmerized by the silken raven curls clinging damply to her breasts. “That is far too early.”
“How? You’ll have one quarter hour to do whatever you must after the last of your students disperses for the day.”
“Because there is a great deal more to my day than merely teaching my students. I need to balance the ledgers, make certain I have the next day’s lessons organized and that all the ingredients are purchased. I must see that the day’s fresh ingredients that have not been used won’t be wasted…”
“It sounds like rather a lot of work,” he mused and not without an edge of distaste.
Bad enough that she had been toiling in the kitchens this last week at Wingfield Hall. Even if she enjoyed her cream ice creations and her molds and perfecting her recipes, her work was not without suffering.
He had taken note of the many hours she poured into her task, the way she returned each night weary and with an achingback and feet, and sometimes sporting burns on her hands. Rhys was many things, but he had been raised his father’s son, the duke. The very notion of earning his living was anathema, and he was fortunate enough that his family wealth had left him with an almost hideous amount of funds at his disposal. The money he earned from the Wicked Dukes Society was a mere pittance in comparison, one he reserved for his sister’s ever-growing dowry.
“It is a lot of work,” Miranda agreed, pulling her foot from his grasp and frowning at him. “But it is important to me.”
Well, Christ. That explained the hurt expression on her lovely face.
