“Even if she already has a suitor, as you say, your chocolate-maker didn’t mind kissing a duke in hopes of snaring you into marrying her. They all want a similar thing, I tell you — a titled man as long as he has a good fortune to go along with it.”
“So cynical,” Henry observed. “The thing is, however,shedidn’t really kiss me. I surprised her with a hasty maneuver of which Wellington, himself, would have been proud.”
Waverly nodded. “Did she draw away?”
“She couldn’t. I had her pinned between me and her chocolate-covered countertop.”
His friend lifted his glass in salute. “Well done. But afterward, did she cry foul, slap you, make a fuss, or in any way offer protest?”
Henry shook his head. “I left in great haste and gave her no opportunity. It was a swift forward foray followed by an even swifter retreat.”
Waverly laughed. “Then, my friend, I don’t know what to tell you. I suppose you will know if you angered her and ruined your chances of having the best chocolates in London at your proposal party by returning to the scene of your frontal assault. Either she’ll make doe eyes at you and hope you are going to ask for her hand after your rash impudence, or she’ll be faithful to her suitor and give you a tongue-lashing.”
Henry thought more likely it would be the latter. He couldn’t imagine Amity making doe eyes or using her feminine wiles to lure and trap him. Feeling ashamed, returning to Rare Confectionery seemed a bit embarrassing albeit necessary.
“I suppose I must go back and apologize.”
“Exactly. But if she starts to scream about your attempt to ruin her, you must deny you ever kissed her at all. Elsewise, you might find yourself married to her and perhaps working in the shop.” Waverly chuckled at his own words. “Wearing an apron,” he added and laughed even harder.
Henry recalled how Amity had offered him one and felt a little disquieted at the notion. He finished his brandy. He had already sent a missive to Lady Madeleine’s parents’ townhouse. He intended to kiss her before the sun set on another day.
***
IT WAS NOT THE EASIESTdinner, what with Charlotte being morose because they weren’t in one of Mayfair’s finest townhouses and with Beatrice’s wide-eyed expression of utter disbelief every time she looked at Amity. Their conversation over tea in the confectionery had been cut short by final customers before they’d closed up. Still, her sister now knew of the unbelievable indiscretion with her sole question being, “Did you enjoy it?”
The more Amity looked at Jeremy across the dining room table, the more she thought she should confess.
She had done something she would have thought impossible if asked, an action entirely out of character. More than that, it was blatantly wrong and was causing her no end of painful emotions. She was no longer a moral young lady, keeping herself pure for her beau. True, she hadn’t invited the kiss, nor had she pushed the duke away or even protested. She recalled moving her mouth against his and feeling pleasure.
It was not the kiss itself but having enjoyed it so very much that most bothered her. Surely it meant she was depraved and not to be trusted.What if another man tried to kiss her after she was married, and she not only let him but enjoyed it?
After dinner, in the parlor, tormented by her thoughts, Amity suddenly rose to her feet causing all the chatter to cease. Even Delia, their maid, faltered mid-step while carrying in a tray with a decanter of port and six glasses that rattled until she resumed her duty and set them down on the low table between the sofas.
“Jeremy, may I have a word with you in private?” Amity barely glanced at her parents for permission since they had already welcomed him into their family and trusted them both to be respectful of each other and the bounds of propriety. They’d sat alone in the parlor on numerous occasions and even ridden by themselves once or twice in Jeremy’s carriage.
“Perhaps we could step into my Father’s study,” she suggested.
“Yes,” Beatrice exclaimed, jumping to her feet, “but can you wait a few minutes?” she added, speaking to Jeremy. “I have something crucial to tell Amity about ... about her chocolate.”
Without waiting to hear how this statement went over, Beatrice grabbed Amity’s arm and hauled her from the room.
As soon as they were on the other side of the closed parlor door, Amity whispered, “That sounded ridiculous!”
Beatrice whispered back, “What are you doing?”
Amity knew what she meant. “I am going to tell Mr. Cole the truth.” They moved farther along the hallway so their voices wouldn’t carry. “I cannot live with this horrid feeling of betrayal.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes and, hands on hips, asked, “What outcome can you hope for? You will hurt Mr. Cole and possibly lose him. Do you want either of those things to occur?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then don’t tell him. It was a single kiss—”
“But I shall see the duke again when he comes to the store for his chocolates.”
“Never mind about his blasted chocolates,” Beatrice fumed. “I will take them to his home as soon as you’ve finished them. You should keep your distance in case—”
“In case he tries to kiss me again?”
