“Toffee,” he agreed, looking at her bulging cheeks, and then he started to laugh.
So much for her dignity!Charlotte couldn’t even laugh with him. Instead, she hollowed her cheeks and sucked hard, then tried to masticate the wad of solidified treacle.
Holding up her index finger so he would pay attention, she gestured for him to shut and lock the door before she turned away.Good Lord!She had dribbled in front of the viscount!
Sweet mother! Would he ever think her desirable again?She hurried into the back room, put the kettle on, and lit the flame beneath it. A quick cup of tea would do the trick.
When she turned around, Charles was behind her.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded, not trusting herself to try and speak yet. She’d been a greedy guts, and no doubt about it.
Pointing to the kettle, she asked, “Eee?”
He shook his head. “I came to speak with you. It’s just as well that you are indisposed to talking at present.”
Glancing around, he spied Beatrice’s blue stool, now often used by Edward, and drew it over toward her. “Sit,” he ordered.
Their eyes locked, and she knew something important was coming, so she did as he requested.
“I have reached a certain stage of my life when I find myself ready to have a helpmate, a partner in the day-to-day events, a good friend living under my roof.”
Gracious!He was going to propose. She considered his words so far. There was nothing particularly loving about them. A helpmate could be the nursery nanny or a chamber maid. A partner belonged at work.A good friend?He ought to buy himself a dog so it could be not only under his roof but also under his bed at night.
Rolling her eyes while making smacking noises with her lips, she swallowed a chunk of the toffee, and it promptly stuck in her throat. Good thing there was no reporter there to witness the dangers of Rare Confectionery’s treacle toffee.
“In short, Miss Rare-Foure, I have not been on the hunt for a wife, but since knowing you, I find myself thinking about such a position more than I ever have.”
Such a position?It sounded as though she had been auditioning for the role of viscountess without knowing it. Perhaps his kisses hadn’t been driven by passion or desire to taste her lips but simply to see if she was good enough at the act to become his spouse.
Abruptly, she rose and went to the stove, where she quickly prepared the brown-Betty teapot with loose leaves and then poured in the boiling water.
Charles began to speak again, but she held up her hand to halt him. Not bothering with their blue, knitted tea cozy for she wasn’t going to let the tea steep hardly at all, she opened the cold box and splashed milk into her mug. Snatching for the sugar container, she grabbed up a dash with her fingers, then froze. He would think her a barbarian, but it was too late.
Reaching for a spoon — it was a large unwieldly tablespoon and not a delicately appropriate teaspoon to her chagrin — she stirred while she poured the tea, then waited a moment to let any leaves settle.
“Miss Rare-Foure, if I may continue, I have much to recommend the union—”
Again, she held up her hand. If Charles couldn’t even call her by her first name, they were not at a place in which he ought to be asking for her hand. She wanted to stop him before he did. Once he made the offer, for apparently all the wrong reasons as far as she was concerned, then she would have to say no. His manly pride would be hurt, and they would have to stop keeping company, which would destroy any chance they had of growing closer.
Sipping the tea, she tilted her head back slightly, keeping her gaze on his startled face, while she let the hot beverage melt the toffee that was stuck to her back teeth.Using tea as a gargling liquid — another barbaric moment.
If he still wanted to marry her, she ought to grab onto him with both hands. But she wouldn’t do that. She wanted him to be absolutely head-over-heels in love with her the way the duke was with Amity and Mr. Carson was with Bea. The way she was starting to feel over him, if she could just stop thinking herself somewhat unsuitable.
In any case, having seen such love, she could settle for no less. Perhaps all they needed was a little more time.
“Lord Jeffcoat,” she said at last. “You caught me at an unfortunate moment. I let my hunger get the best of me and thought two pieces of toffee would be wise. Obviously, it wasn’t.”
“That’s quite all right,” he said. “As I mentioned I came to speak to you and wasn’t expecting you to do too much talking back.”
“Really?”What a strange thing to say. Then again, she supposed lawyers liked to persuade to their satisfaction and not hear a lengthy argument in return.
“There is only one word I want to hear after I ask my question,” he said. “Will you sit again?”
“Are you sure you don’t want a cup of tea?” she asked, stalling as she considered how to stop him.
“No, really, I don’t. If this goes well, I’ll have a celebratory glass of champagne at my club. If it doesn’t, I’ll have a soothing glass of brandy in my study.”
