“Then tie better knots!”
He laughed, once again enjoying this girl’s pluck while he loosened his hold and reached for a biscuit beside her. Only she slapped his hand so fast he was shocked, but no more than she. She recoiled from his grasp, immediately sucking in her breath.
“My lord, I did not mean to?—”
“Swat at me as if I were a child?” His mood swiftly darkened as he twisted her arm behind her and pressed her body flush against the table. “I’ll grant a mistress some allowances, Charles, but cross me too far and you’ll be punished for it.”
“Truly, my lord, I did not mean to?—”
“I’ve a mind to take you right now,” he hissed, “whether you want me or not.” He slid his free hand up her thigh, there between her legs, as her body trembled with what he could only assume was rage and fear and . . . Wells clucked low in his throat. “Or maybe you won’t mind at all, goodness you’re slick.”
***
Charles scowled at him, furious yet again at the awful effect this man had on her disastrously disloyal body. “The pan was hot, sir, and I did not wish your fingers burnt.” She slowed her breathing to try to calm her racing pulse. “But by all means, please,scaldyourself.”
He relaxed his grip but did not release her, his hand still plying her slippery folds until she had to bite her sore lip to keep from moaning.
“Go on then,” he breathed in her ear. “Don’t let me stop your biscuit making.” She could hear the mirth in his voice. “I shall simply wait until the pan’s cooled and you’ve grown warmer still for me.”
She let out a growl of pure frustration then, for his hand was now working her in earnest, even as he bid her finish the dough, teasing her in a low tone that he was hungry, and wasn’t she hungry too? He’d like to feed her, he whispered lower still, feed her and fill her till she was fit to?—
And she burst, legs shaking from the waves of pleasure that crashed over her as he kept her upright, then turned her about to read her face, beaded with sweat and rife with what Charles hoped was abundantly clear: unadulterated fury.
Wells removed his hand from her legs and before her very eyes licked his fingers clean, making her blush to the roots of her hair.
“You are one delicious fox,” he told her, smiling wickedly. “Let us see if your biscuits taste just as good.” He reached for the pan, this time with care. “I see they are indeed quite hot still. You were right to warn me off.”
His words only infuriated her more.
“Perhaps I will believe you next time,” he taunted.
And that did it. She grabbed the rolling pin from the table and wriggled out from under him, inching towards the door, clutching it tight.
“Now don’t do anything rash, Charles.” Lord Wellesley bit into her biscuit. “These are quite good, you know. I assume you bake bread too?”
She stared him down, attempting to gauge his next move, and her own. “My lord,” she leveled at him, “any woman worth her salt can bake.”
“Then it is indeed good we have a woman now at Almsdale. I shall expect a fresh loaf daily from you, miss.”
She studied him from a distance as she continued her slow creep towards the door, testing the rolling pin’s heft as if weighing her fate. She considered again her options, reconsidered why she’d made biscuits at all, and in a flash she had decided. “May I ask, sir, how long you intend to remain in Cumberland without a cook?”
“I intend to bring a chef from London eventually.” He grabbed another biscuit before he moved to fetch a kettle and set this upon the stove. “Or send for one from France.”
She was amazed he knew how to boil water, further amazed to see this lofty lord open a sack of beans, grind them in a mill, and retrieve two mugs from a kitchen cupboard. It struck her again how he did not behave like a duke’s heir. And the smell of fresh ground coffee began to make her mouth water.
“We’ve some fine cooks here, my lord,” she carefully chose her words, “who’d suit your kitchen well, should you look to hire sooner.”
“Do you now?” he asked over his shoulder. “I suppose I might sample their cuisine.” He smiled at her. “I am beginning to think there are some hidden treasures here in Cumberland.” His eyes met hers. “Unexpected, but most pleasing.”
“Not all that glitters is gold, Lord Wellesley.” Charles inched closer to the room’s threshold.
“Yet still you stand in my kitchen, miss, not made off with my rolling pin and halfway out the Abbey.”
She narrowed her gaze. “You took my clothes, sir, so I am hardly in a position to flee—for now.” She halted her step.
“Youdoseem to care an awful lot about your reputation.”
She watched him remove the boiling kettle to pour hot liquid over the beans, the smell hitting her nose so deliciously she could not help but inhale. The scent brought back such bittersweet, long-buried memories that she involuntarily stepped forward.
