His heart stopped. Or at least that was how it felt. Because Mrs. Lamont wasn’t alone. She was standing with flour-covered arms elbow deep in a bowl, kneading dough while laughing in response to something one of the much-too-young-and-far-too-handsome footmen was saying. His name was Matt Cleaver and while William hadn’t really had an opinion about him before, he suddenly disliked him intensely.
Don’t engage.
Ignoring his own sage advice, William moved farther into the room, until he was able to see Mrs. Lamont’s pink cheeks and the smudge of flour across her chin. A stray lock of hair curled next to her brow and her eyes, while downcast and focused upon her chore, crinkled at the edges with amusement.
An ugly sensation grew inside William, writhing and clawing until he felt sick. Clearly the roast beef he’d had for luncheon at that new place one of his friends had recommended was disagreeing with him.
What else could it possibly be?
Forcing a bland smile, he looked at Matt. The footman hadn’t noticed him yet. Neither had Mrs. Lamont. But that was about to change.
“If I knew baking could be such fun, I’d have taken it up years ago,” he drawled.
Matt’s head jerked sideways until he found William. “Mr. Townsbridge.”
“Indeed.” William noted that Mrs. Lamont had chosen not to deign him with her attention.
He reached out toward the bread rolls, allowing his hand to hover above them. Matt sucked in a breath and Mrs. Lamont slowed her movements. There was a pause in which it felt as if the continued existence of the world was at stake.
And then she glanced toward him and said, “If you touch those right now, you do so at your own peril.”
Oddly, instead of getting annoyed, the most peculiar compulsion to sweep her into his arms and kiss her struck him squarely in the chest. Feeling brave – at least a great deal braver than what was probably wise – William raised a brow and lowered his hand.
The footman took a step back and shook his head.Don’t do it.
Mrs. Lamont’s brilliant blue gaze latched onto William’s, jolting his heart into rapid motion. He wasn’t sure what compelled him, perhaps her domestic appearance, her challenging gaze, the dreadful sensation twisting around in his gut, or possibly all three combined, but rather than withdraw, he grabbed a bread roll and shoved it into his mouth while staring straight at her.
#
ELOISE WASN’T SUREhow to react. Ordinarily she would have yelled at anyone brave enough to tamper with the food she prepared. But Mr. Townsbridge had more right to the freshly baked bread rolls than a servant. Yet she had warned him, so she really ought to follow through with her threat. He had thwarted her after all, challenged her even, and if she did nothing in response, she would be yielding to his control.
Somehow, she had to regain the upper hand. It was the only way for her to maintain her composure, to not lose herself in all the odd feelings he stirred within her, to recover from his sudden appearance after not seeing him for nearly a week.
She’d enjoyed their outing to the market more than she ought. And she’d expected him to show up in the kitchen no later than the following day. But then he hadn’t, and rather than dismiss the issue, it had prompted her to wonder when she would see him again and why he was staying away, and oh, she almost wished he would go back to where he had come from so she could stop feeling so edgy.
At least then he’d be out of her life for good.
Except now he was here, watching her while he chewed on a bread roll. A smug gleam in his eyes dared her to do her worst.
Pulling her shoulders back, she raised her chin and removed her hands from the dough she’d been kneading. “Those aren’t intended for you. They’re meant for your mother’s charity event this evening, and now I am one short.”
Mr. Townsbridge swallowed the bite. Brief hesitation dulled his eyes before he narrowed his gaze and said, “My mother hasn’t mentioned any charity event to me. I think you’re bluffing.”
“I never bluff.” Flattening her mouth into a straight line, Eloise placed her hands on her hips. “My schedule is calculated with exact precision, Mr. Townsbridge. I don’t have time to make additional bread rolls now.”
He glanced at the half eaten one in his hand. “Er...”
“Neither do any of the other servants, so that leaves you.”
Mr. Townsbridge’s mouth fell open. Matt sputtered something inaudible that sounded like a combination of humor and shock. Eloise hoped he would leave before he upset her goal.
“You’re making a new dough right now, though,” Mr. Townsbridge said. “I can see it from where I’m standing.”
“That is the pie dough for luncheon tomorrow.”
“But—”
“Unless you wish to disrupt your mother’s event by denying one of her guests a bread roll, you ought to clean your hands, grab that bowl, and begin measuring flour.”
