by Joanna Shupe
“Not if I can avoid it. Introspection is not my forte.” Something in his voice sounded off. Hollow, almost.
“Thinking doesn’t always mean introspection.”
“I believe that is the very definition.”
“Hardly. Introspection is more when—” When he grinned, his aim became glaringly obvious. She narrowed her eyes. “You were trying to get me to talk.”
“Guilty. Still, isn’t that better than being lost in your own head?”
Yes, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it. “Shall we go back?”
“Let’s keep going. This will lead us to the edge of the property, behind the gardens. Look, there’s another egg.”
Sure enough, he was right. She added the egg to the pile in his hat. “You don’t strike me as the type of man to enjoy an egg hunt, yet you are surprisingly good at it.”
“See? And you were disappointed to be my partner.”
Was that what he believed? “Not disappointed. Embarrassed.”
“Which we already discussed. You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about.”
She disagreed, but wasn’t up to debating it at the moment. “Furthermore, I know you’d rather be paired with anyone else.”
“Not true. I was already planning to get you alone to check on you. From the moment I walked into the tent you ignored me.”
Her brows pulled together. “I didn’t think you’d notice.” Or care.
“Of course I noticed.” He stopped and held her arm, his grip tight without causing her pain. “I saw you right away, staring at your hands and not meeting my eye. I was worried about you.”
Her face slackened in surprise and she blinked several times. “Why?”
The edge of his mouth curled, and he dragged his free hand through his dark hair, making it even more unruly. “I don’t know. Probably because I didn’t like disappointing you last night.”
“And you thought you’d broken me, was that it?”
“Broken is a harsh word,” he muttered, but didn’t deny it.
Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “You have an inflated sense of yourself, sir.” Instantly, she covered her mouth, horrified. “Oh, that was rude. Forgive me.”
He didn’t appear offended, however. “No need to apologize. Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are when you’re riled?”
Pretty. The word wrapped around her and sank into her flesh, deep into her bones, nourishing her like a plant starving for water. Kit thought she was pretty? Or . . . was he just trying to make her feel better? Unsure, she turned and started walking.
“Wait up.” His long legs easily caught up. “Why are you hurrying away?”
She didn’t know how to put it other than to tell the truth. “You needn’t ply me with false flattery. You’ve already turned me down, remember?”
“I’ve never lied to you, Alice.” He stepped in front of her, leaving her no choice but to stop. “And I told you why I turned you down. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Fine, but may we never speak of it again? It is mortifying.”
Something in her voice must have convinced him because he raised his free hand in surrender. “Consider it a forbidden topic.”
“Good.” Sighing, she pointed to the stone steps ahead. “Let’s go up and find more eggs.”
Once they were on the back part of the chateau’s property, he pointed them toward an old potter’s shed. “Over there.”
“Are you certain?” The structure appeared one stiff breeze away from falling over.
“Trust me.”
She followed him to the shed, which was hardly bigger than a coat closet. He opened the door. “After you.”
Inside, he set his hat containing their eggs on a large upside-down pot. The shed was stacked with sacks of dirt and feed, rakes and other gardening equipment. There wasn’t much space to move about.
She looked around. “Do you really think there are eggs in here? We are quite far from the tent.”
Kit headed for a large piece of machinery in the corner. “At least two, if I were to guess. Look behind those bags over there.”
Sure enough, three eggs were eventually located behind bags, pots and garden utensils. When they were back outside, Kit said, “So, what shall we discuss if not that off-limits topic?”
As if she had a clue. “No doubt you’ll come up with something.”
“Well, I do have excellent conversation skills with the opposite sex, but I fear pointing that out would bring us around to that off-limits topic.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or grind her teeth. He was impossible. And sort of adorable. The teasing words fell from her mouth easily. “It’s becoming clear that I should have tried to get to know you better before visiting your room last night.”
He gasped like an actor in the third act of a murder mystery. “Are you saying you would have reconsidered had you known me? You wound me, cruel woman.”
She bit her lip, feeling lighter than she had in ages. This type of natural rapport was new for her. Kit deserved most of the credit, of course. He made everything so effortless.
Joking aside, she did have a desire to learn more about him. Perhaps he wouldn’t give her lessons in seduction, but she might be able to discover the secret to his confidence, the joie de vivre that ensured his appeal. “I am curious about your hobbies and your interests. What do you do with all your nonintrospection time?”
He chuckled and pleasure wound through her, her chest ballooning with the simple delight of amusing this charming man. Hardly anyone laughed with her. Some of the hotel staff would occasionally converse with her but—other than the kitchen staff—they mostly kept a polite distance.
“If you can believe it, I am in the process of opening a supper club,” he said. “I am soon to become a nighttime purveyor of good food and good times.”
“Is that like a social club?”
“Sort of. A social club open at night that provides various forms of entertainment. One opened a few years ago in the Metropolitan Opera House after the fire. It’s a small secret club among a certain set, but I’d like to do a bigger version.”
“That . . . actually sounds perfect for you.”
“Thank you. I cannot claim all the credit. My friend Preston is the other half of the venture.”
“Preston Clarke, the builder?” She wasn’t from New York, but she knew the name.
“You’ve heard of him? Oh, look in that bush. I think I see an egg.”
Alice plucked the blue egg off the ground and added it to the pile that Kit carried. “Mr. Clarke came to the hotel where I’m staying. He was trying to lure the chef away.”
Kit’s head swiveled sharply. “You’re staying at the Fifth Avenue Hotel?”
“Yes. My mother likes the rooms.”
“And how do you know this—about Preston and the chef?”
“I was there.”
He came to an abrupt halt and one egg tumbled from his hat down to the ground. His body went oddly still. “You were there? Where, in the kitchens?”
Alice picked the errant egg off the ground and put it back in his hat. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Under no circumstances would she reveal this secret to him—or anyone else. Her mother forbade Alice’s interest in cooking eons ago. Instead, she shrugged and tried not to notice how his confusion only made him more appealing. “I just go in there sometimes.”
“Balderdash. An evasion, if I’ve ever heard one. You may confide in me.” He dipped to stare into her eyes. “Do they sneak you extra cake every now and then?”
Please. She could make her own cake.
“No—and you’ll laugh if I tell you. Goodness knows I already have enough to be embarrassed about with you.”
“Again, there is no embarrassment and you simply must tell me. I’ll chuck these eggs into the ocean if you don’t.”
She gestured toward the water behind them. “Go ahead. I don’t need the jewelry.” She ha
d more than she’d ever wear, thanks to her father.
“I promise, I won’t laugh.”
He looked so sincere that her resolve weakened. “Do you swear?”
Kit used a finger to cross his heart. “If I laugh, I’ll give you those lessons you asked for, promise to Maddie be damned.”
How could she lose? She lifted her chin. “Angelo is a friend and he—”
“Wait.” His jaw fell and he shook his head as if trying to clear it. “Angelo? Are you talking about Chef Franconi? The Chef Franconi?”
“Yes. He worked for my family in Boston for years before moving to New York.” She’d spent her whole childhood in his kitchen asking questions and learning all she could about food.
“This is amazing. You have to help us.”
“Help you with what?”
“Franconi, of course. He keeps refusing us. We’ve been trying to hire him.”
“He won’t leave the hotel.” Angelo loved it there and they paid him handsomely. Furthermore, being the head chef in an established hotel such as the Fifth Avenue was a feather in the cap of any chef. Going to a new venture, like a supper club, was a step backward.
“Do you know that for certain?”
“Absolute certainty.”
Kit stared off into the distance, his eyes vacant. “Damn.”
“There are other chefs,” she pointed out.
“Yes, but none that can cook like Franconi. He’s the very best in the city, possibly the country. Do you think he’d sell us a few of his recipes? Then we could still be associated with his name without hiring him.”
“I don’t know. He might.” An idea began to brew in the back of her mind, a devious plan where everyone came out ahead. “Out of curiosity, which recipes are you most interested in?”
“Well, the ducklings à la bigarade, of course. And the chicken dish, the one with the rice.”
“Poulardes à la Portugaise,” she supplied. “What else?”
“The lobster thermidor.” He stroked his jaw with his free hand. “I’d have to think about it, I suppose, but six or seven main courses and a few desserts should do it.” He grinned at her. “This is fantastic. I can’t wait to tell Preston that we’ve got an in with Chef Franconi.”
“I haven’t agreed to help you yet.”
His happiness faded as he studied her face. “And what would it take to convince you to help us?”
Alice didn’t answer, instead letting the silence drag out. He was a smart man; let him figure it out.
His brows slowly rose and his lips twisted into an impressed smile. “Oh, I see. Well done, Alice. It seems you’ll get those lessons, after all.”
“Really? You’ll do it?”
“If Franconi agrees, yes. I assume you’ll need to talk to him once we’re back in the city.”
“Not necessary.”
“Don’t we need him to agree to share the recipes with us?”
“Yes, he’d need to agree, but the recipes are here.” She tapped her temple.
“You’ve memorized Franconi’s recipes?”
Yes, as she’d made most of the chef’s dishes many times before, including the ones Kit wanted to buy. “Nearly all of them, actually. I will cable him this afternoon to arrange a price.”
“Excellent. So, you’ll spend the day tomorrow writing them down for me and, in exchange, I’ll give you some tips on how to appeal to whichever man your heart desires.”
That sounded . . . abrupt. She didn’t want tips. She wanted to be transformed. After all, her future depended on it. She had to convince him to do more than jot down a few hints.
No, this wouldn’t do.
Fortunately, if Alice had learned one thing from her father, it was how to negotiate. Daddy owned the second-largest transport shipping company in the world, with steamships and cargo ships all over the globe. He always said never to accept the first offer.
Lifting her chin, she tried to put some force behind her voice. “No.”
“I don’t understand. I am offering to help you in exchange for the recipes. It’s a fair trade.”
“Sharing those recipes for a few hints is hardly fair. No, you’ll have to do better. Fair is a full lesson for every recipe I give you.”
Chapter Three
Kit studied the slight woman at his side. For a supposedly shy person, Alice could certainly drive a hard bargain. Yet, he still didn’t have a clue as to what she expected of him. “A full lesson? Like how to kiss in exchange for ducklings à la bigarade?”
Color dotted her cheeks, and her gaze grew slightly unfocused. Was she considering it? He’d love a peek inside her mind right now, just to discover if she fancied the idea of kissing him or not.
Because the more he was around Alice, the more he definitely wanted to kiss her.
“That would hardly be proper,” she said. “And as I mentioned last night, questions and answers should do.”
“What about role-playing?” He could think of several naughty games they could play together, like the farmhand and the milkmaid. The footman and the wealthy widow. The shopgirl and the—
She’s a virgin.
Damn. He exhaled and tried to remember where he was and with whom he was dealing. Whatever happened, he could not corrupt her.
“Perhaps,” she said, clearly oblivious to the lascivious meaning behind his suggestion of role-playing. “We’ll have to see. Do we have a deal?”
“Fine, I agree.” What did he have to lose? Spend a few hours with this clever, unconventional girl to get several of Franconi’s recipes? There was no downside. “I’ll cable you once we’re back in New York to set up a—”
“No, no. It must be here. This weekend.”
Kit’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. “Here? But I’ve already explained why that’s impossible. Maddie will shove me onto a spit and roast me alive.”
The little minx merely lifted a shoulder and began strolling toward the tent. “Dash it,” Kit muttered, and started after her. “Why can’t this wait until we’re in the city?”
“You said it yourself. I won’t be able to slip away in the city, not like I can here.”
“But . . .”
If only he didn’t want those recipes so badly . . .
If only Preston had been able to convince Franconi on his own . . .
If only Maddie hadn’t warned him off the young ladies . . .
Speaking of Maddie, her beau had just arrived, which doubled the number of men interested in her at this house party. Would their hostess now be too distracted to keep a tab on what Kit was doing with the guests?
He did love a good gamble.
“All right, Alice. We’ll start tonight.”
“Really?”
She kept her gaze on the ground as they walked, but the twin spots of color were back on her cheeks. He loved those sweet blushes of hers. “Indeed. Only four nights remain, so we must maximize our lesson time. Though daytime works, as well.” He’d need to capitalize on every opportunity if he planned to get a decent number of recipes.
They approached the edge of the gardens, where a large topiary loomed. One of the Roosevelt girls had coaxed Kit behind it two summers ago and . . . well, they hadn’t been discovered for hours.
Hadn’t been discovered . . . Hmm.
“Let’s go this way.” He clasped her elbow gently. “I want to start our lessons.”
“Now?”
“No time like the present. Follow me, Alice.”
They made it about four steps before she dug in her heels. Balancing the ridiculous eggs hampered his ability to maneuver, so he stopped, as well. “Are you changing your mind already?”
“I haven’t even cabled Chef Franconi yet. There’s a chance you’ll receive nothing in return.”
Her eyes were more green than brown in the sunlight, and he was transfixed. She was lovely, with a delicate nose and flawless skin, full lips that were slightly torn, as if she’d recently been biting them. Was this from worrying about her future? He
didn’t like the idea of this clever girl hurting herself out of anxiety.
That was when he decided the recipes could wait.
“This lesson is free. Come along.” He tugged her elbow, leaving her no choice.
When they rounded the shrub, he set the hat full of eggs on the ground. The diamond-shaped topiary would conceal them, in the unlikely event that another guest wandered by. Alice twisted her fingers into her skirts and looked around, as if they’d be caught at any moment. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Trust me, no one can see us back here.”
“How do you know?” He merely arched a brow at her, his lips curved in a half smile. Understanding dawned on her face. “You have past experience with this location.”
“That’s not important. For this to work, you must trust me. I’ll not tell anyone of what we’re doing and I won’t let us be caught.”
She studied his expression, then nodded. “I believe you.”
“Good. Now, we haven’t much time.” He held up his arm. “Our first lesson? Holding my hand.”
“What? No.” Alice took a step backward. “Why do I need to touch you?”
“Your reaction is precisely why, Alice. No one is around.” He gestured to the sprawling emptiness of the estates surrounding them. “If I had to guess, you believe men are too different, too strange for you to understand. That you are somehow inferior. Well, despite what the politicians tell you, women are not inferior. At all. They are fascinating and beautiful and intelligent. And the right look from a woman can bring a man to his knees.”
She swallowed, her eyes dipping to his hand. “Really?”
“Yes, but first I want you to hold my hand. That’s all. See that I’m made up of skin and bones, just like you.” Gloveless, he wiggled his bare fingers.
“How is this going to help me seduce my future husband?”
“Do not question the master as he paints a canvas. Here we are. Take my hand.”
Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth, yet he didn’t rush her. He couldn’t force her to take his advice to heart and he certainly couldn’t do anything against her will. No, this had to be all Alice.
Slowly, she reached out, as if she were about to touch a rabid animal.