by Joanna Shupe
“Wait,” he said. “Remove your gloves.”
She gaped at him. “What? But that’s . . .”
“Inappropriate? Scandalous? Shocking? Yes, I know. That is what makes life worth living, dear Alice. Come on. Remove those shackles of society and touch my hand.”
She stared at her hands. Then, with a dexterity that surprised him, she undid the pearl buttons at her wrist and began pulling the glove off. He took it from her, nodding to her other glove. “Now that one.”
“But—” The stern look he gave her eliminated any complaints, and Alice quickly did as he asked.
He pocketed both her gloves, then held up his hand once again. “When you’re ready.”
Inhaling, she squared her shoulders and wrapped her fingers around his entire hand, as if she were worried he might bolt. When he didn’t move, she caught his gaze. “And?”
“That’s up to you. But you can’t let go, not just yet.”
“Well, this is silly.” She shifted on her feet. “How long are we supposed to stand here?”
“As long as it takes.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
He tried not to smile. “I know. Humor me.”
As the seconds ticked by, her body relaxed bit by bit. Kit waited patiently, standing perfectly still, as Alice grew more comfortable with him. Finally, after what felt like forever, he received his reward.
Alice’s fingers began to move, shifting gingerly, testing the structure of his hand. Learning the shape of his bones. Not teasing so much as exploring, her gaze locked on where they were joined. She brushed the dark hairs on his knuckles. Examined his fingernails and studied his palm. Her soft touch and blossoming curiosity had his pulse picking up. He was more the participating type, so letting her take the lead was strangely thrilling.
He had no idea what she would do next.
Her thumb ran over the vein on the back of his hand. “You don’t wear gloves much, do you?”
“Hmm? Oh, gloves. Hate the blasted things.”
She traced along his index finger, lingering on his knuckle and causing him to shiver. She said, “Your fingers are long and thin. Most men have thick fingers.”
Her exploration grew more specific. After cataloguing each finger and fingertip, she caressed the lines embedded in his palm. They both watched her progress, their heads bent close together. The breeze carried her scent into his nostrils and she smelled like vanilla and a hint of orange. Heat unfurled in his chest and slid south, toward his groin. He imagined licking her neck, then lower, between her breasts . . .
Pull yourself together, Christopher.
He absolutely could not return to the tent with an erection.
“I hadn’t thought your skin would be so rough,” she said as if this were a great discovery. “Is it because you don’t wear gloves?”
“Probably,” he croaked, the word scraping over his dry throat.
Sighing, she threaded their fingers together snugly, her delicate hand finally flush with his. He hadn’t moved or offered up any instruction whatsoever, but it felt like the sweetest victory.
“Strange,” she said, still staring at their hands.
“What is strange?”
“You were right. I was scared of touching your hand. And now I’m not.” She gave a light, surprised laugh. “It’s astounding.”
He cleared his throat and tried to sound matter-of-fact. “Good. We should head back to the tent.”
“Oh, of course.” She pulled away and shook her head. “I lost track of the time.”
As did I.
In moments, he returned her gloves and buttoned them for her. After picking up their eggs, he led them back to the tent. Kit tried to think logically about what happened, that it was nothing more than a few simple swipes of her fingers over his skin. After all, women had touched him far more intimately than that nearly every day for the last eight years. He should be inured to it by now.
But he wasn’t. He’d wanted Alice to keep going, which was dangerous. If this was to work, he had to remember his role, that he was preparing her for another man—not seducing her himself. Give her some advice, help build her confidence, get Franconi’s recipes and move on. That was it.
“Did that bother you?” she asked in a tight voice.
“Touching my hand? No. Why would it?”
“You’re quiet. It caused me to think I did something wrong.”
“Of course not,” he rushed out. He tried to keep it light. “I’ve been touched in far worse places—but only when I ask nicely.”
She didn’t laugh. “If I fail at one of our lessons, then you have to tell me. Otherwise, how will I learn?”
Oh, he didn’t think Alice would have trouble learning in the least. Indeed, based on the last ten minutes, he predicted she’d become a siren in hardly any time at all.
The question was whether he could survive it.
The filet de boeuf melted on Alice’s tongue, the meat unbelievably tender and flavorful. Sautéed chanterelle mushrooms, not usually found at this time of year, accompanied the rich sauce drizzled on top. Alice would need to ask the cook, Mrs. Berman, where those mushrooms had come from. Perhaps she could bring some back to Chef Franconi. His chanterelle soup always made her feel better when she was down in the doldrums, which was often when she was around her mother.
Tonight’s dinner had been quite enjoyable thus far. Alice was seated between Katherine Delafield and one of the chaperones, with her mother placed at the other end of the long table. Maddie had done this purposely, and Alice was grateful for it. Mama tended to carry a dark cloud wherever she went.
Best of all, however, Kit sat directly across from her. It was certainly no hardship to sneak the occasional peek at his handsome features as he entertained those around him. He really was charming, with a quick wit and broad smile. Their half of the table practically hung on his every word, the jovial mood spreading to anyone in earshot.
As she savored a bite of beef, her gaze drifted to Kit’s bare fingers, now wrapped around his wineglass. I touched those. She knew the roughness of his skin, the silkiness of the fine hair. He was strong yet delicate, with long fingers more suited to mischief than hard labor.
Katherine leaned over. “How was your afternoon, Alice?”
“Lovely, actually. Again, congratulations on winning.”
Katherine, along with Mr. Archer, had won all three prizes in the afternoon’s egg hunt. She’d graciously given Alice, the second-place winner, the diamond bracelet. “Thank you, though I believe my partner deserves the credit. It was as if Mr. Archer had a map with the location of every egg.”
“Mr. Ward was much the same way. Hence how we came in second.”
“And how was that? Did you two have fun?”
“We did. He’s very easy to talk with.”
“Oh.” Katherine’s brows rose along with the tone of her voice.
“What?”
“Nothing. I thought I caught you staring at him a moment ago.”
Alice tried to laugh, but it came out more like a strangled sound. “Why would I stare at him?”
“I couldn’t say, but I hope you’re being careful.”
“About what?”
“Not falling under his spell.” Katherine tilted her head in Kit’s direction. “He’s quite the charmer, but certainly not the settling-down kind.”
“Oh, there’s nothing to worry about there. He would never be interested in someone like me.”
“What do you mean, someone like you?”
“You know, boring. He’s so . . .” She waved her hand, trying to come up with the right word. “Much.”
“Alice.” Katherine put down her fork and moved closer. “Do not for one second think he wouldn’t seduce you if given the chance. You are pretty and a kind person. So take it from me, Mr. Ward and his friends are absolute scoundrels.”
“His friends? You mean like Mr. Archer?” Harrison had seemed quite nice, actually.
“Harrison’
s not a bad sort. I meant Preston Clarke. He and Kit are . . . Well, don’t get any romantic notions in your head, is all I am saying.”
“Sounds like you are speaking from experience. Have you and Mr. Ward . . . ?”
“God, no. Just be on guard at all times.”
Odd that Katherine hadn’t offered up the same denial about Mr. Clarke.
Alice nodded once. “I will. Thank you.” She couldn’t help but smile. It was nice to have other women looking out for her.
There hadn’t been much opportunity to make friends in Boston. Her mother rarely allowed her to socialize with girls her own age, saying they were all vapid and silly, and Alice had been tutored at home rather than a finishing school. During the season, Mama kept Alice close, saying there were too many dangers in New York to allow her any independence. Consequently, Alice spent most of her time in the hotel, either in her room alone or in the kitchen with Chef Franconi.
“You’re welcome.” Katherine picked up her wineglass. “Like my aunt says: know your worth. If we think so little of ourselves it becomes all too easy for others to do the same.”
“That is good advice.”
“It has certainly helped me through some low moments.”
That was a surprising revelation. Katherine seemed put together, as far as Alice could tell. Mature, with a good head on her shoulders. She’d just returned from an extended stay in Spain, too. Alice longed to travel, but Mama wouldn’t hear of it. Dining on French cuisine was as adventurous as Mama allowed. “I’m sorry to hear you struggled. Was it a scoundrel?”
“In a way.” Katherine took a long swallow of wine. “So learn from my mistakes, Alice.”
Alice slid her eyes toward Kit and was shocked to find him staring at her. He quirked a brow, and she could see the curiosity in his gaze. Alice had no idea what to do or say, her stomach knotted in the face of his gorgeous intensity. My goodness, he was potent.
Dinner soon ended. Everyone rose and the ladies departed for the drawing room, while the men remained at the dining table. As Alice walked, her mother came alongside. “I do not like being separated from you at dinner,” Mama said in a low, disapproving tone. “I should be close to serve as your chaperone.”
“Nothing untoward will happen at the dinner table. And you were seated near the duke tonight. That is certainly an honor.”
Mama sniffed. “A good thing, too. You were focused on your food instead of the other guests, as usual. At least I was able to converse with His Grace. You would have bored him silly. Now, remember to stand up straight. You want to impress him, make him think of you as a potential duchess.”
Alice inwardly sighed. She’d exchanged two words with the duke since meeting him, and his interest seemed entirely concentrated on Maddie.
“And,” her mother continued, “stay away from that good-for-nothing Mr. Ward. He is not the sort I want you associating with.”
Alice didn’t bother arguing. It never did any good and would merely exhaust her. “Shall I get you coffee before I visit the facilities?” Her mother’s joints were in constant pain and she preferred when Alice handled the pouring.
“Yes, and hurry. You know I hate relying on strangers.”
Indeed, Alice knew this. Soon she had her mother settled with coffee and then she was able to escape for the washroom. The chateau was large, built like a cathedral with stone buttresses and high ceilings, and it took several minutes to walk the long corridors. After she finished in the washroom, she started back, taking her time before returning to hover and wait on Mama.
“And where are you going?”
Alice jumped at the deep voice, her hand covering her heart as if to keep it from popping out of her chest. Kit stepped out of the dark room in which he’d been lurking, a smirk affixed on his face.
Tiny shocks continued along her frame, quickly followed by flutters in her stomach. “Kit, my goodness. You scared me.”
His fingers wrapped around her forearm and he pulled her into the empty room. “I apologize.” He released her. “I wanted to check on you.”
“Oh.” Was he worried she would get lost? “As you can see, I am fine. Shall we return?”
“Am I making you nervous?”
“No, why?”
“You’re edging toward the door as if you want to escape.”
She planted her feet. “I’m not used to having a man drag me into a dark room.”
“Admittedly, the dark room bit normally goes differently for me, but I won’t bore you with those sordid details. Did you hear back from Franconi?”
“I did. He’s agreed to five thousand per recipe.”
“Christ. That’s dashed expensive, but I suppose it’s worth it.” He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “And you know each of these recipes?”
“I do. Down to the tiniest detail.”
“Excellent. We’ll begin tonight. I’ll write Franconi a check when we return to New York.”
Excitement raced through her, centering in her chest. “I’ll come to your room after my mother goes to bed.”
“No. I have plans, so I’ll come to you.”
Her shoulders deflated as questions buzzed through her mind. What were these plans? Was he leaving? Was he meeting another woman? Mary, perhaps? “All right.”
“You may ask me, if you wish.”
Had she been so obvious? “It’s really none of my business.”
“True, but we are friends now, Alice. I don’t mind answering personal questions.”
“Are you meeting another woman?” she blurted.
“I am not. The duke and I are headed to the casino.”
The amount of relief she felt was embarrassing. Why did she care what Kit did in his free time? They were not lovers or partners. They barely knew each other. She had no right to feel proprietary over him. “If you want to meet another woman—”
“Stop right there.” He held up a hand. “I don’t and I won’t, not during the house party. I plan to dedicate all my energies to our mutual cause.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s no need to thank me. This is not altruism on my part. I’ll get as many recipes out of you and Franconi as I can manage in the next few days.”
For some reason, that promise made her shiver.
This is not seduction. He will provide you with information, that’s all.
“Actually,” he said, stroking his jaw. “We should probably meet in my room. Farther away from your mother, and if your absence is noted you can say you went out for a walk.”
Good point. “Fine. Just send word when you are back.”
“I’ll throw a pebble at your window.”
“You will?”
“No.” His mouth hitched. “I’ll just knock softly on your door.”
That made much more sense. “I’ll wait up.”
“Excellent.” He stepped closer. Before she knew what he was doing, he lifted a hand and dragged his knuckles across her cheek. “I’ll hurry.”
She froze at the simple touch—which seemed anything but simple, actually. It felt intimate, like a promise of what was to come. A wave of heat followed where he’d brushed her skin and perspiration broke out on her forehead. Her lungs began to burn, and she realized she wasn’t breathing. She forced air into her throat, gulping like a fish, grateful that she hadn’t passed out in front of him.
Then she realized she was alone.
Sweet mercy, how was she going to keep from fawning at this man’s feet every time they were together?
Chapter Four
Kit whistled softly to himself as he made his way through the upstairs corridor. He’d just knocked on Alice’s door, which meant their first real lesson would soon get under way.
He could hardly wait.
Throughout the night he’d watched the time, anxious to leave the casino behind and return to the chateau. He hadn’t cared a bit about gambling, but taking the duke out on the town had been for Harrison’s benefit, to give his friend more time alone with M
addie before all hell broke loose. Because Kit had a feeling the duke was not here for a simple visit. Engagement rumors were rarely wrong in circumstances such as this, and Lockwood’s sudden appearance meant Maddie would soon receive a proposal.
And if she said yes, God help them all.
Once inside his bedchamber, Kit removed his topcoat and tossed it on the bed. Then he unknotted his bow tie and removed his collar. Alice might not appreciate his state of undress, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d been in these clothes all damn night and was itching to get out of them. If Alice didn’t like it, that was too bad.
He’d just finished putting away his budgets and notes on the supper club when the door opened. Alice slid inside, still dressed in her evening gown. Her hair was slightly askew, as if she’d been lying down while waiting on him. Had she imagined being his willing pupil? He couldn’t stop thinking of it, like how she’d hang on his every word, rapt with attention, eager for instruction and guidance. With her big, doe-eyed gaze focused on him, watching and waiting, while her brain absorbed his expertise on men and women. Perhaps she’d ask for more personal instruction at the end of the lesson as a way to get in the teacher’s good graces . . .
Damn. There he went again, off on a prurient tangent and forgetting with whom he was dealing.
Exhaling, he poured them each a glass of bourbon. “Shall we sit?”
She nodded and followed him to the armchairs near the fire. When they were settled, he stretched his legs and took a long drink. “So, what would you like to know about men?”
“Wait, before we begin.” She held out a piece of paper. “That is the recipe for lobster thermidor.”
“Thank you.” He took the recipe and slid it into his trouser pocket. “It’s one of my favorites.”
“Mine, too.”
“Considering Franconi was your family’s chef, you’ve probably had it many times.”
A tiny smile emerged and she sat straighter. “I can still remember the first time Angelo served lobster thermidor. He returned from Paris, where he’d visited Chef Mourier and learned of the dish. Knowing how much I like lobster à la Newburg, he prepared lobster thermidor as a surprise for my sixteenth birthday.”