by Joanna Shupe
“How lovely. I actually ate it in Paris when I visited Harrison a year ago. We dined at Maison Maire.”
Brows rising, she leaned in. “Oh, I am so envious. Tell me everything. Was the food as delicious as I’ve heard? Did you meet Chef Mourier? And did he melt Gruyère on top? I’ve seen other chefs use various cheeses, but Angelo and I agree Gruyère works best.”
Kit drank his bourbon and studied her in fascination. She’d come alive discussing lobster thermidor, of all things, her face now radiant and her eyes sparkling. Who would’ve guessed it? This was a very different person than the girl who’d clung to her mother’s side after dinner, not speaking to anyone. This Alice was intelligent and passionate, brimming with excitement.
When he didn’t answer, she shrank in her chair and shook her head. “I must be making a fool of myself. Ignore me. Please, go on with the lesson.”
“You are not making a fool of yourself,” he rushed out. “I am merely admiring your enthusiasm. I had no idea you were so passionate about food.”
“I’m not. I like to eat.” Her hand shook as she brought the crystal tumbler to her lips. She took a small sip of the spirits, then grimaced. “Oh, that’s terrible.”
“Give it time. The taste will grow on you—sort of like Gruyère.”
She snorted a laugh, and then covered her mouth. “That was unladylike. Forgive me.”
Had she any idea of how adorable she was? Warmth slid through him, a heat unrelated to the bourbon. “It was genuine. I liked it.”
“My mother would be horrified. She hates the way I laugh.”
“Considering the circumstances”—he gestured to the two of them—“I think that would be the least of her concerns.”
“True.” She attempted the bourbon again, but didn’t appear to like it any better the second time. “May I ask you questions now?”
“I am at your disposal, Miss Lusk. Ask away.”
Drawing in a deep breath, she held out another piece of paper. “Here they are.”
“You wrote your questions down?” He put his glass on the table and accepted the paper. “Were you worried you’d forget them?”
Spots of color dotted her cheeks and high on her chest. He tried—unsuccessfully—not to stare at her décolletage, which promised perfect apple-shaped breasts. Not that she noticed, considering her gaze was fixed firmly on her lap. “I thought it might be easier.”
He found her embarrassment charming, but it was cruel to prolong her torture. “We may proceed in whichever manner you prefer. Tonight I’ll read your questions.”
There were four questions, the penmanship incredibly neat. He could almost imagine her laboring over the words, wondering over his answers. He cleared his throat. “How are you able to converse with people so easily?” The side of his mouth hitched. “I’ve never thought about this before. Do you mean with women?”
“Men or women.” She clutched her crystal tumbler. “Just people in general.”
“For the most part, people like to talk about themselves. Whenever I am at a loss for words, I inquire about them, what they did that day or what they plan to do that night. Their likes and dislikes. Hopes and dreams.”
“And they don’t feel as if you’re prying? My mother says invading someone’s privacy is rude.”
“There’s no law forcing them to answer. However, I find most people are self-centered. They will leap at any opportunity to discuss themselves.”
“Even you?”
“Oh, especially me. I am more self-involved than nearly anyone on earth.” After all, wasn’t that what Father had said, that Kit’s thoughts centered only on himself and nothing else?
You’re as shallow as a saucer, Christopher.
It had been a frequent refrain in the Ward household, like any time Kit smoothed his hair in a mirror or took pride in his clothing. When he bounced from activity to activity, eschewing church and schoolwork to make the girls laugh instead. His father never failed to comment on it, and Kit came to hate him.
Mostly because he feared his father’s words might hold some truth.
Kit threw back the rest of the bourbon in his glass and stood to refill it. “One question down. This is going well, I think.” When he returned to his seat, he glanced at her paper. “Next question. What do men find attractive about women? Well, that varies with each man you ask.”
“In general,” she blurted, her color rising once more. “Or you. We can use you as an example.”
“Me?” He rubbed his jaw. “Well, there is the obvious, like breasts. Any size, any shape, will do.” She opened her mouth, probably to complain about his banal but true answer, so he held up a hand. “Beyond that, I like eyes. There’s nothing more powerful than when a woman stares at you from across the room like you are the only person who matters.”
Alice quirked a brow like she didn’t believe him and he felt his skin grow warm. Was she disappointed in his answer? “Is that all? Bosoms and eyes?”
Yes, definitely disappointed. The old humiliation, the feeling that he wasn’t smart enough in the things that mattered, crawled along his neck. Show her you are more than a thoughtless clod.
Leaning forward, he put his elbows on his knees and stared at the drink in his hand. The liquid was nearly the color of Alice’s eyes. He dropped his guard and let his thoughts run free. “I like a woman’s smile. Her laugh. Someone who makes me laugh, as well. A sense of confidence, that she is competent and interested in more than just gossip and fashion.” He took a breath. “I like . . . kindness. To see that she’s worried about others, not just herself. She must be able to hold a conversation. And I’d want her to be smart, smarter than me. Which isn’t difficult, granted—” He snapped his jaw shut. His throat tingled with irritation, an overwhelming panic that he’d exposed too much.
Alice stared at him in a way he couldn’t decipher, but it seemed like a mixture of pity and fascination. Definitely exposed too much.
After taking a long drink, he offered her his best seductive grin. “Did I mention long legs? And breasts definitely bear repeating.”
She took another small sip from her glass, then licked her lips with a provocative swipe of her tongue. No grimace this time, which felt like a minor victory. She tapped her finger on the side of the crystal. “Your expectations seem very high. Is that why you haven’t yet married?”
“I am a scoundrel, dear Alice. That is why I haven’t married.”
“So, no need to limit yourself to merely one.”
“Indeed.” He crossed his legs and settled deeper into the chair. “There is a whole world full of beautiful women out there—and I have no need of a dowry.”
There was that look in her eye again, the one he didn’t care for. “What about companionship?”
Why was the little innocent intent on turning this around on him? Kit’s fingers tightened around his glass. “I have companionship any time I want. I can companionship every damn night, if I feel like it.”
She cocked her head and he could practically hear her thinking. This first lesson had taken an unexpected turn—and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He stood. “That’s enough for tonight. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”
He half expected her to argue, but she merely nodded and set down her glass. “I will see you in the morning, then.”
They walked to the door. He peeked into the corridor to ensure it was safe. “Completely empty. Off you go.”
She started to leave, but then paused. “Kit, forgive me. I have no right to question how you live your life.”
The apology stunned him. For a supposedly shy woman, she had no trouble speaking her mind. And now he felt even worse, like he’d ruined the night with his prickly insecurities. “You have nothing for which to apologize. It’s been a long day and I am unnecessarily irritable. I am sorry.”
“You’ve been very insightful and I appreciate your honesty.”
The ache between his shoulders eased somewhat. “I’m glad. I hope you found tonight useful.”
<
br /> “Oh, I did. It was utterly fascinating.”
She slipped through the crack in the door and disappeared into the corridor. Kit quietly closed the door and stood there a moment, wondering if he hadn’t made a terrible mistake by agreeing to this bargain.
The next morning, Alice had just finished eating when Kit, wearing his tennis whites, strolled into the dining room. The clothes fit him perfectly, each stitch caressing his lithe frame, the light color a stark contrast to his dark hair. Her stomach jumped, her skin coming alive with awareness as she tracked his movements. He filled a plate at the sideboard, then sat next to Mr. Archer at the opposite end of the dining table.
The two of them began speaking in low tones, their heads close together, and Alice was left to watch Kit’s face. Light played off the sharp angles, illuminating his cheekbones and strong jaw. Full lips that promised sinful delight and wicked pleasure. Goodness, he was attractive.
There’s nothing more powerful than when a woman stares at you from across the room like you are the only person who matters.
Was that what he wished? To feel like he mattered?
While it was clear he’d been embarrassed by his answers last night, she found them fascinating. Christopher Ward was more than the society charmer he played so well, and she liked the real version of the man much better. His answer for what he liked in a woman had been genuine and off-the-cuff, and she could fall hard for a thoughtful man such as that.
“Alice,” her mother hissed. “Stop staring. It’s rude.”
She quickly transferred her gaze to her near-empty plate. The scrambled eggs were creamy and well seasoned, sprinkled with fresh thyme. They were every bit as good as Angelo’s eggs at the hotel, which were nothing short of heaven on a plate. After she took the last bite, she started to get up for another helping.
Mama’s hand grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”
“To get more eggs.”
“Alice,” her mother scolded in a harsh whisper. “Do not dare. What will everyone think if you are shoving food in your face all the time?”
“That I am hungry?”
Mama’s lips flattened, her gaze hard and cold. “Do not get fresh with me. We discussed your preoccupation with eating in front of men and how it will ruin your chances at marriage.” Turning, she waved to the footman. “Please, take our plates.”
Alice watched as her opportunity for more eggs walked out of the dining room. She closed her eyes and tried not to scream. I will be married soon and then I can eat all the eggs I wish.
“I am off to visit with my cousin Jane this morning,” her mother was saying. “Perhaps you should come with me. I’d hate for you to wander about here by yourself.”
Alice’s pulse leapt. With her mother out of the chateau, perhaps she could convince Kit to give her another lesson. Two of the questions from last evening still remained unanswered. “I have a touch of a headache. I didn’t sleep well last night. I think I’ll spend the morning in my room.”
“I told you not to have that second cup of coffee after dinner.” Her mother looked down her nose sharply. “Alice, we need you at your best during this house party. How will you ever land a decent husband if you—”
“Miss Lusk, I didn’t see you when I arrived,” Kit said smoothly from the end of the table. “Forgive my rudeness in not greeting you earlier. I trust you are well this morning.”
Her mother made a strangled noise in her throat at the interruption, but Alice ignored her. “Good morning, Mr. Ward. Mr. Archer,” she said.
“Miss Lusk,” Harrison said with a polite nod. “Good morning.”
The other occupants at the table—two heiresses, three chaperones and Mr. Webster—all looked up at this exchange, the dining room so quiet one could hear the coffee getting cold. Grateful that Kit had interrupted her mother’s tirade, Alice gave him a small smile.
He winked at her.
Winked, like they were co-conspirators . . . or lovers.
Her chest expanded, an unexpected heat blooming in her lower half. She pressed her lips together as her mind tripped over the possibility of that small gesture. Before she could react, however, the moment passed. He went back to his quiet conversation with Harrison and everyone else continued their breakfast.
“How incredibly rude,” her mother said under her breath. “If the duke hadn’t arrived, I swear I would have taken you back to New York already. I’m not certain these people are a good influence on you. Not dressing properly for breakfast, interrupting our conversation . . . the lack of manners is staggering.”
Alice said nothing. She knew better than to argue with her mother. If Mama wanted to leave, there would be nothing Alice could do to stop it.
I must make the most of my time here.
The house party would end in a few days, and the goal was to leave Newport a much different woman than the one who’d arrived. She needed to speed things along. Hopefully, Kit hadn’t made other plans this morning.
Moments later, Mama pushed back from the table. Alice followed her upstairs, silent, as her mother kept up a steady stream of commentary. Instead of listening, Alice wondered over that wink and what it had meant.
They stopped outside her mother’s door. “How long will you stay at Jane’s?” Alice asked abruptly.
“I will eat luncheon there and return.” Mama pointed in the direction of Alice’s room. “Go lie down. There is an afternoon of croquet planned today and we cannot have you looking tired.”
“Yes, Mama.”
They parted and Alice slipped inside her room. She pressed her ear to the door and waited, barely breathing, until she heard her mother leave ten minutes later. Then she waited some more, giving Mama ample time to depart.
When certain it was safe, she hurried through the corridors toward the opposite end of the chateau where the men’s rooms were located, far away from the unmarried ladies. No one was about, thankfully, and she soon arrived at Kit’s door. Was he here, or still downstairs?
She knocked, glancing up and down the hallway, praying he answered quickly.
The oak door swung open and a bare throat greeted her.
Blinking, she dragged her gaze higher and met Kit’s amused stare. “Hello.”
He stepped back and motioned her in. “Hello, Alice.” It was then she noticed that he was clad in only a silk dressing gown, his hair wet from a bath.
She couldn’t force her feet to work, her legs frozen. There was too much to see, too much to take in. The bare skin, the dark hair, the bones and tendons creating ridges and angles . . . and she didn’t dare look below his waist. “I—I should come back later. When you’re . . .”
“Stop. Get in here before someone sees you out there.”
She slipped through the door, trying to maintain a proper distance from his scantily clothed form. But really? Was there any distance proper enough for this situation? “I apologize. I should have warned you I was coming.”
“Nonsense.” He closed the door and turned the lock. “I was going to seek you out, so you saved me the trouble. Your mother called for a carriage, I heard. How long will she be gone?”
“Until after luncheon.”
The side of his mouth hitched. “Indeed, that does give us quite a lot of time.”
Her heart galloped in her chest, a frantic rhythm that echoed throughout her body. How was he able to take the simplest of sentences and turn them sexual?
He charms as natural as breathing. It is not aimed at you.
Instead of moving to another room to get dressed, he crossed to the chairs by the fire and settled himself. The dressing gown covered him from shoulders to shin, but the bare feet and throat were enough to weaken her knees. This was the closest she’d ever been to a man in such dishabille and it was disconcerting.
How could she possibly concentrate now, when her mind was fixated on picturing what he looked like under the dressing gown?
A wool blanket rested at the foot of the bed, so she gathered the cloth in her han
ds and shook it out. “Here,” she said, taking the blanket to him. “Use this to cover yourself.”
He took the wool from her. “Why?”
“Because this is improper. I can see your toes.”
He wiggled the appendages in question. “Not a fan of feet, then?”
“I like feet just fine.” Her skin burned, like she’d stood in front of a hot oven for an hour. “But I shouldn’t see you like this.”
His brown eyes searched her face, then he stood. “Forgive me. Allow me a moment, please.” In half a dozen steps, he crossed the floor and disappeared into a dressing room, closing the door behind him.
She exhaled and tried to steady her heartbeat. As she calmed, reality began to set in. She looked around and considered the last five minutes.
You were alone with a beautiful man wearing hardly any clothing . . . and you told him to cover up.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. How stupid. How utterly foolish. No doubt he thought her mad, a silly innocent who deserved a life of spinsterhood. Most women would leap at the chance to see Kit Ward in such a position. Moreover, they’d know how to turn it to their advantage, giving him come-hither looks and inviting smiles.
And what had Alice done?
She’d told him to drape a blanket over himself.
Pinching the bridge of her nose between a thumb and forefinger, she tried not to cry. She couldn’t face him, not now. Perhaps not ever. These lessons were a terrible idea.
She reached into her pocket, took out the recipe for poulardes à la Portugaise, and placed it on the bed. Then she hurried for the door.
“Where are you going?”
Startled, she spun around, her back hugging the wood. Kit now wore navy trousers and a white shirt, and he was affixing a cuff link. She was both relieved and disappointed. “I should go.”
“Alice, wait.” He held up his hands. “Please, allow me to apologize. I made you uncomfortable and that was not my intention.”
She dropped her head onto the wood, feeling even more foolish. “I overreacted.”
“No, you didn’t. What I did was horribly inappropriate. I am entirely in the wrong.”