Perhaps it was just the bustle. The sooner it went out of fashion, the better.
“Did you say something?” she looked at him expectantly.
“No.” Had he sighed or moaned? Perhaps.
“I can see some small issues with the lacework in back,” Miss Cross said.
He was pleased. “I saw that too.”
“Unfortunately, the marchioness was the master cake decorator. Miss Popham has less than a year’s experience. I wonder if you should search for someone at another bakery and hire them away. After all, I might marry too, some day.”
With hips like hers, someone was bound to offer for her, dowry or no. “I expect you are correct.”
“I should return to the party,” she said. “It’s not proper for us to be in here alone.”
“May I have a dance?” he inquired impulsively. “I see you have a card.”
She glanced at her wrist and held it up to him. He stepped dangerously closer, until he could smell the delicate scent of violet. But underneath that, he thought he sensed the earthier odors of dried fruit, powdery flour, and baking. His erection stirred again, to the point of readiness. How did she have such power over him?
He put his hand to his collar. “I’ll take a polka,” he rasped.
She fumbled for her pencil. “Are you certain? I have two waltzes free.”
He shifted his stance. “No, a rollicking polka. Military man, you know. I like to move.”
Her little sharp teeth massaged her lower lip as she wrote his name in. “That’s the second dance of the night.”
“I shall look for you,” he promised. “Now, do you want to leave first, or shall I?”
“Miss Courtnay knows we’re here.”
“Good point.” He leaned forward, forgetting his purpose for being here that night entirely, and swept his hand around the base of her neck, tilting her head up to his. When would they have another moment of privacy?
Her eyes were huge, but they drifted shut as his mouth met hers. Her breath seemed to sear his lips as he tasted her. His other arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her close. The soft, thin fabric of her dress allowed some body heat to escape and her back warmed his icy fingers. All his blood seemed to have moved south. His free hand found her jaw, stroked the fine skin.
She moaned, so he let his fingers continue to dance over her skin, drifting downward. His index finger brushed her clavicle, then the delectable expanse of flesh the evening dress left uncovered. She tilted her head, so his lips trailed down the side of her neck. Her body shifted restlessly, creating an inch between them, just enough for his fingers to slide over the rounded top of one breast. No protest resounded, so he dipped inside her bodice, learning the contours of her. When he found her pearled nipple, she gasped and pulled away. He moved his fingers north and pulled her mouth to his again. She kissed like a wanton, his touch having aroused her despite the protest.
How he wished he could pull up her skirts and have her right there, if current fashions allowed. Perhaps it was best that her clothing confined so.
She moaned against his mouth, relaxing again. He touched her lower lip with his tongue. The tip of her tongue touched his, but when he tried to suckle it she pulled away and covered her mouth with a trembling hand.
“Have you been drinking? You know how improper this is.”
“You could tell I have not,” Judah said. “You tasted my breath.”
Her eyes were unfocused as she glanced around. “We spend too much time in each other’s company.”
“Twenty minutes five days a week is not too much time, especially on a public street.”
She moved her hands to her cheeks. “I am so confused. You are my employer. You are not courting me.”
“I am your friend, I hope.”
A throat cleared behind them. Judah turned and saw Hatbrook in the doorway. What had he seen?
“I found another friend of Mother’s. One who did know her from the time of her marriage,” he said, looking at Miss Cross with impassive disdain.
“You should go,” Miss Cross said quickly. “This sounds important.”
He inclined his head and followed his brother out of the room, too aroused to think clearly.
Chapter Seven
Judah expected Hatbrook to lead him into the drawing room, where presumably the lady waited for them, but instead he turned sharply and opened a closed door that led into a dimly lit library. His brother paced in front of the fireplace for a moment, then turned to him.
“Really, Judah. Magdalene Cross?”
“We had a moment of insanity.”
Hatbrook’s gaze raked his body. “A moment of lust.”
Judah stared at a small metal statue of a pug. “Something about her pulls me in.”
“Lust,” Hatbrook repeated. “With a Scandalous Cross. I assure you it is a common affliction among a certain class of Society.”
“A lower class, I presume?”
“Don’t make this about your parentage, brother,” Hatbrook growled. “But stay away from that girl.”
“Why?”
“She is a confidante of Lady Bricker,” Hatbrook said. “A cousin. That woman is poison. As we speak, Alys is in Heathfield, caring for her sister, who is having a most difficult time. Alys should be enjoying her own expectations, not worrying about her sister’s life.”
“Lady Bricker did not impregnate Matilda Redcake,” Judah said coldly.
“No,” Hatbrook said after a pause. “But they are a licentious family of gossips. Their indecent way of life sent Miss Redcake down a dark path.”
He wondered if Hatbrook’s life had been completely without taint, or if he was moving into the paterfamilias role. “You are, perhaps, the only member of our family that is better. Our parents fit that profile—or I should say your parents—and I like the Crosses that I’ve met.”
“What about Beth?”
Judah shrugged. “Not out of the schoolroom. Who knows what she will become? We are not speaking of children.”
“Very well.” Hatbrook showed his teeth. “What about this? I know Miss Cross is employed at Redcake’s. Do you think it appropriate to dally with someone there?”
“She is hoping to find a husband, not a long-term career.”
Hatbrook put his hands on his hips. “Planning to be that husband, are you?”
“Certainly not.” He said the words without thinking.
“So you are dallying with an avowed husband hunter, and think you can escape the noose when you kiss her like that?”
Judah mirrored his brother’s position. “You think I cannot evade one woman’s wiles?”
Hatbrook gave him a patronizing eye roll. “A private tête-à-tête with Courtnay’s daughter is one thing. She’s an heiress. But Magdalene Cross is nothing. She will not bring money, she will not bring position.”
“I’m not looking for a wife. I’m looking for my father.”
“Then why are you kissing young girls? If you have to kiss someone, make it a less complicated choice.”
“I cannot afford a mistress right now, even if I wanted one.”
“Judging from the way your trousers are fitting, I’d say you need one,” Hatbrook said frankly. “I know we have never been close due to circumstance, but I want to be your friend, Judah, as well as your older brother. Do not make this mistake. There will be consequences.”
“Would you please introduce me to Mother’s friend?” Judah asked. “I have had quite enough of this brotherly chat.”
Hatbrook’s knuckles cracked as he made a fist, but then he relaxed his hand.
“You cannot make me over in your image,” Judah said. “We have not lived the same life. I’m not educated, I’m not civilized.”
“You are intelligent. You are an Englishman of good breeding. You will learn the rules of fashion soon enough. For instance, like our mother before, there are plenty of married ladies in bad circumstances, or comfortable widows available to a handsome man without the need to be
supported. Stay away from anyone looking for a husband and there will be no trouble.”
“I take your point.” To be like most men, even the Prince of Wales, who had many mistresses. He wondered if any of the Cross women were among them.
Hatbrook led him back into the drawing room, then introduced him to Mrs. Owen, a plump matron dressed in a sea green gown much too young for her. Judah thought her, if anything, older than Mother would have been if she were still alive.
“I’d know those earlobes anywhere,” the lady cried. “Or at least the lack of them. It so upset your poor mama that she couldn’t wear ear bobs.”
“Thankfully it is not fashion for men to do so,” Judah said wryly.
“Quite, quite. How have you boys been coping with your loss?” Mrs. Owen inquired. “And poor Lady Elizabeth, she must feel quite alone in the world. Though of course you have your dear wife, my lord. And there is an aunt as well, I believe?”
“Aunt Mary,” Judah agreed. “They are all in Sussex.”
“Your sister must be delaying her presentation at court due to your poor dear mama’s passing,” Mrs. Owen said.
“Yes, but it will take place before the end of the year. Mrs. Owen, I am trying to locate a dear friend of Mother’s youth. Do you remember a Sally?”
“I have known many Sallys,” Mrs. Owen said. “But in connection to your mother?”
“Yes, a correspondent of hers during the early days of her marriage,” Judah said.
Mrs. Owen thought for a moment. “You must mean her godmother. They were very close, but she was lame, and they rarely saw each other. She stayed in Brighton for her health, she said, very unfashionable by then, of course. Queen Victoria detested the place.”
“But she was an older lady who remembered when King George was there?”
“Exactly,” Mrs. Owen beamed. “Her parents were intimates of the King when he was the regent.”
“Is she still living?”
“No, I am afraid not, Captain Shield. As I said, she was an older lady, and not in the best health. She’s been gone, oh, fifteen years now.”
“Did my mother have any other true intimates in those years? Before I was born?” Judah fought desperation.
Her forehead creased. “I’m sure there were many. She was a vivacious lady.”
“She socialized with a set that had Oxford connections,” Judah said, pressing hard. “Did you go to house parties there in eighteen-sixty? That seemed to be a special highlight of her young life.”
“Oh my, no. My children are all quite an age with you and your brother. Of course, none of the oldest survived, poor things.”
“I am very sorry.”
“It was long ago. But I was too occupied in those years to leave London for parties. My late husband was a Member of Parliament, you see.”
“I thought you would like some punch, Mother,” said a young lady, dressed in a delicate gown of pale yellow, rather like the color of his gloves.
“Thank you, Bathsheba, dear. May I present my daughter to you, my lord?”
“Happy to make your acquaintance,” Hatbrook said.
She curtsied as Mrs. Owen introduced them. By the end of the conversation, he was engaged for a waltz with the young lady, still young enough to be on the marriage market but too old to have much hope.
Hatbrook walked him around the room for a while after that, hunting for other likely friends of their mother, but no one remembered the fateful house party, especially when he couldn’t explain why he cared about it. He would have liked to ask direct questions about the Prince of Wales, but didn’t want to sound like an idiot.
Eventually, it was time for his polka with Miss Cross. Thankfully, the exuberant nature of the dance kept them from speaking very much, though, quite un-Scandalous Cross-like, she blushed nearly every time she looked at him. How unfortunate she wasn’t a widow. They talked politely of the things one must at parties. Her brother, her ailing sister-in-law, whether Judah had heard any more news about Mark. He promised to let her know immediately if he did. Then, the dance was over, and as he immediately had to take Miss Owen waltzing, he said his good-byes until Monday at Trafalgar Square.
Magdalene had spent the week since the Courtnay’s ball caring for her rapidly sinking sister-in-law. She was scarcely able to find enthusiasm for cake decorating, though her salary now paid for Nancy’s companion as well as the apothecary bills. The doctor said there was no hope for Nancy, and indeed, she was rarely awake anymore.
The only thing Magdalene truly looked forward to was her walk with Judah from Nelson’s Column to Redcake’s. However, the weather was changing now, and this was the first time it had rained really heavily. She wondered if Judah would simply take a cab to work, since he had the means. As her shoes squelched through another puddle and she discovered a new hole between her sole and the old leather, she knew she couldn’t blame him.
Even so, she saw him talking to Eddy, holding his umbrella over both their heads as he waited for her. Forgetting her shoe, she quickened her pace. Three feet from him, she tripped over a stone and windmilled her arms as she tried to maintain her balance. Her parasol dropped as she started to topple, then, in an instant, an arm covered in damp wool caught her around the waist. She was flung headfirst into a wet, hard chest. Slowly, she found equilibrium again and got her feet back underneath her. She stared into Judah’s tiger eyes. The morning had been dreary, but now it turned delicious.
But he was not in the mood for amour.
“Are you well?” he asked, holding her. “You have deep circles under your eyes.”
Surely a gentleman should find some compliment to offer a distressed lady, rather than find a fault.
He must have seen something in her expression. “No doubt the consequences of a great attention to your work.”
She relaxed against his warmth, heedless of the public place, until she saw her parasol turn like a top as it was caught by a gust of wind. “My parasol,” she gasped. She couldn’t lose it and be forced to buy another. Her money needed to go to Nancy’s care.
Judah gave her a puzzled look, then went after it, the wind no match for his long legs. He swooped down on the silly thing and shook the rain from it, before putting it back in her hand. It dripped onto her shoes.
“You look like the wind could pick you up and send you away,” he observed. “Are we working you too hard? Are you returned to cake-making again?”
“No, I’ve been working on icing,” she assured him, then had a moment of inspiration. “Would you like to learn how to frost a cake?”
“Really?” he asked, amused.
“Betsy has a holiday today. It is her eighteenth birthday.”
“You don’t say.” He lifted his umbrella above them and she folded her own. It would be rather useless until the inside dried.
She felt daring. “I could use another pair of hands. Thankfully the world has not yet descended on London. We have another week or so before the general return, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a great deal to do.”
“I am sure of that. I can spare a little time. It’s a good idea to know all aspects of an enterprise when you are managing it.” He took her arm and guided her across the Square.
She hurried next to him, her usual strides no match for his. “I saw you in the bakery last week. Were you learning the baker’s trade?”
“No. One of the ovens is misfiring again.”
He released her arm so they could skirt a puddle. “I suppose you will be calling in Mr. Noble?”
“Why do you ask?”
She edged closer to him again, after her shoulder caught a droplet of rain. “It is simply that he invented the mechanisms. He assured me he was the only man who understood them.”
“He may be right about that. Do you know he has a horseless carriage?”
“I have heard rumors.”
“A most unconventional fellow.”
Very handsome too, and pleasant, though he smelled of mechanical things. “That is
not always such a bad thing.”
“It depends.” He glanced past the spines of his umbrella. “This will be my first autumn in London.”
“It is a season to be endured,” she said. Though the enduring was easier when you had a congenial morning companion. “But the tearoom is doing a brisk business.”
“There is a cheerful thought,” he declared. When they reached the back door, he asked, “When shall I come to you?”
“In an hour? That will give me time to check our order book and set out supplies.”
“Excellent.” He helped her with her damp outerwear.
He had successfully sheltered them both under his large black umbrella during the remainder of their walk, though she was soaked through anyway, thanks to her thin coat and escaping parasol. “You are most chivalrous.”
She saw Ralph Popham glowering at them down the corridor and hurried off, wondering what had upset him. She was a few minutes early so it wasn’t that.
Betsy had trained her to treat various cakes differently. Almond paste topped wedding cakes. Buttercream went between sliced small cakes. Either could be covered in fondant or royal icing, depending on the customer and look. Then one moved on to decorating with frosting, colored or white, gum paste, and cut dried fruits, among other items.
She had mastered none of these things, or even worked with many of them, but it all took time. She knew Betsy was no master after applying herself most of this year to her apprenticeship.
An hour later she had made up a bowl of their basic white royal icing, using the stove in an alcove off the bakery. Usually, a man was assigned to make their pastes, frostings, and fondants, and he delivered the assigned quantity to the Fancy each day, but Betsy had insisted she learn how to make everything in case of supply issues. Since Magdalene couldn’t find their supply of royal icing this morning, Betsy had made an excellent point.
She supposed basic knowledge was never a waste, but she was nervous about the coming Season and being unprepared for her primary duty of decoration. But seeing as this was only the end of her third week, she couldn’t expect too much of herself. In fact, this was the first time she had been alone at the stove, or in the Fancy.
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