‘Ah, I see,’ he said. He hung up his hat and tucked his gloves inside it. He raised his chin and gave a sniff. ‘Something smells good? And not only your perfume.’
The man knew just how to make her feel at ease. He was lovely and kind and generous to a woman most men considered as plain as a pikestaff and not worth their time. She just wished she had more to offer. Her heart ached a little, knowing he could never be hers, but she had intended this evening to be for him and pushed such thoughts aside. There would be time enough later for regrets.
‘Mrs Thrumby’s cook kindly prepared enough for two.’ She gestured to the armchair beside the hearth. ‘Please, sit. May I offer you some sherry?’
‘Will you join me?’
‘I will.’ She smiled.
‘Then, yes, please.’
She poured them both a glass of the sherry she had bought earlier in the day and, having given him his, she took the small stool opposite.
He raised his glass. ‘Your health.’
‘And yours.’ They sipped.
‘Very nice,’ he remarked.
Relief filled her. She had spent rather more on it she should have. She rose. ‘No, please. Do not get up. Finish your drink while I put the first course on the table. Soup to start.’
She ladled the soup into bowls and placed them on the table. ‘Whenever you are ready.’
He came to the table at once. ‘Pea soup. How did you know it is one of my favourites?’
She laughed. He would have said that about any soup, she was sure, but she wasn’t going to spoil things by being practical. She was determined she would not. ‘A lucky guess.’ They took the seats opposite each other.
He tucked in with obvious relish. ‘How was your day?’ he asked. ‘Was the shop very busy?’
How normal it sounded. How like family. Her heart gave a little squeeze. This sort of family would never be hers.
How could she let such regrets enter her mind, when she had her sisters-in-law? It was wrong of her. Terribly. But she could not seem to help it.
‘Extremely.’ She hoped she sounded more cheerful than she felt.
‘I am glad to hear it.’
Good, he had noticed nothing of her longings in her voice. ‘Me, too. Mrs Buxton-Smythe came in today and she brought Lady Carstairs with her. I think our reputation is assured among the ladies of the ton.’
He paused in his eating to look at her. ‘Then you no longer need my assistance even though our two weeks are not quite up.’ His face was grave.
She managed a smile, even if it did feel false. ‘I believe you are right. But I really must thank you for your help in putting us on the road to success.’
‘You would have got there by yourselves eventually,’ he said cheerfully.
‘It would have taken a great deal longer and...and we might not have been able to survive long enough, to be honest.’ She had his share of the profits ready for him, of course, but she did want him to understand how very much she appreciated his help, though he seemed determined to brush it off.
She cleared away the soup bowls and took two plates out of the oven where she had put them to keep warm. The roast beef didn’t look as if it had dried out. Not too much, anyway. And the vegetables looked fine, too. Mrs Thrumby’s woman had explained how to keep the meals warm for half an hour.
Once they were both served she sat down again.
‘My compliments to the cook,’ he said after a couple of mouthfuls and a sigh.
She frowned. It was almost as if he did not usually eat proper meals. ‘I am glad you are enjoying it.’ Oh, heavens, she had forgotten the wine. She shot up from her chair.
He rose, too, looking worried.
‘Oh, sit, please.’ She ran to the pantry and fetched out the decanter of red wine she had put there to keep cool. ‘I nearly forgot this.’
He took the decanter from her. ‘Allow me.’ He poured them both a glass.
He raised his. ‘To the most beautiful woman I know.’
She tried hard not to show disbelief on her face or in her laugh. ‘To my most favourite gentleman caller.’
He frowned fiercely. ‘Your only gentleman caller, I hope?’
Her jaw dropped. ‘I was jesting. The only other men who call here are Jeb and Mr Thrumby.’
‘Hmmph. I am glad to hear it.’
Oh, even his pretence at jealousy made her heart beat faster and her skin feel warm. ‘Eat,’ she urged, hoping that such thoughts did not show on her face. She did not want him to realise his departure would hurt her terribly. Far more than she’d been hurt when her husband left. Because her heart hadn’t been involved. Only her pride.
She stilled. Every nerve in her body tingling with awareness. Her heart? Surely not. The man made his living from ladies who paid him for his services and, worse, from gambling. He lived on the edge of ruin and seemed to enjoy the risk. Look at the way he had wagered money he could ill afford on the life of the sword swallower.
It all left her feeling terrified. And fascinated at the same time. She could not help staring at the way his throat moved when he swallowed, at the even white teeth when he bit into his meat, at the way his fingers curled around the stem of his glass when he lifted his glass to drink. Such long clever fingers.
He glanced up and caught her watching him. She dropped her gaze to her plate and forced herself not to hide her heated cheeks beneath her palms. Why on earth had she acted like a schoolgirl? It was perfectly ridiculous. ‘I hope the beef is not too dry,’ she said. ‘It was in the oven a bit longer than it should have been.’
‘I thought I was right on time,’ he said.
When she glanced up at him, she saw that his eyes were alive with amusement. At her. Oh, she was so hopelessly gauche when it came to this flirting stuff. ‘Is it?’ she asked. ‘Too dry?’
He carved another piece from the slice on his place and gravely chewed. ‘It is perfect.’ A flash of those lovely white teeth as he smiled. ‘Just like you.’
‘Hardly,’ she said, attacking the slice of meat on her plate. Did he think she was a fool? That she did not look in the mirror and see the truth?
‘And that gown of yours is enough to drive any red-blooded male insane.’
She could agree about the gown, but not what it covered. ‘I am glad you like it. My sister-in-law Marguerite came up with the design.’
He leaned back and gave her what she could only describe as a rakish stare. ‘With you in it, the gown quite takes my breath away. Though I expect that was your intention.’
Inside she cringed. ‘I thought you might want to recommend them to your special ladies.’
His expression darkened. ‘There is only ever one special lady at a time, you know.’
Was he saying...? ‘Are you classifying me as one of your special ladies?’ Her heart gave an odd little thump. She put down her knife and fork and took a fortifying sip of wine.
‘You are very special.’
‘That was not my question.’
He straightened his knife and fork on his plate, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. ‘You are not one of my special ladies, you are my only special lady.’
She blinked. ‘You do not sound happy about that.’
He gave a little grimace and a sigh. ‘It is somewhat bad for business.’
‘Oh.’ What had she been thinking? ‘I have your money.’ She leapt to her feet.
He caught her wrist. ‘I do not want your money.’
Something inside her shrivelled. He meant he did not want her. ‘Oh.’ She glanced around the kitchen, sifting through her mind for something to say that would not sound like he’d hurt her feelings. ‘I do not expect anything more from you,’ she said. At his look of shock, she continued on quickly. ‘You have fulfilled the terms of our arrangement to the full.’ Oh, that didn’t sound quite right. ‘I mean the
increase in trade is quite remarkable and it is all down to you.’
‘Is that what you mean?’ he said drily.
‘I—yes, of course. What else would I mean?’
He pushed back his chair.
An ache filled her chest. He was going to leave and he hadn’t even had dessert.
He tugged on her wrist. She hadn’t realised he was still holding it. Off balance, she lurched towards him and, a moment later, she found herself perched once again on his knee. He tipped her face up to meet his gaze. ‘Carrie,’ he murmured. ‘I find myself quite at a loss. It is not your money I want, it is you.’
‘Oh,’ she gasped.
‘And that, my dear, is very bad for business.’
She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the way his words made her feel inside. ‘But we have decided to bring our arrangement to an end,’ she said, deciding it was better to feel nothing at all, because if this was really the end of their association, she did not want him to leave with the recollection of her crying all over him. Instead, she would prefer him to recall her with a smile on her lips. ‘So, should we not make the most of it?’ Oh, goodness, where on earth had that come from? ‘But first you must let me serve you dessert.’
His arm tightened around her waist. ‘Dessert? I thought you were dessert.’ He pulled her close and nuzzled in her neck. Shivers coursed down her spine. Her brain turned to mush.
‘Oh, no. There’s...’ What had he said? She was dessert? Goodness ‘...um...trifle,’ she finished saying. Oh, how wretched! Once more she had missed the opportunity to meet his seductive flirtation with some witty response. No doubt Mimi Luttrell would have known exactly what to say. Bother.
He laughed and let her go. ‘Trifle, hmmm. That reminds me of something my sister said.’
She popped to her feet and cleared away the dirty dishes to hide her discomfort. ‘Really? What did she say?’
‘She wanted to know if I was trifling with your affections.’
When she glanced up, he was watching her intently, waiting for her reaction, despite that he’d asked so nonchalantly.
She served the trifle and smiled. ‘I think we both know that is not possible.’
‘I told her that was so, but people are talking and—’
Her heart seemed to still. ‘And we have reached the end of this venture.’
‘Indeed.’ There was an odd note in his voice. She wasn’t sure if it was relief, or something else. His expression gave nothing away, however. It had to be relief. What else could it be?
Her poor heart felt bruised and sore. She managed to breathe around the pain. ‘It makes perfect sense.’ She shot him what she hoped was an arch look. ‘And then people will wonder what happened, so curiosity will continue to bring them to my shop.’
He gave her a faint smile. ‘Smart girl. Naturally, I will continue to advise the ladies of my acquaintance to patronise your shop. Why would I not? You have the very best bonnets in London.’
‘Then everything is just as it should be.’ She smiled while inside she felt as if she was dying. ‘Now eat your dessert and tell me if that is the most delicious trifle you have ever tasted.’
He gave her an odd look, but picked up his spoon.
* * *
Avery ate as he had been ordered. ‘It is excellent.’
Everything was going exactly to plan. The civilised ending to their arrangement by way of a delicious companionable meal served by a woman so gorgeous he would certainly never forget his first sight of her in that filmy robe as long as he lived. He’d been fighting his arousal since the moment he’d walked in her door.
Everything about this evening was perfect.
Then why was he feeling so damned discontented?
Surely it wasn’t because she was accepting his departure from her life with such equanimity? He usually hated scenes and female tears when it came to a parting. Another reason he preferred his dealings with females to be strictly business.
No, he should be delighted with the way the evening was going, but despite everything he had said, he felt uneasy, as if he was making some sort of mistake.
The spoon part way to his lips he stilled, glanced across the table at her, where she was watching him, her chin cupped in her palm. She looked lovely. Alluring and not simply because of the extraordinarily sensual gown draping her luscious curves. She was lovely inside and out. Honest yet sweet, self-sufficient yet completely feminine. Undemanding. So different to any other woman he’d ever met.
She’d make any man a wonderful wife.
Any man but him.
He couldn’t afford a wife. While he did well at the tables, nothing was ever certain about gambling. He’d sometimes had weeks of poor luck which was why he had set up his arrangements with various shopkeepers. And that was not something he would continue if he was married. And while Carrie was Westram’s sister-in-law, she was still a merchant’s daughter and completely unsuitable so there would be no help from his father. His gut clenched. If the old fellow decided to buy her off, the way he had with Alexandra, or tried to do her professional damage as he had with John, well, Avery might just end up committing patricide and that would help no one.
‘You don’t like the trifle?’ she asked.
He started, realising he’d been staring at her instead of eating. ‘It is nearly as delicious as you.’
As usual she gave a self-conscious little grimace as if she didn’t believe him. He wanted her to believe him. He wanted her to realise her self-worth, to feel confident in her femininity. If he could give her nothing else, surely he could give her that?
He took her hand across the table. ‘If this is to be our last night together, it seems a shame to waste it speaking half-truths. You are a very desirable woman and I want you more than I could ever want dessert.’
She blushed prettily and met his gaze head on. ‘Thank you.’
Yes, that was what he had wanted, her acceptance of his compliment. Still holding her hand, he got up from the table and brought her to her feet. ‘And while I love looking at you, Carrie, I would much rather be holding you in my arms.’ He suited the action to the words, drawing her close, feeling the gorgeous soft wells of her generous figure flush with his body. ‘I’d much rather be tasting you.’
He kissed her, gently at first, a merest brush of their lips, but as she melted into him, he deepened the kiss, making it firmer and more insistent.
Her lips parted and he tasted the sweetness of custard and the tartness of raspberry, but most of all he tasted Carrie. A far more exotic flavour to him than any confection. The way she yielded beneath his touch made him almost dizzy with desire.
His hands wandered over her familiar swells and hollows, stroking her in ways that made her press closer into him, while her hands trailed up from his chest to work their way around his neck and winnow through his hair.
The pleasure of her gentle touch aroused him more than the sight of her in the clinging gown had done. The scent of her filled his nostrils. Something spicy and clean. A scent he never wanted to forget. He kissed her, until they were both breathless and trembling with pent-up need and he was forced to stop before his legs gave out.
He rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard. ‘I want you.’
‘I want you, too,’ she said.
He nodded and shrugged out of his coat. She attacked the buttons on his falls while he undid his waistcoat. He toed off his shoes and tore off his waistcoat. She sank to her knees, pulling down his pantaloons until he could step out of them. She flung them over a chair and sank back on her heels with a smile, waiting for him to remove his shirt.
‘I think it is your turn to remove an article of clothing,’ he said, raising her to her feet and tugging at the pretty red ribbon that held her robe closed at the neck.
She swallowed as the delicate fabric fell to her feet, revealing
the nightgown beneath. If one could call it that. It was the sauciest garment he had ever seen. It tied at the back of her neck and dipped all the way to below her navel. The fabric barely covered her nipples and only stayed in place because of the narrow plaited belt around her waist. The skirts fell to the floor, but a slit up the sides revealed her glorious long legs and her feet encased in high-heeled slippers.
She peeped up at him from slightly lowered lashes. ‘Is it—?’
‘You are the most sensual sight I have ever seen.’ His voice rasped in his dry throat. His erection jutting upwards, tenting his shirt, should be proof enough of his words, but in case she had not noticed, he whipped off his shirt and flung it aside. ‘I want you. I need you.’
He swept her up and deposited her on the bed. ‘And right now I am going to have you.’
Her delighted smile filled his vision.
* * *
Held in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder as he carried her to the bed, Carrie realised that, despite everything she knew about him, she was head-over-heels in love with him. Not because he was handsome and charismatic, though he was all of that and more. And not because he had proved himself a wonderful lover and was about to do so again, but because underneath all that swaggering bravado he was one of the kindest people she had ever met.
It was going to be so very hard to let him go.
Never in her life had she felt the pull of her heart. She’d never been in love, not once, so it wasn’t surprising that she would fall for him. It was what he did. He made women fall for him. She knew it meant nothing. So then why did she feel so wonderful and so wretched at the same time?
She knew he didn’t love her back and he had never lied about it, but she did think he liked her and she wanted to make this evening memorable. Their last time together.
She smiled when he paused at the little alcove containing her bed. With his arms full of her, he did not have a free hand to draw back the curtain. She reached out and pulled it back and he gently deposited her on the bed, gazing down at her, his body gloriously displayed to her wandering gaze.
A Lord for the Wallflower Widow Page 17