The Marquess of Cake (17 page)

So when Mr. Theodore Bliven was announced at three in the afternoon the next day, she was not surprised that he called for Matilda, not for her. Perhaps Matilda would find a husband and she would not even have to become engaged. This suited her very well.

She decided to sneak out for a walk, since her conversational skills were not required. Not surprisingly, she found herself on the well-worn path to Redcake’s. Would the façade look any different to her now that she’d been away for a few days?

As the bitter, coal-soaked air coated the back of her throat, she wondered what she would do with herself in the country. Even a walk would be so different. There’d be no urban sounds, no one to jostle her. She’d probably hear more birdsong than voices. There might be days with no companions other than her sisters. She loved them, but their constant company would drive her mad. Even their concerns would have to change. Who would know if they dressed in the latest fashions deep in the country? It would be a rare thing to have a handsome gentleman cross their path. She foresaw some type of Jane Austen life, and she couldn’t stand that lady’s novels. So utterly dull, to think of nothing but husbands all the time.

Because it was cold and foggy, not because she needed to visit, she decided to pop in for a cup of tea. The tea shop was quite empty for that time of day and she found herself thinking of ways to boost street traffic before she remembered it wasn’t her business anymore.

The entire enterprise was probably a very small part of her father’s holdings, despite the importance it held to her.

“Miss Redcake!”

Alys turned, expecting to find Popham or Hellman or Hales, since the voice was familiar, but when she looked to the right she discovered Hatbrook at a table. She wondered how she could possibly have thought her name came from the lips of anyone else. Perhaps because he’d spoken in a loud whisper, rather than in his usual bass tones. He looked a bit pale and perhaps his hair had begun to dull a bit. Had he spent too much time indoors?

She noticed the telltale remains of raspberry jam in his empty dish. “Enjoying the trifle before it goes off the menu again, my lord?”

The sheen on his lips reminded her of his kiss. Suddenly, her body felt so warm it was as if she’d never been outside.

“Couldn’t resist.” He stacked a sheath of papers and tucked it into a leather case, then stood. “Join me?”

“I just came in for a moment to get warm,” she lied, not wanting to tempt him into seconds of his treat. Unless she was mistaken, his collar seemed tight. Either he’d put on someone else’s clothing this morning or he’d put on a bit of holiday weight. “Would you care to join me on my walk?”

“I would like that,” he said. “I sat next to the lamp to get good light, but the hissing and clanking does get to one after a time.”

“Indeed, my lord.” That must be it. He looked pinched because of a headache. “I cannot promise fresh air, precisely, but a change.”

“A change is an excellent thing. Business keeps me in London for now, but I must escape soon.” He took his coat from the chair next to him and put it on, then found his hat and tucked his case under his arm.

She waved to Betsy Popham as they walked out. Did she know of her father’s romantic intentions? Of course, after the scene with Lewis, she hadn’t seen Popham again. He’d probably been scared off by it. All for the best. And now, she tempted herself with a most unsuitable man, though perfectly wonderful in her eyes.

“What plans do you have for the new year, Miss Redcake?”

She made a general sort of noise.

He straightened his coat collar. “The Jubilee celebrations should be a good bit of fun. Her Majesty and the other royalties will be making all kinds of appearances.”

She’d see them only from afar, while he’d be at all the best events.

“I expect there will be a lot of parties and things, even in Sussex?”

“I expect so.”

The differences between them made her change the subject.

“What kind of hobbies do you take up in the country, sir, other than boxing with stable hands?”

“I make wine.” He took her arm as they crossed a busy street.

“Would you like some roasted chestnuts?”

“Certainly.” They’d feel lovely in her hands, almost as lovely as the feel of his hand on her mantle.

He made a purchase from a street vendor and gave her the paper cone.

“Thank you. Do you think I could make wine?” She offered him a chestnut but he waved it away.

“It takes a vineyard. Did your father buy land?”

“Lots of it, I believe, but I think there are tenant farms.”

“You might pursue charity. These farm families often have so many children. I can’t imagine how the women manage.”

“Yes, I expect I’ll do that.” She remembered poverty, though nothing like farm poverty.

“Do you like children?”

What an odd question from a man. “I suppose I don’t spend much time with them. I do not have any nieces or nephews as of yet.”

“Nor I.”

“Theodore Bliven is calling on my sister this afternoon.” She peeled the shell off a warm chestnut, then removed the papery skin.

“He said he was having dinner with your family last night.” His statement sounded like a question.

She sighed. “We mixed as well as oil and water, just like the day we met at Redcake’s. He’s not serious enough for me.”

“I am sorry. He does like his fun. We see each other quite a bit in town. But he has never been to Sussex.”

“I’m not sorry. Maybe he and Matilda will suit. She seemed amenable.”

“He does have prospects. And your other sister, does she have suitors?”

“Not as of yet. She’s just a year older than Lady Elizabeth.”

“We’ll have to ensure their acquaintance.”

He really did seem to accept her family. Were they to be part of his set now? Her heart fluttered. Could she stand to be close to him?

“Indeed. Rose will be in raptures over your sister’s Paris wardrobe.

Oh, I need to return Lady Elizabeth’s gloves. I’m having them washed today.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you kept them, or even gave them to Miss Rose Redcake if they don’t suit you.”

“They might fit her better,” Alys agreed.

“And you, Miss Redcake? Do you have suitors?”

Suitors? Did she have suitors? Was Hatbrook a suitor? “I didn’t look to marry,” Alys said.

He smiled. “That doesn’t mean you have no suitors. Though I suppose it may mean you have none who interest you.”

She remembered his kiss. That moment had suited her very well.

She couldn’t imagine such a kiss from Lewis, or Ralph Popham, or even handsome Theodore Bliven. But if Hatbrook was her suitor, she could imagine being swept up in a courtship. “That may be the case.”

“I expect your father will find another. Theo said he seemed quite determined.”

The chestnuts no longer looked appealing. “How humiliating.”

“Not at all. No one who met you would think for a moment they needed to be forced to offer you their regard. You are a most attractive girl, Miss Redcake.”

“I’m twenty-six, definitely a spinster.”

“A lot of people have delayed marriage in these difficult financial times. Men need to build their fortunes. It takes time.”

“Is that why you have not married?”

“I would have needed a delay two years ago when my father died, if I’d had a prospective bride at the time. But I’ve been in no hurry, since I have a suitable heir.”

“No pressure from your mother?”

“I doubt she is in any rush to move into the Dower Cottage.”

“Especially with your sister to bring out.”

“Quite. Who could blame her? I do expect she’d clash with a saint, so I need to choose my bride most carefully.”

It would be the height of ill manners to agree with him regarding his mother, so Alys kept her mouth closed. She’d rather return to the part of the conversation about her attractiveness. Flattery had never interested her until it came from those lips.

“Would you like to come back to the house to see Mr. Bliven?”

Alys asked.

“I’d rather stay out here. Come.” He took her arm and drew her up the steps of a shuttered storefront. The sign in the window said the owner was visiting family and would return Tuesday.

A little alcove to the left held just enough space for them both, partially protected from the world of the street.

“This is very nice, don’t you think?” he asked.

Alys felt very warm, despite the chill air. She tucked the rest of her chestnuts into her muff, withholding one. After peeling it, she lifted it to his mouth. “Chestnut?”

He parted his lips. She could smell the Drambuie on his breath as she fed it to him.

“Better for you than pastry, I expect, sir. I understand some eat chestnuts instead of potatoes.”

His lips closed around the nut and he chewed it slowly. “Delicious. You do enjoy feeding people.”

The color had come back to his cheeks, the high color of winter cold and his nose had reddened a bit, but she could see his eyes clearly for the first time. A true sea blue with a dark ring around the edge of the iris, just a hint of gray in the color.

“You have handsome eyes,” she said without thinking.

He swallowed hard, spluttered a bit. “I think I’m the one to say that.”

She laughed, and to cover her nerves peeled another chestnut and fed it to him, then prepared one for herself. In companionable fashion they finished the cone.

“You seemed to eat them with as much enthusiasm as you do pastry.”

“Being fed by hand does add a certain spice that makes up for the lack of butter and cream,” he said, twinkling. “Alys, what is it that we are doing here?”

She hesitated for a moment. What could she say? He felt like a friend, though she had little experience with friendship. She found him very attractive. Perhaps this was the kind of relationship that led to one’s becoming a mistress, but she had no experience with such things, nor understanding of men of his rank. Or did her father’s money command a different approach from him? “I—I’m not sure, my lord. Have we been terribly improper?”

“What do you think?”

“We’ve been alone together, but not behind closed doors. We’ve walked together but not touching as would be inappropriate.”

“Yes?”

She touched her lips. “You kissed me.”

“What did you think about that?”

His sea gaze seemed to swallow her up. “It was lovely. Quite the loveliest thing I could imagine.”

“Alys,” he said, his voice gone hoarse. “I had not expected you.”

He reached for her and she found her hands pressed against his coat. Her muff hit the pavement. When his lips came down to meet hers, she touched him with a gasp of surprise and a melting feeling of submission. If this was how one became a mistress, then she was doomed to fall. How could she resist him?

His lips were cold but inside he emanated a warm, spicy heat. She flung her arms around his neck and pressed herself closer, drowning in his masculine warmth. Oh, but she could feel so little with all this winter fabric between them! He turned her so she rested against the wall, let his lips slip to her cheek, then to her neck. Her muffler loosened as his warmed lips danced there. She felt his tongue slide along the underside of her jaw.

“Hatbrook,” she whispered.

“Call me Michael.” He found her lips again, dipped in, plundered.

Pounding feet rang on the street outside the doorstep. A policeman’s whistle sounded and a woman screamed. Alys heard all this distantly, but then Michael lifted his lips from her mouth. She made a sound of protest but he stepped back.

“I believe we’ve lost our privacy.” He snuggled her muffler against her neck. “I’m afraid I do have somewhere to be soon besides.”

Alys glanced at the sky through the doorway and saw dark approaching. “I need to get home too.”

“May I call on you tomorrow?”

Alys’s stomach, and heart too, took wing. He wanted to call on her? That indicated a respectable interest, not a tawdry one. Or so she thought. She’d missed the kind of education young ladies had in finishing school. The gossip she’d heard in the workplace was an earthier brew. She hoped she didn’t make any egregious misstep.

What if he proposed? Her parents could find no fault in her, or her sisters. She would have months of peace.

“We will be at home at the usual hour,” she said primly, touching her hat.

“You look fine, Miss Redcake. Quite a picture.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She grinned at him.

“Let me escort you to the square.”

She rewrapped her muff. “If it is not out of your way.”

“It is not.”

He offered her his arm as she stepped into the damp street, then she let go as propriety demanded. Ironic, since her lips, her neck, her very skin still tingled from his touch. She’d never felt so warm, so liquid, so alive. The sensation made her giddy, made her want to skip like a child.

A marquess wanted to call on her, she, Alys Redcake. Far more importantly, Michael did. Her father would not plan more uncomfortable dinners for her if a marquess called.

“Starting to rain,” Michael said, looking up.

“I suppose we should walk faster,” Alys said, wishing she could take tiny, slow steps to prolong the excursion. But, she soon thought differently as the rain turned to hail.

They ran down the slippery pavement, Michael’s hand at her elbow.

“Maybe we should stop until it passes.”

“You’ll be late,” she gasped. “It’s not much farther.” She did not want to irritate him.

They ran again, the hail turned to snow, then rain again, all in the space of fifteen minutes. Soon, they were at the edge of the square.

 “I feel quite exercised,” Michael said, reminding Alys that she thought he’d gained weight.

“I am glad we both have good lungs,” Alys huffed. “Thank you.”

Michael bowed his head slightly to her, then crossed the street.

She stood despite the weather, watching his top hat until she couldn’t tell the difference between him and half a dozen more male passersby, warmed by his kiss and his promise. Then, she pushed dripping wet hair out of her eyes and went to her front door.