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Breaking apart as if they were literally on fire, Beatrice put her finger to her lips, making sure Mr. Carson said not a word. She knew there was a reason she didn’t like customers!
His lovely blue-gray eyes were wide, probably just like hers, and she could tell he realized the perilousness of their situation. They should never have gone in the back, not even to drink tea. She’d known that, and yet she’d willingly flirted with disaster.
Looking down at her dress, making sure her apron was still straight, she dashed out of the curtained back.
***
“GOOD DAY.” GREER HEARD Beatrice greet the customer, sounding far cheerier than her usual self.
He didn’t move an inch, didn’t dare make even the smallest sound.
“What can I get you?” she said, sounding a little rushed.
“I’m not certain as yet,” came a male reply, and Greer could imagine that response nettling the toffee-maker.
“I heard you make excellent confectionery, and thus, here I am, Lord Dunlop, at your service.”
“No, my lord, I am at your service,” she intoned, and he knew what that cost her. Any man who wandered into a sweet shop and had to promote his title was probably a stuffed shirt of great magnitude.
“Yes, naturally,” the man replied.
“We have many fine chocolates, some flavored, some not. We have toffee with nuts and without, smothered in chocolate and plain. And we have marzipan in many shapes and sizes.”
Greer could imagine her pointing out each shelf of confections to the lord.
“I can put a smaller quantity in a bag, or if you prefer a greater amount, then we have pretty tins.”
“You are a helpful girl, aren’t you?” he said.
This engendered no audible remark, so Beatrice must be simply staring at the man, hopefully smiling not scowling.
After another moment, the customer added, “You do have pretty tins, indeed.”
Wait, what? Greer thought the man’s voice had taken on a distinctly lascivious tone.
However, in a normal voice, Beatrice asked, “Would you care to sample something, my lord?”
The man chuckled. “Definitely. How much will it cost me?”
The hair on the back of Greer’s neck stood up.
“Samples are complimentary, my lord. Perhaps a chocolate?”
He chuckled again. “Yes, let me start with a chocolate.”
There was movement as Beatrice got one from the display case. He knew she would place it on one of their delicate plates and hand it to the customer.
However, the man asked, “Would you place it on my tongue?”
The rogue! Greer’s hands had already balled into fists before he realized it.
“No, my lord. That would be unsanitary.”
For the first time, she sounded annoyed.
“That’s a clever new word, isn’t it? I take your meaning, miss, and I can think of more unsanitary things we could do and enjoy far more than eating chocolate.”
He heard Beatrice stomp her foot.
“Doubtful,” came her insolent reply. “Do you wish to buy something, my lord, or not?”
Greer had to hand it to her. She kept her aplomb and even sounded bored by her lewd tormenter.
“What if I reach over this counter and fondle your bubbies? Merely to sample, of course. For free, as you promised.”
“I must ask you to leave,” came her tone, calm and firm.
“I’m a baron,” he said.
“And I’m a duke’s sister-in-law,” she shot back, quick as a whip.
Greer wanted to cheer.
“Liar,” said the man, not sounding at all pleased, perhaps from fear she was telling the truth. But then, undoubtedly thinking the odds of a nobleman’s relation working in a store were slim, his syrupy, languid tone was back. “For that prevarication, I will ask for more than a small sample. It looks like you have a back room.”
Greer took in a breath. Naturally, he would rescue Beatrice if the scoundrel tried to drag her into the back, but her reputation would be shredded by his presence already in hiding. And this seemed precisely the type of villain who would seek to use it against her, and perhaps come sniffing back at a more suitable moment to catch her alone.
“That is a workroom for employees,” she bit out. “It seems you are not interested in our confectionery, so I must ask you again to leave. I’m closing up the shop now.”
“Why don’t you close it and lock the door, and I’ll let you have a taste of me.”
That was it! He couldn’t believe any man — never mind a baron — would go into a shop in broad daylight and harass a shopgirl in such a fashion.
Quietly and as fast as possible, he removed his hat, slid out of his coat, and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. Then, remembering his ascot, he loosened it and tossed it aside. He wished he had something like a butcher’s apron, but he would have to try his best.
“I’ve finished taking inventory, sister,” Greer proclaimed loudly as he parted the curtain, attempting an English accent, “and I’ve swept the floor.”
The so-called baron went white as a sheet.
“Oh, good, another customer,” Greer said, as if only then noticing him. “You made it in the nick of time, good sir. We’re about to close up.”
He glanced at Beatrice who appeared red-cheeked, either with anger at the baron or embarrassment at Greer’s sudden appearance, but she took a deep breath and returned to her normal, creamy complexion in seconds. Even her lovely blue eyes danced with merriment.
“Thank you, brother. I believe this gentleman was about to make a large purchase indeed. Fortunately, you haven’t yet gone to Teavey’s for your pugilistic workout. The baron, here, might need you to carry his order.”
“I am looking forward to knocking someone into a cocked hat, for sure,” Greer said, flexing his hands in front of him. “But I can wait a minute and carry out his lordship’s purchases.”
“No ... no, that won’t be necessary,” the rogue said. “Give me a pound of toffee.”
But Beatrice was shaking her head.
“No,” the baron corrected. “A pound each of chocolates and toffee, and what did you say that was?”
“Marzipan,” Beatrice said curtly.
“A pound of that, too.”
“The tins are extra,” she told him, “and we only accept ready money from new accounts. You cannot put it on credit.”
“Naturally. Credit, indeed!” he said as if he would never do such a thing.
Beatrice named the enormous cost, enough for three dinners out if Greer recalled her first coin lesson correctly.
The baron hesitated.
“I am sorely looking forward to beating the tar out of someone at Teavey’s,” Greer said. “I can hardly wait to get started.”
The man’s coin purse came out at once, and he placed the amount on the counter. Beatrice drew it toward her and then proceeded to fill the order in silence. It felt like a long, tense time while she filled three pound-size tins, which she finally placed on the counter.
Snatching them up and without a word of farewell, the baron left, leaving the door open wide.
Greer went to close it, feeling certain that particular rascal wouldn’t return to harass his toffee-maker. His? Where had that inappropriate and inaccurate thought come from?
In any case, he hoped she wasn’t too upset. The thought of a tearful, frightened Beatrice made his stomach knot.
When he turned to her, however, she smiled and then began to laugh. He watched her beautiful face, relaxed and happy after what had just transpired, and couldn’t imagine another female who would react in such a way.
After she caught her breath, she picked up the coins in front of her and bent down. He heard the cash box open and close. When she stood straight, she looked right at him.
“You were clever, Mr. Carson, even if I have no idea what a cocked hat has to do with it, or beating tar. Some American sayings, I suppose. When I saw you emerge, I thought you were adding to my woes, and then I realized you’d called me ‘sister.’ The rolled-up sleeves were an excellent touch. Pity we didn’t have a proper apron for you.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” He wanted to laugh off the entire incident, but deep down, he was disturbed by it. “What if I hadn’t been here?”
“I would have handled it as I have before.”
Before? “Does this happen often?”
“No, but each of us has experienced some unwanted advances, even when there are two of us here. I must admit, I felt comforted and emboldened, knowing you were in the back room ... taking inventory!” She smiled broadly.
“I couldn’t think what else I might be doing,” he admitted. “I confess to a feeling of worry over what might have occurred.”
“As I said, it wasn’t the first time.” Beatrice bent down and retrieved something. “We use a bat when necessary, although that has happened very few times.” Reaching up, she wielded a cricket bat, waving it over her head.
“Most of the lecherous men are popinjays and don’t take kindly to being threatened. Sometimes, I honestly think the noblemen like the one today believe I will be honored to provide whatever service they demand, simply because they have a title. That idiot made sure to tell me he was a baron, and it seemed to go from bad to worse quickly after that.”
“It did. I apologize on behalf of my kind.” Greer felt a sense of outrage. She ought to be able to sell confectionery without fear of assault.
“Your kind?” she asked, sounding amused.
“Men, in general, particularly those who take advantage of—” he broke off recalling the kiss that now seemed a lifetime ago. With shame, he recalled taking hold of her and kissing her, the feel of her warm body pressed against him and her sweet lips under his.
Obviously, Beatrice could tell where his thoughts had gone, for she shook her head slightly and blushed. He hoped she didn’t include him in the lecherous men who sought to take advantage of her — or in his case, succeeded in doing so.
He swallowed. “Now, I must apologize for my own behavior. It was not well done of me. You should probably slap my face.” He took a few steps in her direction so she could do so if she wished.
“Probably,” she agreed, looking solemn but not angry.
“I would prefer you didn’t use the bat, however.”
In answer, she put it away behind the counter.
“And we shouldn’t be alone again if I am going to behave like an uncivilized animal,” he added.
“Are you?” she asked. “Again, I mean?”
He groaned. She did think ill of him for kissing her. And why shouldn’t she? He had a goal to marry a lady, and Beatrice knew it. Had that changed? It hadn’t. Any relationship he had with her had to stop at friendship. Kissing her, no matter how compelled he’d felt earlier, was beyond the pale and couldn’t happen again. He could only blame an overwhelming compunction once, and it had been truly overwhelming. One moment, he’d been sipping tea, and the next thing he knew, when their fingers brushed, desire for her sang through his body. He’d given in to it without thinking.
If their kiss gave her the wrong idea, it would be his own fault. Moreover, the last thing he wanted to do was lead her on. Since a second occurrence must be construed as deliberate, he would never let that happen.
What could he say? “I truly am sorry.”
“You should have placed the mug back upon the countertop and that wouldn’t have happened,” she said. “In the future, avoid touching ladies’ hands, especially when they are not wearing gloves.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “As I suspected,” he said. “There are rules for everything, even tea cups.”
She sighed and shrugged slightly. “I may close early, Mr. Carson. I think my mother will understand. Getting home in the early hours of the morning isn’t conducive to working in a shop all day.”
“No, I imagine it isn’t. I confess I slept in.”
“I confess I did, too,” she said. “Yet, I’m tired in any case.”
“Very well.” She was right. He should leave, mainly because he’d been so surprised by the strong desire to kiss her, he wasn’t positive it wouldn’t come upon him again. Therefore, it was prudent not to put either of them at risk.
“I’ll get my coat.”
With her silence as agreement, he passed through the opening between the counters and went into the back room. Grabbing up his coat, he shrugged into it quickly, hell-bent on returning to the front before anyone else came in. Snatching up his hat, he passed through the curtain, to see she hadn’t moved.
“Two days until the next ball,” he reminded her.
“Without the benefit of it being in the familiar territory of my sister’s home.”
“I’m sure we will muddle through,” Greer promised, not sure at all. Patting his pocket, he added, “Thank you for the toffee.” And bit his tongue before he also thanked her for the most splendid kiss he’d ever had.
***
AS SOON AS THE DOOR closed behind Mr. Carson, Beatrice took in a large ragged breath and blinked back unexpected tears. Then she did, in fact, lock up and flip the sign hanging from a pretty blue ribbon to indicate they were no longer open for business. After all, she’d made more from that awful louse of a baron than they’d made in the previous two days. She could afford to close up shop early.
Even if she hadn’t received the windfall, she would have had to close. She needed peaceful quiet to tame her ardent emotions. That kiss for which Mr. Carson so blithely apologized had been sublime and soul-shaking. Alone, she could relive it, the way he drew her toward his person, wrapped his strong arms around her, held her with ungloved hands. When his warm, firm lips touched hers, the world had shrunk to the back room of Rare Confectionery, and nothing else had existed.
If that awful lord hadn’t intruded, they might have been kissing still.
She giggled nervously at the ridiculous thought. Of course, they wouldn’t have still been kissing. However, it might have gone on a little longer. Perhaps long enough for Mr. Carson to realize they suited one another perfectly, regardless of her untitled state.
After all, with his personal wealth, he could buy some other country house. He didn’t need that old Scottish abandoned manor. Did he?
The tears pricked her eyes again. Their encounter and the knowledge it could never lead to anything saddened her. Having already cleaned up her workstation and everything else except their mugs being washed, she set them in the sink and poured the last of the soapy water from a pot on the stove into them. Charlotte would deal with it in the morning or leave it for her to do when Beatrice went in later the next day. No matter.
Pouring the remainder of the tea down the drain, she tossed the leaves into the stove to help bank the coals and then finished the job. Thankfully, she had a fifteen-minute walk before she reached her doorstep, time enough to settle her thoughts and realize nothing had changed.
Before she left the back room, she spied a white cloth on the floor by the stool. Picking it up, she realized it was Mr. Carson’s ascot. Without thinking, she buried her face in the soft material, breathing in his familiar scent. Her body tingled again.
Blue blazes! The American had worked his way into her heart and mind. She couldn’t deny it. Stuffing the ascot into the seam pocket of her day dress, she straightened. She would find a husband at one of those horrid dances. And even if she didn’t, Mr. Carson would never be hers.