Chapter 15

 

 

 

A duke? Interested in her?

Perhaps she caught his attention because she was distinctly different from young ladies within his privileged sphere. There was no denying it; he had caught her interest as well. Easy to talk to—and easy on the eyes—loyal to his friends, honorable. Clever. Intelligent. Interested in the world around him and investing in the future.

For a brief moment, she allowed a daydream: the two of them living happily as a couple—while she continued to live her independent life as owner-operator of The Galway Agency.

The bubble burst as swiftly as it formed.

It could never happen.

Dukes made marriageable alliances with daughters of peers, not with a middle-class miss who lived life her way. She could never conform to his stuffy upper-crust existence.

Good God, marriage?

Since when did she indulge in sentimental claptrap like a happily-ever-after?

Never.

Or hardly ever.

Her gaze met his. He was vastly appealing, not only physically, but in the way, he held himself aloof to others, but not with her. Christian was upfront and honest. They genuinely liked and respected each other, even though they had hardly known each other for two weeks. Factor in the simmering but sizzling heat between them; he was everything that she ever wanted in a man.

“We cannot become distracted from the task at hand, solving this case,” she said. Eleanora could hear the regret in her voice.

“I completely agree, but there is something there, there—and it would a damned shame if we did not explore it. Why not take this a day at a time?”

Smiling, she said, “Come with me to my house, then. You can assist me in preparing the scones. Have you ever been in a kitchen?”

Christian had been correct when he said there was something—there. 

Her two previous brief encounters with men were empty. Meaningless. She did not want such with Christian. If what lay between them even advanced that far. By chance, it did; Eleanora wanted it to be a memory she cherished for the rest of her life.

“I used to make regular journeys to the kitchen,” he replied, his pale blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Granted, I was eight years of age and hoping to charm a biscuit or two from the cook, Mrs. Tallmadge.”

Eleanora chuckled. “It will be a new experience for you. Domestic work.”

He gave her his quirky but arresting smile. “I am a quick learner. I’m doing well as your assistant, am I not? And yes, I’m looking for a compliment. My ego needs the boost.”

His intense but heated gaze gave her heart a jolt. All he had to do was smile, and she was utterly lost.

“You’re doing well. So far,” Eleanora smiled.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Thirty minutes later, after Christian changed his clothes at the club and gathered up his carriage and driver, they arrived at Cleveland Street. Christian gave Michaels some money to seek his lunch at the George and Dragon Pub next door and to pay to have the carriage watched as he did so.

They entered the front hall, and Christian automatically removed his greatcoat and hat and hung it on the hall tree as if he did it every day.

“No one home?” he asked.

“Althea is off doing follow-up for me, and my housekeeper is at the market. Here.” Eleanora helped him remove his suit coat. “You cannot wear such finery in a kitchen.”

After hanging it on an empty hook, she trailed her fingers down the sleeve of his shirt, marveling at the solid muscle underneath. Reaching his cuff, she slipped the pearl buttons through the holes and slowly, but purposely, folded the shirtsleeve upward, exposing his forearm. Then she did the other.

Eleanora blushed, her body reacting to the nearness of him. Every feminine part of her was alive. Her fingers absently caressed the exposed skin on his arm. So warm.

“We’d best head to the kitchen.”

“Lead on.” His voice was gruff, his look heated.

Impulsively, she kissed his cheek, then turned swiftly and headed toward the kitchen.

With Christian near, it would be difficult to concentrate on the case, let alone baking. Eleanora moved about gathering earthenware bowls, utensils, and ingredients.

“I know many upper-class cooks make round scones; I like to cut them into wedges,” Eleanora said as she opened the icebox. “First, the butter must be cold.”

She turned to face Christian and held up the dish. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, giving her that sensual, half-smile that made her heart beat a little faster.

“Next is buttermilk. It gives height to the scones due to the acidity reacting to the baking powder.” Eleanora cocked her head. “How on earth can you be the least bit interested in this?”

“I am all attention, I assure you. What is baking powder?”

She brightened at the subject. “A British chemist, Alfred Bird, was the first to develop it in eighteen forty-three because his wife was allergic to yeast. It is a mixture of several things, including baking soda and cornstarch. It’s a fascinating invention, as it causes carbon dioxide, hence the rising. First, though, we want to light the oven. I have a gas cooker, how modern of me. Did you know that at the World’s Fair in Chicago, a working electric cooker was on display? It will be years before it catches on, but imagine!”

“Fascinating,” he smiled.

She lit the cooker, then faced him. “Next, we need to mix the dry ingredients. That will be your chore. You have to mix the butter with the dry until it has the consistency of small peas. You will be using your hands. It’s why I rolled up your sleeves.”

Eleanora opened a drawer and pulled out an apron. “Here, wear this to protect your fine waistcoat.” Without waiting for a reply, she looped the strap around his neck, then stood behind him.

My, how shameless that she admired his fine arse. How tempting it would be to slide her hands over the muscled globes. Would he give that combination of a growl and a moan that caused her heart to stutter? Lingering a moment longer, she grasped the apron ties and secured them at his back.

With a swift turn, Christian faced her. Cupping her cheeks, he leaned in to kiss her. This one was different from the others. It was gentle, tender, and soul-stirring. Reverent. And absolutely stunning. He ended it by softly nibbling on her lower lip.

“If the scones taste as sweet as you, they will be amazing,” he crooned.

Eleanora took a moment to savor the kiss and his flirting. Oh, she could kiss this man forever.

“Now,” she said briskly, turning her attention to the task at hand. “We measure the flour, baking powder, sugar.”

With quick efficiency, she had all the ingredients in the large bowl. Taking Christian’s hands, she admired them, her thumbs stroking them from his wrist to his long fingers and manicured nails. A reckless part of her—more reckless than she was acting now—wanted to drag him up to her bedroom, tear his clothes off, and have her wicked way with him. No man had ever caused her ordered mind even to consider such.

“Here, time to mix the ingredients,” she muttered, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Who knew baking could be so blasted sensual?

Eleanora guided his hands into the bowl, demonstrating how to fold in the butter. Their fingers entwined as it moved through the flour blend. Good lord, if she was overheated before, now she was ready to burst into flame.

For a moment, they stood hip-to-hip, hands covered with flour. Christian squeezed her hand, his thumb caressing that sensitive area between her thumb and index finger. A soft sigh escaped her throat before she could stop it.

“I’d better prepare the pan.” Reluctantly, she moved away but kept giving him clandestine glances as she couldn’t tear her eyes from him.

A duke mixing scones in her kitchen. It beggared belief.

“This is quite relaxing,” Christian stated as he continued blending the flour.

“Yes, exactly why I love it.” The bell clanged. “Oh, blast it all. I will get the door. Continue, assistant.”

“Understood, Miss Galway,” he replied in that low, husky voice of his.

She chuckled, and after wiping her hands on the tea towel, headed into the hall. Opening the door, she found no one there, only a small box sitting on the stoop. Eleanora glanced at the brown paper-wrapped package, and as soon as she saw the word “Rakes” scrawled on it, she yelled, “Christian!”

Stepping onto the sidewalk, she looked up the street, then down, and caught a glimpse of someone with a long cloak and a floppy hat duck into the pub. The George and Dragon Pub was one of those places that had two entrances. The other entry at the rear alley led to an intersection of three streets. Eleanora didn’t hesitate; she lifted her skirts, tucking them under her waistband, and starting running in pursuit of the mystery person.

The pub was crowded enough that she couldn’t immediately locate Christian’s driver, but the man with the cloak was near the rear exit. Once he ran into the crowded convergence on the streets, he could be lost easily. Especially if he tossed the hat and cape. Eleanora raced through the pub, shoving her way through the crowd.

“Eleanora!” Christian yelled as he was right on her heels.

“This way!” she replied, not looking back. They must look a pair, her with her skirt tucked up and Christian wearing an apron and with his flour-covered hands.

Once she made it onto Clipstone Street, she stopped dead in her tracks. Three men, at least she assumed they were men judging by their height and build, stood at the intersection. All were dressed similarly in floppy hats, dark spectacles, a handkerchief tied about the lower part of their face, and a long cloak. Like illustrations of villain pirates, only without the sword and the parrot perched on his shoulder.

Behind them, facing in different directions of the three streets, were three similar carriages. These were not hansom cabs but actual Clarence carriages with two horses.

The men each climbed into their conveyances. The coachmen, dressed the same as the caped men, all snapped their reins departing in different directions.

Which one to chase?

Christian came up behind her, slightly out of breath. “Michaels is right behind me—”

“We can’t wait! Pick one, quick!” Eleanora took off as if shot out of a cannon.

“Wait, El!”

But she didn’t stop. She’d always been a fast runner, thanks to her long legs. Eleanora headed toward the carriage that was finding it difficult to navigate its way through the busy streets. She was almost to the door and was relieved to see the windows were not glassed in. Taking a giant leap; Eleanora landed on the metal step, her hands clasping the handle. She pulled, but Cloaked Pirate held it closed.

“Eleanora!”

Why was Christian pursuing her? She distinctly told him to chase one of the other carriages. Why wouldn’t he listen? The one time he didn’t follow her orders, stubborn man!

The carriage went over a bump, and she nearly lost her footing. While she struggled with the handle, the carriage picked up speed. Without warning, the door flew open. Acting quickly; Eleanora looped her arm through the open window and held on tight since she lost her footing from the metal step. Grunting, she swung the door forward, her booted foot desperately feeling for the stair.

There!

If she managed to lean in far enough to pull the handkerchief off the face of Cloaked Pirate, they would have a lead or clue. Oh, if only she had her wrist knife on her, she could at least make a threat, enough of one that she could halt the carriage. Trying to dig the one out of her boot would give the man an advantage, and she would lose her footing besides.

As she was about to step inside, the pirate’s leg shot forward. The heel of his boot caught her square in the chest, knocking the wind out of her. The motion caused her to lose her grip. Eleanora’s arms flailed as she fell to the cobbles with such force; she rolled at least three times, her head banging against cobblestones with enough impact she saw stars.

Oh, hell.

Everything went dark.