His gaze dropped to her lips, and he leaned in, slowly, irresistibly. She hung on his every movement, no matter how small or slow. It was as if time itself began to slow with her desire for him.
“With the baking,” he said with another smile that made her knees tremble. “I have little experience, but I am good with instructions. And it does seem that things have gotten quite out of hand in here.”
“Oh yes! Please, Your Grace!” John called, taking a spoon to show the consistency of his royal icing. “I would be so grateful if you could tell me whether this tastes all right.”
“I would be honored,” Hugo said as he approached him.
He took the spoon from John and held it up to his nose to take a sniff. He gave an approving nod, then pressed the spoon to his lips. He took a tentative lick, then popped the spoon in his mouth.
“This is not good,” he said gently, shaking his head.
“Oh no!” Timothy cried. “I told you we would make a muddle of it! A dreadful muddle! ‘Tis almost as bad as when we tried to mend the broken window!”
“You did not let me finish, young man,” Hugo chided gently. “What I was going to say is that it is not good; it is absolutely delicious! I think if we salvage the dough for the cakes, we will be in great shape. Well done, John.”
“Oh, that is capital news!” John exclaimed, grinning at the other boys. “Do you hear? His Grace favors my icing!”
“Come, Lady Inverhall.” Hugo dipped the spoon into the icing and wiggled it in the air. “Tell me what you think of this.”
Elspeth stepped closer, and before she could think better of it, he lifted the spoon to her lips. Heat rose to her cheeks at the intimacy of it, the way his gaze lingered, the quiet expectation in his eyes, as though this simple act held some deeper meaning.
Her lips parted, almost against her will, and she felt the brush of cool metal as he slipped the spoon into her mouth.
For a breathless instant, all she was aware of was him: the nearness of his hand, the intensity of his gaze, the ridiculous pounding of her heart.
Then, the taste registered: sweet, heavy with sugar, but smooth in texture.
Icing. She was sampling icing, nothing more.
The boys had done well, and better yet, Hugo was there to witness it, to encourage them, to—heaven help her—laugh and have fun.
The realization softened her, warmth spreading through her chest, and a smile she could not suppress curved her lips.
“This is delightful,” she remarked softly. “Thank ye, Yer Grace.”
“Boys, why don’t you take a turn in the courtyard for a short while? I would like to have a word with Lady Inverhall, before we begin again.”
The boys tore off their aprons and took off into the hallway with a gallop.
Elspeth heard the door swing open and shut as they ran into the courtyard, hoots and hollers in their wake.
I can only imagine what those little goblins are up to.
“Now, about this pressing matter, Lady Inverhall,” Hugo began as he braced a hand on the counter, backing her up against the cool marble.
“Aye, Yer Grace.” She gulped.
Her breath hitched, her eyes fluttering shut, anticipating the kiss she prayed would come. That sheneededto come.
“I…” he muttered, his voice deep and velvety and so, so inviting.
The air between them felt taut, trembling with promise. She drew in a deep breath, his scent filling her—clean and piney, threaded with the faintest warmth of spice.
Her lips parted, the world narrowing to the heat of his nearness, the brush of his breath against her own. Every nerve in her body prickled with awareness.
The moment seemed inevitable, irresistible.
Then, a sharp, insistent knock sounded at the kitchen door. The sound broke the spell like a stone dropped into still water.
