There was always a risk that if they tried to grow too big too fast, the eagle eyes of the EIC might turn in their direction.
Robert glanced at his immaculate shirt and suit. “That was a waste of a well-tied cravat.”
With his potential customer no longer an option, there was little point in him staying at the party. He was a duke, and once the match making mamas got wind of his presence, he’d have them sidling up to make introductions to their sweet young daughters. The last thing he needed right now was to be fending them off with vague offers of walks in Hyde Park and sharing supper boxes at the theatre.
George’s gaze slipped back to the table, and Robert pointed to the empty plate that the young woman had left. “Help yourself. No one is going to stop you.”
His servant wasn’t an invited guest, and had no right to supper, but as George picked up the plate and began heaping food onto it, Robert simply smiled. Society’s rules were all a lie anyway. If no one in thehaut tonwas prepared to forcibly break up long-held monopolies which destroyed free trade, then in his book they had no right to take issue with him offering food to a hungry man.
But just to be sure, I won’t leave George to eat on his own.
Robert snatched up a cucumber sandwich and popped it into his mouth. Quickly chewing down the day-old bread, he pointed toward the door. “I just challenged a young woman over what she’d said about the quality of the food. Turns out she was right. It is bland and tasteless. And the bread is stale. Come on, let’s get out of here and go find a tasty fish pie.”
George’s brows furrowed. “You mean the dark-haired miss in the golden silk gown who just marched out of here with a look onher face that said she would give anything to be kissed, but the second you did, she’d slap your face?”
I might have said something to offend her. I have a habit of doing that with people.
He wasn’t going to admit that he’d been looking at more than just her face while they spoke. Her opinion about the supper table hadn’t been the only firm thing in the room during their encounter.
Robert sucked in a deep, calming breath. “Yes, the dark-haired woman. I didn’t notice what she was wearing.”
Liar.
His man of business snorted, not buying the lie for one single minute. “That was Lady Victoria Kembal. Apparently, she has a thing about what constitutes good food. Fancies herself as a bit of an expert on the subject. The two of you would make a good pair.”
“Perhaps not such a good pair. I told her she was being rude about the food, so I can’t see her wanting to share any more of her opinions with me.”
What he’d clearly viewed as simple arrogance now made sense as something else. Apparently, he’d been the one in the wrong. He’d treated Lady Victoria as if she wouldn’t know much beyond thinly sliced cucumbers and baked salmon. From what George had said, it looked like he’d missed a golden opportunity to discuss food with someone who appreciated it.
Damn. She was feisty, but she was right on the money about the supper.
A female who understood the subtle nuances of food, now that was a woman he could find room for in his life. Something to consider when he finally got serious about looking for a wife. A shared love of fine food and wine would make a solid foundation for a happy marriage. That and a lust-filled bed.
He picked up a small beef pie and took a bite. The gravy and meat was surprisingly rich. For a half-moment, Robert was tempted to grab another one and go find Lady Victoria Kembal. Tell her that he had discovered something worthy of her fine palate.
Somehow, I think I might have already done my dash with her. More’s the pity.
Grabbing another of the pies, he motioned to the door. “Forget about the fish pie—take the rest of the evening off. Go home, George. Give my regards to your sweet lady wife.”
Robert followed George out the door and into the night. He quickly hailed a hackney cab and gave the driver his address in Pye Street. He was still hungry, but he’d rather go home. Back at Tolley House, he fried up a bacon and mushroom omelet, then headed up to bed.
Lying naked beneath the sheets, Robert took himself in hand, reaching his completion within a matter of minutes. The Duke of Spice drifted off to a deep, sated sleep. In his slumber, he dreamt of being in bed with a woman whose long chocolate brown hair splayed out under her naked body. He fed her tasty bites of cheese, then kissed her raspberry stained lips.
And she tasted of perfection.
Chapter Seven
The following morning.
The morning after the first round of balls and parties, an exhausted and somewhat disappointed Victoria was still trying to make sense of it all. According to Matthew, who seemed to have an opinion on everyone, the men their mother had so far selected were either cads, rakes, bores, or all of the above. Not one of them would be good enough for his sister.
Thank god for Matthew, and his brutally honest opinions.
Last night, she’d been paraded around in front of London’s elite like a prized mare. The three separate gala balls were just the beginning. From what her mother had confided in her after they’d returned home, Victoria’s social diary was close to full for the foreseeable future. The husband hunt was on in full earnest.
In the face of all those impending parties, a frustrated Victoria did the only thing a sensible young woman could do. She fled Mowbray House at first light and sought refuge at her sister’s home. She didn’t even bother to stop at her usual German bakery for her daily sourdough bread and salted butter.
Fortunately Augusta, Countess Bramshaw, was at home, and after Victoria had been shown into the upstairs drawing room at Bramshaw House, her sister welcomed her with open arms. And plenty of questions.
