“Like this?” He plopped the dough in the middle of the white cloud, causing more of it to dust upward. He turned to look at me, and I had to bite my lip to stifle a loud laugh.
“What?”
“You have…” I winced and came close, reaching for his face with my uninjured hand. “Flour on your cheek.”
I’m not sure if either of us were breathing. And when did his eyes suddenly turn black? His Adam’s apple bobbed as I swiped his face clean with the tips of my fingers. Uhm… now what?
“Thank you,” he whispered.
I stepped back, clearing my throat and reaching for the cook’s tools. “Here. You will need a rolling pin.”
“I will need instruction in how to use it, as well.”
“Oh, nothing to it. You just…” I braced both hands on the rolling pin and tried to move it, but my wretched thumb was throbbing like the devil every time I let it drop below my heart.
“This will not do.” Fitzwilliam shook his head and stepped in behind me, pulling my left hand back and substituting his. “Like this?” he asked, giving the left side of the rolling pin a shove into the lump of dough.
All I could do was stare at his cheek—the faint stubble already growing after his morning shave, the way his pulse thumped just below the line of his jaw… Oh, good heavens, I was even admiring the shape of his ear and the way a lock of his hair curled around it.
“Ah… something like that.”
“Then let us coordinate our efforts until we have a rhythm. One… two…”
I let him set the pace, which was not difficult because his chest framing me set my arm into motion. I could not breathe, but somehow, I managed to talk, prattling unnecessarily about flaky crust and the Pemberley cook’s inimitable recipe to disguise my flustered state.
With his body pressed so distractingly close, I prayed he could not detect riotous thudding beneath my ribs. What woman could retain her senses enveloped thus?Just keep rolling dough, I commanded my trembling fingers. Good gracious, did my wayward thoughts conjure his woodsy scent intensifying? Impossible!Ignore the tingling nearness down your back. You are NOT leaning faintly nearer, seeking more contact...
But sanity’s shift never came. Heaven help me, I could not wrench free of this unexpected spell weaving round us. Mr. Darcy ought not prove so utterly irresistible with sleeves carelessly shoved back and hair endearingly disheveled! Yet here I stood wrestling wholly unfamiliar yearnings never roused by another soul.
As I fumbled to finally slide the tarts into the oven, the fresh warmth blooming over my cheekbones had little connection with baking. Because undeniably, as I floated like one enchanted through the most ordinary of tasks, every fiber of my being spoke a singular truth. This man’s intoxicating nearness was awakening and shifting irrevocably my entire perception of dear, steady Fitzwilliam Darcy.
The only thing I understood was that I was wholly lost without ever knowing where I went astray.
Twenty-Four
Darcy
Thebreezeslippingovermy flushed cheeks failed to temper the simmering chaos within. What madness had possessed me back there, offering to assist as a makeshift cook? My hapless fumbling with the sugared fruit and dough had not produced even the faintest hint of the beguiling laughter and adoring smiles from Elizabeth that George unfailingly coaxed forth. Could she not discern my own sorry efforts at playfulness and good humor? Had she even perceived my effort? Likely not, for to a young lady taught from childhood to admire George’s easy, artless charm, what could I hope to do with my bumbling efforts?
I shifted irritably in the saddle. Confound it all, I had intended to show her that other varieties of gentleman existed besides devil-may-care scapegraces. Steadier companions perhaps less prone to careless impropriety. Someone who might appreciate more subtly her resilience and fiery spirit. Egad, instead, my traitorous body reacted as though it would expire the moment I wrapped it about her delicate but deuced distracting frame!
I raked a hand roughly through my hair, scattering the last crumbs of flour. How had even the mundanity of baking conjured forth wanton imaginings of cinnamon-dusted lips and buttery caresses? Had I become one of those overeager youths requiring a bracing cold plunge to regain mastery over untimely reactions? I groaned, ducking beneath low-hanging branches as Claudius bore me onward. At least no evidence of my discomfort had betrayed me to her innocent eyes…. hopefully.
Almost against my will, one hand moved to loosen my suddenly snug collar. Mercy, but those smoked cherry tarts had been delectable—not quite to the standards of Pemberley’s cook, but exceeding respectable, indeed. Of course, such treats might merely have tasted ambrosial due to the beguiling company, elevating the experience to sensory intoxication. I blinked hard, sternly directing wandering thoughts back from soft, dangerous curves to more proper channels. Such madness must not repeat itself, no matter the temptations! Set firmer boundaries and cling tenaciously to them for everyone’s protection and good.
And yet... might not a trifle more harm await if walls rose impassibly high around my battered heart? Those merry dark eyes still smiled into mine, a teasing invitation echoing to test defenses erected perhaps overhastily. Elizabeth’s laughter filled my ears, mingling with Claudius’s rhythmic hoofbeats. I groaned aloud. Sweet torture indeed if she made a habit of conjuring herself at my side, even across six long empty miles and a half-eaten batch of tarts!
Ihadscarcelyenteredthe house, boots still dusted from the ride… and the flour… when my butler presented me an urgent summons from Harris at Pemberly Mills. One look at Huxley’s sober features banished any lingering fanciful reflections from my encounter with Elizabeth. Trouble was brewing, and not of the sort cherry tarts and coy smiles could sweeten.
“Thank you, Huxley. Send word to the stables to have Apollo saddled and waiting for me. I will go as soon as I have changed.” I was swiftly mounting the stairs when Bingley’s voice rang out, halting my hurried progress. “Ah, Darcy! Thank goodness, there you are!” His normally cheerful features looked uncharacteristically grave as he emerged from the drawing room.
I paused reluctantly, impatience rising. “Forgive me, Bingley, but some urgent business calls me away. Might we speak later?”
“But I have been waiting to apprise you of a worrisome matter these last two hours!” He hurried to catch me up before I could continue on. “I rode past one of your tenant farms this morning and happened to overhear talk of gathering trouble at the mills. I wondered if perhaps I might be of help.”
My focus sharpened. Few better understood the delicate balance required between owners and laborers. If he lent firsthand experience... Decision made, I beckoned him onward. “Come, then. Your insights may prove invaluable should cooler heads not yet prevail there.”
We hastened upstairs, where I swiftly stripped out of flour-dusted garments into fresh attire. My mind churned with uneasy speculation about what exactly awaited as we rode for the mill. Apollo’s nervous energy matched my own foreboding that the summons indicated exactly what hard experience suggested.
