“Helping you with this pudding,” he said without hesitation.“I think we should start over.How much suet do you have?According to the recipe—”
“I cannot find your match if you don’t tell me what you want,” she reminded him.
“Nutmeg isn’t next,” he said as he watched her grate its essence over the bowl.“This isyourfamily recipe.First comes treacle or molasses, and then ginger, cinnamon, and—”
He reached for the bowl.
She spun it off the counter and out of his grasp.
He stepped forward, trapping her with her back to the table and only a wobbly bowl of pudding between them.
He reached out his hands, as if to rescue the bowl.Or to cover her trembling hands with his for support.His dark eyes were so close to hers.
“The spices…” he said hoarsely.
“I’m wild,” she whispered without moving a muscle.“You can’t stop me.”
His gaze lowered to her mouth.
Breathing was suddenly difficult.She tried not to lick her lips.The smell of the brandy must be going to her head.
His gaze lowered even more, from her parted lips down to the bowl of sloppy pudding resting dangerously close to his starched white cravat.
He jumped away as if its proximity had scalded him.
“My apologies,” he said quickly.“Recipes exist for a reason.I tend to lose my head when rules aren’t attended to.It is a personality flaw.”
Part of her wished he’d lost his head just a few moments longer.
“Is that what you want?”she asked when she found her voice.“Someone who prefers facts to adventure?”
He turned to face her in surprise.“Travelsareabout facts.One can read as many secondhand journals as one wishes, but nothing compares to a first-hand fact-finding mission.”
She stared at him.“You think of exotic holidays in far-flung places as research opportunities?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Why do explorers explore?”he asked.“Because they’re searching for something.”
“Searching for facts,” she said doubtfully.
“Of course.What are travel journals, if not a record of information gathered during a reconnaissance mission?”His eyes lit up.“Geography, weather patterns, the rules and customs of local traditions…”
Rules again.
“I suppose that explains your ability with French.To you, it’s nothing more than a set of rules to follow?”
“Everything has a right way,” he said.“That’s what I strive for.In life, and in marriage.My ideal bride will also have the ability to analyze the world around her and behave accordingly.”
“Someone who doesn’t change,” she said.“Someone obsessed with random facts, who over-analyzes how everything works.I know just the woman.”
He brightened.“You do?”
Gloria handed the pudding bowl to Madge and took off the apron.“Just a short walk away.”
“I brought my carriage.”
