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All that softness promised an assortment of delights to a gentleman who appreciated such things, which Bram did. She reminded him of a painting by Reubens with her beautiful mouth and the supple cream of her skin. He wanted all that voluptuous glory spilling over his bed where he could explore her to his heart’s content. Her nipples would be taut, peaking when Bram bent to put them in his mouth. The exact color of—
“Cherries,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.
Bram coughed, turning to hide the sudden tenting of his trousers. He hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “I beg your pardon?”
“I asked you about the cherries for the tart. Are they soaked in brandy first?”
He couldn’t answer immediately, too busy imagining how heavy her breasts would sit in the palms of his hands. “Possibly.”
A frown tugged at her lips. “What possible reason could you have for not telling me? And why would you neglect to tell meyouhad the cookbook?”
Bram had his reasons.
Miss Richardson, though she wouldn’t care for the comparison, reminded Bram of one of those tiny crabs he’d chased along the sand as a child, whenever his family visited the seashore. You couldn’t catch the crabs by approaching directly. They sidled back and forth, resisting all attempts to be trapped in Bram’s net. But if he left a pail near the water with something tempting inside, like a bit of fish or chicken, the crabs crawled inside of their own accord.
In this case, he was using a cookbook instead of chicken.
Miss Richardson made no effort to hide her annoyance that Bram didn’t immediately offer up the recipe for the tart or the custard. Or even tell her whether the damned cherries were soaked in brandy. “It is my understanding, my lord, that there is an English translation of the cookbook,” she said stiffly.
“Wonderful. Then you should have no trouble finding your own copy.” A translation of the cookbook was a fallacy, probably fostered by French émigrés. It had been a matter of national pride to keep the book in French, at least according to his mother. Outside of his mother’s friends, who were all long dead, Bram had never heard of nor seen another copy of the cookbook in London. And hehadsearched, mostly for his own satisfaction, for far longer than Miss Richardson. He might well have the last copy ofCuisiner pour les Roisin England.
Miss Richardson’s lips trembled before she forced a smile. “Are you being so difficult because I might have suggested you padded your shoulders?”
“Don’t forget the corset wearing,” he replied.
“There you are.” A feminine voice came from the doorway.
Bram turned to see a stunning young woman blink at him from a pair of incandescent blue eyes, marking her as a Barrington. He recognized her immediately, as they’d been introduced at Granby’s house party. She was the sister of the new Duchess of Granby and Miss Richardson’s cousin. Lady Theodosia Barrington.
“Lady Theodosia.” He bowed to her. “How lovely to see you again.”
“Lord Torrington.” She cast a look in Miss Richardson’s direction. “How unexpected to see you here. Digging through dusty cookbooks.” She narrowed her eyes slightly, whether to pretend shrewdness or because she couldn’t see clearly, Bram wasn’t sure. Lady Theodosia stumbled, bumped, and ran into a great many things. He suspected she was in need of spectacles, but vanity kept her from wearing them.
“Miss Richardson said much the same. I wonder at the opinion you two have formed of me,” Bram said. “I think you’d both be surprised.”
His quarry watched Bram from beneath her lashes with a calculating look, likely trying to ascertain how she might wrest the cookbook from him with as little effort as possible. Miss Richardson was quite desperate to get a hold ofCuisiner pour les Rois.
Coincidentally enough, Bram was quite eager to get his hands onher.
Lady Theodosia smiled back at him. She really was a lovely girl. Stunning, as all the Barringtons were. He’d never seen a family so blessed with such good looks and copious amounts of eccentricity. Miss Richardson wasn’t so different from her cousins.
“I fear I’ve tarried long enough.” Bram bowed politely. “Manfred likely has my order packaged and ready.” He tossed Miss Richardson a pointed look. “A collection of dull stories sure to remind me of my distant youth.”
Miss Richardson shot him an annoyed look. “No doubt, my lord. I bid you good afternoon.”
Bram wanted to kiss her again. Right here in front of Lady Theodosia and the patrons of Thrumbadge’s. Cause a horrible scandal. Force a marriage neither of them wanted.
Hadn’t wanted,Bram corrected himself.
“Perhaps we’ll see you this evening,” Lady Theodosia said as Bram headed to the door. “At Lord Blythe’s birthday celebration.”
“I’m sure of it.” Bram inclined his head, looking directly at Miss Richardson, and strolled away, trying not to smile.
