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Oh, he’s splendid.
“I didn’t realize you had a dog.”
“Every ancient lecher needs a pet, don’t you agree?” Torrington gave her a roguish wink.
“Not once did I refer to you as a lecher.” Honestly, she might have. Once. Her opinion of the man before her was now far different.
“Hmmm.” A doubtful look was tossed in her direction. “I know titled lords are supposed to have a dog useful for hunting. Or perhaps one of those tiny animals which are carried around on pillows—”
“A Pomeranian?” Her mother had once had a friend, Lady Crestwell, who’d had a Pomeranian.
“Yes, my wife owned one of those little dogs. The second wife. I can’t remember the animal’s name, but she had a pink silken pillow for it. Nasty thing. Bit me on the ankle once. Bijou is much better behaved.”
“You’ve been wed twice, haven’t you?” she said before she could stop herself.
“Yes. The first time when I was very young. Barely twenty. We were married three months when she perished from a fever. Anna didn’t care for dogs. The Pomeranian belonged to my second wife.”
When he didn’t elaborate or tell her anything more, she said, “How long have you had Bijou?”
“A very long time. The longest relationship I’ve ever had with a female.” Torrington was back to stirring the pot before him, his face turned away so Rosalind couldn’t guess at his expression. His hips swayed as he moved back and forth, stirring the chocolate and tossing little bits of cold chicken from a plate by his elbow to Bijou.
Warmth spread across Rosalind’s chest. Torrington was so much more than she’d expected.
“I brought the sponge cake for you to try and to thank you for the oranges.” She cringed at her overly polite tone. Torrington knew she wasn’t here to thank him for the oranges and have him try a bloody sponge cake. At least, she assumed he did.
He paused in his stirring. “No corset, I hope.”
Rosalind’s pulse picked up. “No.” Or any underthings. A bold decision, made impulsively, only moments before she’d left her home.
He turned and held up the spoon he’d been using. “Come here, Rosalind,” he coaxed, the timbre of his voice lowering just slightly.
Rosalind stepped in his direction and opened her mouth.
“Try this.” Torrington held the spoon to her lips.
Her tongue flicked out before her mouth closed over the tip of the spoon while Torrington’s eyes followed the movement of her lips. “Chocolate.” A sound of pure pleasure came from her. “With a touch of hazelnut. Maybe some cinnamon.”
“Ah, Rosalind,” he purred. “I so love the sounds you make.”
“I didn’t realize I made sounds.”
“When you tasted the custard, the most intriguing little noises came from you.” Torrington watched her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I enjoyed every one. I hope to hear you make them again.”
Rosalind’s cheeks heated. She hadn’t thought she’d made any sound while licking custard off his fingers. “What are you making?”
“I’m makingpain au chocolator achocolatine.” One side of his mouth tipped in his usual half-smile. “It isn’t from the cookbook, just something delicious I tasted once while in Paris last year. Depending on what part of France you are visiting, this pastry might have a different name. I’m honestly not surepain au chocolatis entirely a French invention. But it doesn’t matter. I find them delicious no matter who is responsible.”
Another pastry not well known in London would be a feather in her cap and go well toward Pennyfoil’s further success. Rosalind returned his smile, her heart threatening to fly out of her chest. But not because of Pennyfoil’s andpain au chocolat.
“I adore chocolate.” She patted her hip, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “As you can probably tell.”
“You seem overly concerned with such things, Rosalind. I am not.” Torrington leaned over her, his mouth inches from hers. “I find you perfect as you are.”
Please kiss me.
“I made this to accompany the sponge cake.” He held up another spoon, this one layered with fluffy cream. “Part of me wondered if you would bring not only the cake but one of your cousins. Or a maid.”
“With no corset? Perish the thought.” She closed her lips over the edge of the spoon, moaning softly as the taste exploded on her tongue.
