“But he’s a duke,” Amity protested, wrinkling her nose, “in the workroom of a chocolate shop.”
“Exactly. For what reason could anyone imagine the Duke of Pelham would be back there except to spend time with you.”
Amity closed her mouth on the protest she’d been about to make. Her mother was correct. The appearance was decidedly improper.
“If we’d had some other member of the nobility in here, they would have recognized him and tongues would have wagged. Soon, all of London would be wondering what you were offering in that back room.”
“Mother!”
“Amity, don’t be naïve. I hate to say it, but the duke might actually be hoping for something along those lines. And the ruin would be all on your side, not his. He would be considered blameless while you would be labeled a trollop.”
She felt the blood drain from her head. “I didn’t think clearly.” Right then, she was very glad she had a caring mother.
“Sometimes I think you forget how lovely you are.”
At that, she shrugged. “I take your warning to heart, and it won’t happen again, but do recall I am making a special chocolate for him to give to Lady Madeleine on the night he intends to propose. You have read the glowing reports of her beauty. Why would the duke want to dally with me when his sights are set on her?”
Her mother rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Amity, Amity, Amity. I know you’re my eldest daughter, but sometimes, I vow, Beatrice seems ancient in comparison to you.”
They left it at that, and Amity returned to the back of the shop, a room that now smelt of the duke’s maleness and ... she sniffed ... the lingering scent of his eau de toilette. Strange, when he was next to her, she’d been focused on the chocolate and other flavors, and hadn’t noticed his fragrance.
Now, reentering the small space, she breathed in the complex fragrance of whatever luxurious men’s perfume he’d been wearing, just as when she’d first climbed into his coach. The lush, spicy floral scent was couched on a bed of sandalwood, cedar, and clean, soapy musk. Amity decided the duke smelled like heaven. Masculine heaven!
Sitting upon the stool he’d vacated, she considered the look he’d given her directly before they’d left the room. She was naïve, as her mother said, and, of course, she was inexperienced, except for a few kisses with Jeremy, which had been pleasant to be sure. Even so, she knew she’d seen something in the duke’s expression and glittering in his eyes — regard, even admiration ... or, perhaps, attraction.
She could admit to herself she, at least, had felt a sizzle of desire.
Her body wanted to be close to the Duke of Pelham.
Her and every other woman in London, no doubt!
She shook her head at her foolish fancy, and then she got back to work.
THE NEXT DAY, DESPITE telling herself not to, Amity kept her ears pricked for the bell, and was disappointed each time she realized it was a regular customer answering Charlotte’s greeting.
Her mind was only half on what she was doing. That was clear when she scalded a batch of chocolate, something she hadn’t done since she was ten years old.
“Stop it!” she muttered, as she made a tray of chocolates shaped like fish that were going to a dinner party the next evening. Sadly, they ended up looking more like sausages, and she knew she would have to remake them. To her continued distress, her elegant swans came out like long-necked chickens.
The duke had said he might not be able to come. Nor should she be hoping he would. He was a distraction. Worse, after just a few encounters, she was becoming attached, which was beyond asinine.
Amity removed her apron, tidied and readied herself to go on her errands. She’d had her eye on a new mold, shaped like a walnut, which would hold a decent amount of chocolate and a large piece of nut in the center. Rare Confectionery would have to charge more for those chocolates because of the size, but the shape would make them popular in the autumn and during the Christmas season.
With her favorite plum-colored cloak on and her hat pinned in place, she opened the door and ran directly into the Duke of Pelham.
“I’m too late,” he said, reaching an arm out to steady her.
“Good day, my lord.” Amity looked up into his handsome face and felt regret. Even if he’d come earlier, she wouldn’t have allowed him into the back room as she had done the previous time. Not after her mother’s rebuke.
“Have you finished your artistry for the day, Miss Rare-Foure?”
When someone tried to push past them to get into the shop, he moved aside and drew her with him. How strange to have his hands on her arm as if they were a couple. However, because they were on the public street, Amity wiggled her arm until he released it.
“No, my lord. I’m off to purchase a few supplies and stretch my legs.”
He looked up and down the pavement, then back at her. “May I accompany you?”
“Um ... why?” She bit her lip as soon as she’d spoken, hoping she didn’t sound terribly rude.
He chuckled. “Why, indeed? I am at sixes and sevens, I suppose. I finished up some business this morning as quickly as I could and intended to spend time with you. Figuring out the chocolate,” he added quickly. “Thus, I have time to spare and no plans.”
She could hardly turn him down even though she had no chaperone with her, and never did for her quick errands in the neighborhood. After all, what could be safer than London’s most exclusive shopping district? Still, her mother might not approve.
Amity lifted her chin. She was not a child, and the duke posed absolutely no threat.
“I suppose it would be all right?” Her words had come out as a nervous question.
His smile died. “I don’t wish to impose myself upon you.”
“Oh no, my lord, I am very pleased to see you.” Gracious, that sounded too eager. “It is the possible impropriety of the two of us together that concerns me.”
“I believe in broad daylight, given our two stellar reputations, no one could find fault with us walking beside one another and going into a shop or two. Why, I could be your chaperone,” he suggested. “Think of me as your maid or footman.”
She laughed and gestured for them to begin walking as they were creating more of a scene by huddling against the front window of Rare Confectionery.
“Since you look nothing like either of our maids and we do not have a footman, I shall simply think of you as my friend.”
“Perfect,” he said in his rich voice, like warm chocolate to her ears.
Shaking her head at the ridiculous and rather disgusting idea of chocolate poured into her ears, she knew she’d best stop all her whimsical thoughts.
“My errands are not too exciting,” she warned him.
“It is no matter. I confess to enjoying your company.”
Her steps briefly faltered. When he said something such as that, those whimsical thoughts came rushing back.
“Where are we off to?” he asked. “And do we need my driver?”
“No, everything today is within walking distance. Most of our bulk supplies are delivered. Occasionally, I go into the East End—”
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, sounding concerned.
“Never alone and never after dark, I assure you. But the cacao bean warehouses are on St Katherine’s Dock, near the tea. Sometimes I’ve had the good fortune to be told of a new type of bean. Obviously not new to those who grow it.” She chuckled at the arrogance of Europeans thinking they’d discovered anything new when the tree had been cultivated for centuries. “But new to us. Anyway, it’s a treat to be one of the first in Britain to sniff the beans or even chew one.”