Amity? Henry realized he hadn’t even known her given name. He thought of her as many things — including his chocolatier — but her name suited her perfectly. He loved everything about it, except for having to hear it from this other man’s lips. What did it matter this lawyer erroneously called Henry “my lord” instead of “Your Grace,” just as the rest of the Rare-Foures did? Mr. Cole might not have all the social niceties, but he apparently had her fond regard.
Was the man soon to be her fiancé?
“I didn’t break a confidence lightly, my lord,” Miss Rare-Foure promised him. “Mr. Cole doesn’t know for whom we are making the chocolates, nor would he speak of this to anyone.”
Henry appreciated her assurance. “I trust you,” he said and meant it. But he didn’t trust this oily lawyer, who was probably going to spend his life in the dreaded Court of Chancery and become whey-faced, bald, and trembling. He couldn’t imagine his lovely chocolatier, so full of creativity and life, living in some pokey little house far outside the city where they could afford to eke out an existence, where she might have to give birth to his brats.
Why was he feeling so damnably hostile toward Mr. Cole?
It couldn’t be because the man had been touching her. Could it?
Yes, it could!
“Solicitor or barrister?” Henry asked curtly.
“Solicitor, my lord.” Mr. Cole said it without the least embarrassment, even though he’d taken the lowlier path with less prestige, money, and influence. What a short-sighted dunce!
Henry knew he was close to saying something entirely inappropriate so he had best be away.
“I shall return tomorrow,” he announced, not wanting to be in the small space with these two lovebirds.
“Oh no, my lord. Please stay. Mr. Cole was about to leave,” she said. “I am more than happy to discuss your chocolate creation at present. Perhaps you had some insights after last night.”
“Last night?” asked the lawyer.
Last night, Henry whined the words in his head. What a nosey bloke!
“Miss Rare-Foure and I attended the same dinner party,” Henry told the man, not hiding the triumph from his voice.
“Really?” The lawyer turned to her. “When you said you were out for dinner, I didn’t imagine you were at a grand party with a duke.” Then the man smiled. “Good for you. I hope you enjoyed yourself. You work too much.”
Mr. Cole was being a tad too gracious. He probably didn’t mean a word of it. He was in all likelihood burning with jealousy at the notion.
“I’ll see you later,” he added, and Miss Rare-Foure nodded.
And to Henry’s intense displeasure, this ... this ... lawyer reached out and squeezed Miss Rare-Foure’s shoulder. The nerve! Naturally, Mr. Cole wasn’t jealous — he was going to see her again later.
“If you get a chance to go by Berry Brothers on St James's Street, would you bring that Spanish wine my mother likes?” Miss Rare-Foure asked him. “We shall celebrate your return.”
“I will make it my duty to get the wine,” the man assured her. “A pleasure to meet you, my lord.” With a bow in Henry’s direction, the earnest fellow departed.
Lucky chap! He would be dining with her family and was intimate enough to know Mrs. Rare-Foure’s favorite wine.
Henry suddenly felt foolish for thinking that he and the chocolatier had any type of friendship at all. And considering his own evening ahead, he even felt a little lonely. All the more reason for him to secure the hand of Lady Madeleine and take her as his wife. The sooner, the better.
During the party, they’d had a few pleasant discussions. Notwithstanding, he couldn’t remember anything too meaningful, something about her touring the zoological gardens or finding a hedgehog in a garden or some such story.
He hadn’t really been listening. He’d been too entranced with the woman across from him who now stood waiting for him to speak. His obsession — for plainly that was what it was — had to stop.
“Have you made any progress?” he asked her a little sharply.
Instead of being annoyed, she offered him her sweet, lopsided smile. “Yes, this morning, I used the flower molds to create something new. See if you can tell what I added?”
“But they’re dusty,” Henry pointed out, when she presented him with the tray.
She laughed, and there it was, the silvery sound he hadn’t heard in too long. Hours, in fact, which felt like years.
“I dusted them with cocoa powder. Try one.”
Taking off his other glove, he shoved them both into his coat pocket. Then he chose one of the chocolates, letting the bitter cocoa powder blend with the melting plain chocolate.
“I am tasting something a little like mild perfume, but very pleasant.” He realized what it was as soon as he swallowed. “Gin!”
“Very good!” Miss Rare-Foure clapped her hands. “What do you think?”
“I’m not sure.” He hated to disappoint her, but it seemed terribly risky. “I don’t know how the lady feels about gin.” He didn’t know how Madeleine felt about a lot of things.
The chocolatier puffed out her cheeks and expelled her breath with a sound of exasperation. He thought it the most charming thing he’d ever seen, especially when the soft curl at her temple blew up then fell back.
“Your lady is a tough nut to crack.” She set the tray down again.
I want you to be my lady. That terribly scandalous thought flittered across his brain and disappeared before he even realized it. But even after it was gone, he stared at her and realized it might be true.
“Mr. Cole is your intended?” he blurted out.
She widened her eyes and quickly dropped her gaze. “He will be, in due course.” Her tone was soft, and she seemed to be speaking to the floor.
“Yet you are not formally engaged?” he pried, wondering why he was asking. “What is causing the delay?”
At this impertinent question, her glance lifted and locked with his. “Do you wish to discuss chocolate or the personal details of my life? If the former, you may stay. If the latter, then I must ask you to leave.”
He grinned at her properly affronted tone.
“Very well. Chocolate, it is. Although, if you ask me, your Mr. Cole is a muttonhead for waiting.”
AMITY SIGHED. “IT ISN’T his fault. He wanted—” She snapped her mouth closed. “Oh, you almost tricked me.”
“I did no such thing,” the duke said innocently, but she could see by his expression he had tried to get her to speak more about Jeremy. They had known each other for nearly about a year and a half, but she had been in no hurry to marry him. She’d gone with her father to Lincoln’s Inn one day when he was speaking with his solicitor and had met the attractive Mr. Cole. He had since passed the bar and set up his practice. She thought he was hinting at a Christmas engagement, which would be ... nice.
“Mr. Cole has nothing to do with you and your chocolate. And he is not a muttonhead.”
“You are speaking far more comfortably to me here than you did last night.”
Amity sighed. “What a fright that was!” she began.
When he looked surprised, she added, “I mean, we were there simply to drop off the tins. What if my sister and I hadn’t been dressed appropriately?”