Shaking her head of these painful thoughts, Amity took a deep breath and plunged ahead.
“I did not come here for an apology, my lord. I came to offer one.”
The duke looked stunned. “Dear Miss Rare-Foure, although your smile and your sweet nature beguiled me into my reckless behavior, you can hardly take the blame.”
Oh dear! “No, I do not.”
He smiled at her frankness, and her insides melted with ... fondness for him.
“I wish it were only that,” she confessed. Ever since the previous day’s debacle with Lady Madeleine, Amity had imagined on the night of the duke’s proposal, how his ladylove might knock the tray of chocolates aside rather than accept a Rare Confectionery. And worse, she would publicly denounce the shop in front of his well-heeled guests.
“You look perturbed,” he said. “Will you take a seat and tell me what’s troubling you and why you feel, however unnecessary, the need to apologize to me?”
Amity hoped to secure his help in smoothing things over with his soon-to-be fiancée. To that end, late the previous evening, she had attempted something new and stunning. Sadly, her creativity in creating a Brayson had all but dried up after meeting the famed Lady Madeleine. How could she honor such a difficult woman?
Beatrice had stayed with her, but everything Amity had given her to try was met with an unimpressed shrug or an outright shudder. Nothing had made her sister smack her lips and ask for more. Then Amity had created one last chocolate.
“I brought a few more samples. I have a tin.”
She held it out to him, feeling like a ninny. I have a tin — she rolled her eyes at her own inanity, but her anxiousness at how this conversation might end was getting the best of her.
“Very thoughtful of you, Miss Rare-Foure. Yes, I can see you have a tin.”
Still, the duke didn’t take it from her. Instead, he gestured for her to sit, and when she did, he sat across from her on the other sofa.
“My lord, it would be easier if you were to sit next to me. Unless you intend to open your mouth wide and let me toss the chocolates in from here.” Now, she was simply being too familiar, some might say insolent. Her nerves were making her act strangely. She held her breath.
Thankfully, the duke grinned and changed seats so he was mere inches from her on the same sofa. They both looked over their shoulders at Delia, who continued to be engrossed in her reading.
“All right, Miss Rare-Foure, what have you brought for me? I must say, I was looking forward to visiting your shop again. You’ve converted me to the pleasures of the cacao bean, and the aroma that greets one entering your store is nearly as good as the taste.”
Amity opened the tin. It was almost entirely filled with lies! Except for one, these were chocolates they already sold on their shelves, but which she hoped he had not as yet tasted. She knew they were delicious. And when he was satiated by her confectionery, she could broach the subject of the unfortunate incident.
Having arranged the chocolates on two layers separated by a thin tin plate. Amity lifted the plate out by its ingenious small handle and placed it on the table. Now, the duke could see all twelve chocolates.
“’Zounds! How could you have created so many so quickly? I cannot possibly eat all of them. Will you help me?”
He had a devilish light in his green eyes.
“If I eat them, that won’t do any good,” she said, unable to take her gaze from his. Did he know how magnificent his eyes were? “You must taste them, not me.”
“Perhaps we could split some of them,” he suggested.
He reached for the closest one, a rectangle about half an inch high and two inches long, and bit into it, leaving a little less than half clasped between his fingers. Closing his eyes, he chewed slowly and swallowed.
“It has a licorice flavor, yes?” he remarked. Before she could answer, he held out the rest of it to her.
Was he expecting her to eat it from his fingertips? Apparently so.
“Hurry,” he said, “it’s melting.”
Leaning forward, she put her lips to the chocolate, trying to take it without actually touching her mouth to his fingers, and also without letting it fall on his pantleg or, worse, his sofa cushion.
When she managed that feat, she had to lick chocolate off her lower lip and noticed his gaze dart to her mouth. She was probably a mess.
“Yes,” she said. “I mean, no, not really licorice. That’s anise, which is very similar. Do you like it?”
He shrugged. “Not particularly. I don’t like Pomfret cakes either, even if some people say licorice is good for the digestion.”
Oh, dear! Not a good start.
“Why don’t you choose the next one?” he suggested.
No one could resist the blend of plain and milk chocolate which she’d hardened with the sweet milk chocolate in a swirl design. It had no added flavors, but the two chocolates settling on the tongue simultaneously were a delight. At least, she thought so.
“You first,” he said when she held it out to him.
After nibbling the edge of it, she held it out to him, hoping he would let her place it on his palm. He didn’t. Next thing she knew, one of his hands had clasped her wrist, guiding her fingertips to his mouth.
Gracious! Her fingers were against the lips of the Duke of Pelham!
Her stomach decided to celebrate the strangely exciting sensation with a pleasant swoop.
“Mm,” he said. “That one I like very much, but I thought we’d already decided on plain chocolate in the shape of a flower. That, however, has possibilities. Would you be able to do the milk swirl in the shape of an M or a B?”
Amity sat up straight for his suggestion was brilliant. How easy!
“Yes, and instead of creating a brand-new confection, I could make anything you like into the shape of her initial.
“No, no,” he said, looking into the tin at the bottom layer. “That would be cheating.”
The whole tin was cheating, so he might as well give up with tasting them. Except one. She searched until she found it. This was the last chocolate she had made the previous night and hadn’t even tasted. Beatrice had declared herself unable to nibble another, and Amity had been too full or, maybe, too heartsick, to eat it. Now, she feared it would be bland and perhaps overly sweet.
Handing a plain discus of chocolate to him, she said, “You first, my lord, and if you like it, I will make it flower-shaped.”
Biting it in half, a strange expression came over his face as the flavors melted on his tongue. He frowned, and her spirits sank.
“It is different than anything I’ve ever had,” he admitted.
Amity had a jolt of hope. That was a start, unless he meant different in a bad way.
He sniffed the remaining morsel. “The scents are floral and something warm, too.”
“Do you like it?” she asked, and then she amended her words. “No, do you love it?”
“I do not love it.”
Amity’s confidence plummeted until he added, “But I don’t have to. Lady Madeleine does. It is sweet enough and has something about it that does, in fact, make me think of her.”
“Lavender,” she whispered, for the young lady’s fragrance had lingered in the shop after she’d left, a little too heavily for Amity’s liking.
“Yes,” he exclaimed, looking shocked. “That is her fragrance.”