“They would…enjoy a delicious chocolate soufflé?” Allegra guessed.
“They would be unhappy,” John said firmly. “They would not return. They would say, ‘Don’t bother frequenting that tea room. You can order whatever you want from the menu, and he’ll serve you something you don’t want instead.’ I’d have to shutter my doors within a week.”
“I would eat there,” she said with confidence. “I would delight in knowing that whatever I ordered was definitely not what I would receive. It would be a surprise every time.”
“Not all surprises are good,” he reminded her. “I would wager most surprises are disappointing at best, and catastrophic at worst.”
“Many, perhaps, but not all. I live for the moments when life outperforms my wildest expectations.”
He stared at her. There could not be greater proof of their incompatibility. It was hard enough to find the perfect recipes to follow. How could he possibly ensure that any given deviation would result in a happy surprise? Rather than, say for example…screaming customers, a sobbing sous chef, and a visit from the fire brigade.
It did not matter how much John liked Allegra. He was constitutionally incapable of being devil-may-care Captain L’Amour. A larger-than-life fantasy maverick capable of outperforming Allegra’s wildest expectations.
If a recipe could not be followed, it was best not to begin at all. Unfortunately for that plan, they had already begun to throw ingredients together. He could not guess what they would find when their hourglass ran out and it was time to open the oven.
But he did know it would mean goodbye.
Chapter 13
Allegra waited impatiently in the receiving hall of Siren’s Retreat. The newspapers upon the tables did not call her attention. Sometimes, what she most wanted was to be left alone with a pianoforte for a few blissful hours. Or days. Or weeks.
Other times, she wanted…to be wanted. To surround herself with people who sought her company not because of tasks she could perform or favors she might do, but because they liked her, no other strings necessary.
This list had never contained more than two names. Before she was orphaned, Allegra’s parents had been her rock and her comfort. After becoming her uncle’s ward, Portia and Dorcas became the only two souls who cherished Allegra for her own sake.
And now… Now, she was perilously close to adding a third name to the list, temporary though its inclusion might be.
John did not want anything from her. The opposite: he gave his time, his full attention, his good humor, his searing kisses. All right, yes. He wanted kisses from her. But that was a mutual endeavor. One she was happy to repeat at any time. A circumstance which both thrilled and terrified her.
Contrary to her many tales about Captain L’Amour, Allegra had never previously yearned for any specific man’s romantic affection. Ridiculous that she should do so now, with a man she would never see again after their holidays ended. The miles between them might as well be as endless as the open sea.
Ironic to think that after a decade of pretending to pine for a suitor she had lost, Allegra actually might spend the rest of her life remembering these months at Brighton and the short time she’d spent in John’s warm embrace.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs and he stepped into view, as magnificent as any portrait of a crown prince. It was not his elegant attire or gallant stride that caused her breath to catch, but the way his handsome face lit up at the sight of her.
“My lady.” He made a rakish bow. “How might I ravish you today?”
“Slowly and with pleasure,” she replied primly, and was rewarded by a wave of heat rising in his stormy gray eyes.
He held up a slip of folded paper. “For that, you needn’t send a note. Simply knock on my door at any hour of the day or night, and I will handle the rest.”
“How would I know if you were out pillaging elsewhere?”
“The only treasure I wish to plunder is located right between your—”
The door creaked open behind Allegra as Mrs. Cartwright swept back into the receiving area. “Oh, good, he was in to receive your note.”
Allegra and John ceased their flirtatious banter and grinned at each other like fools. Vaguely, Allegra was aware that they were playing the game backwards. They were meant to act besotted in front of witnesses, and be themselves when they were not otherwise observed. It was getting harder and harder to differentiate lines spoken for an audience from how they truly felt about each other.
John lifted the note again and cleared his throat. “You summoned, my lady?”
She nodded. “I was wondering if you were free for supper.”
“That is very forward of you. A gentleman would be appalled. But as I laugh in the face of proper comportment, I shall cancel all my plans for the night in order to escort you to… Where would you like to go?”
“Ah. If you think an invitation to supper is forward, wait until you hear the rest of it. My uncle is out wooing widows this evening, leaving my cousins and I to dine alone. The girls have exhorted me to procure an ambrosial meal from the best chef in Brighton.”
John’s eyes widened with interest. “Of course I would love to sample the best cuisine in Brighton. I presume the famed chef Mr. Young will be cooking for us tonight?”
She stared at him.
He frowned in confusion.
She arched her brows and smiled.
His mouth dropped into an O. “You cannot mean…”
“I absolutely do mean. Mrs. Cartwright has assured me that guests are indeed welcome in the kitchen. The Townsend portion of the larder is well-stocked, but if there is anything you are missing—”
“Cook for you,” he said. “Cook for you and your cousins. Tonight.”
“If you’d rather not—”
“I’d rather cook for you every night. And every afternoon. And every morning.” Despite the romance of his words, John’s expression looked tortured. “But I swore I would never again enter any kitchen but my own. There are too many variables outside of one’s control—”
“I’ll help.” She offered him her elbow. “Appoint me as honorary sous chef.”
“That is not how one becomes a sous chef.” He placed her hand on his arm. “Only after many years of apprenticeship… You know your way around a kitchen?”
“I’ve never been in one,” she replied cheerfully. “But as my inheritance won’t support a pianoforte and servants, I shall have to learn to cook for myself. Why not start tonight, at the side of the man who has memorized more recipes than I ever knew existed?”
Chapter 14
Never had John been more panic-stricken over the fate of a sauce bourguignonne.
Not only was he using strange pots over an unfamiliar stove in a strange kitchen, the hand stirring the sauce was not his own. Allegra had not yet lit the entire floor in flames—making her significantly more helpful than his assistants at the pâtisserie. But, as his new sous chef had never before attempted to cook, well, anything, it took every ounce of steely resolve to turn his back long enough to slice mushrooms and shallots.