Chapter Two

L ady Philippa Mae Pemberton hated to spend her evenings at balls. Her mood usually soured by noon, dipped further by two o'clock, and if it hadn't curdled by four, then it certainly would by the time the carriage was ready to take her to another dreadful social event. While the rest of society considered weekday mornings mostly lonely and tried to bridge the time between social events with calls for afternoon tea, strolls in the park, or visits to the modiste that turned into a day-long endeavor, Pippa preferred the busy weekdays when she could seek solitude and spend time in her orangery. She could retreat to her private oasis and was only available for Bea then.

Evenings were for balls, dinners, and banquets. In Pippa's world, that meant being laced into a tight corset in which she couldn't breathe freely, having her nails cleaned, buffed, and waxed, and having to sleep with her hair rolled up in small but uncomfortable balls around pieces of paper so it would hold better in an upswept coiffure for the balls. Balls meant she had to wear shoes with slippery leather soles and heels that made her even more uncomfortable and increased the likelihood of stumbling—or worse—falling. Just like last time.

This morning, she'd spend the entire bag of coins and put more on her father's tab, preferably on pastries. A selection of mille feuilles , Charlotte cakes, and eclairs would make her feel better. She used the pin money doled out to her from her inheritance and she was thankful for even that small amount. Her late maternal grandfather had left everything to her, but Pippa's inheritance was tied to her marriage. Her father received payment from her trust until then, leaving her with little control over her wealth.

Especially now when, bit by bit, her father was losing his own fortune and his wits. Of late, it seemed he started nearly every sentence with, "Sir Matthews feels that…"

Sir Matthews this, Sir Matthews that . Sir Matthews, the crystal healer who used plain glass and intoxicated father's mind with mystical nonsense. Upon Pippa's urging to look into the quack, her father's secretary had confirmed that no Sir Matthews had been knighted in the last century. However, when her father had discovered the invoices for an investigator the man had been forced to quit because the investigation had made Sir Matthews uncomfortable. Of course, it had, the charlatan.

But she was "just" a woman, and there wasn't much she could do about it. Instead, she'd spend the chilly morning enjoying a treat. Pippa tightened her ermine stole around her neck and stepped into her favorite little café. It always smelled of rich French custard and sweet cream. The people behind the counter had warmer smiles for her than her father had ever had, at least since her mother's death.

When Pippa was about to remove her gloves and decide what to order for breakfast, a man entered the shop and stood near her without addressing her. She caught a whiff of his scent, a blend of aromatic spices, warm woods, and invigorating citrus. She closed her eyes instinctively, and smiled, then leaned toward him, drawn to the alluring fragrance that filled the air around him and enveloped her, leaving her intoxicated and craving for more.

Then she opened her eyes. He'd moved alongside her and now, she saw him.

He had a shock of dark blond hair and sported an outgrown cut with a ruffled flair. A knot formed in Pippa's stomach, and she was jealous of the wind outside that had the immense pleasure of mussing the hair of the owner of this scent. For all Pippa knew, he'd tumbled out of bed with five mistresses and into the bakery, just to cause mischief. Surely a man of his attractiveness, even though she only saw his profile, belonged in a Greek painting of Dionysus, the Olympian god of wine, who had flocks of women seeing to his every whim. Yet, Pippa imagined those mistresses would have all been rather satisfied with those whims when he turned sideways and surveyed the glass display of pastries. A glint in his eyes sent her stomach to her knees as he was absorbed in the pastries and drove his hand through his hair. Perhaps the blond bounty was mussed from that motion, driving his fingers through the golden waves as he contemplated something. Could he be a poet, or an artist with creative ideas that he'd change the world someday? Or maybe he was a great thinker and rubbed his head while contemplating formulas to spin hay into gold, and delicious pastries to devour.

She stepped closer and overheard the chef call him, " Monsieur le Docteur ."

She forced herself to look at the lavish display of sweets behind the glass instead of the dashing man standing beside her. But she could barely focus her eyes and had to blink. She'd found that her other senses took over whenever she closed her eyes, and she became much more aware of her surroundings. With a deep inhale, a whiff of butter and vanilla uncurled in the back of her nose, and then, once again, his scent invaded her senses. There was something else, too, bottled masculinity with a high note of dimples and a low note of flaxen curls that made her insides leap.

But it was his delicious scent that changed the air in the room, more appealing than even the sweet treats. Pippa broke out in goosebumps. She peered toward the handsome source of this heady fragrance, and then, predictably, disaster struck. She leaned back to be able to see him better, and as she did so, she stepped on something slippery and lost her balance. Pippa scrambled in vain; she couldn't stop the freefall, and she began to fall.

Then… something— someone —stopped her from hitting the ground.

*

" Madeleines pour le Docteur !" the owner said as he handed Nick a paper bag printed with the golden swirly initials of the Patisserie de la Loire . Even through the paper, the fresh cakes were so hot that Nick almost burned his fingers. And today was not the day to be distracted by blisters. The Earl of Langley was a difficult patient; even the slightest slip of hand could alarm him. And everybody knew that a jittery patient could complicate even a simple surgery.

Gruffly, Nick switched the hot bag from his right to his left hand and waved his free hand through the air as if to cool his near burns. He hoped he didn't look foolish to the angel in ermine beside him. But then he heard a shuffle, a squeak, and the screech of a heeled shoe on the floor, and the angel flew into his side. He instinctively caught her, with his free hand but he was off balance because of the burn and now, the beauty. Whoosh ! The bag flew from his hand and he landed on the floor, his pride wounded, his backside bruised, and his face tingling not only from embarrassment but from the brush of feather-soft hair against his cheek.

Sprawled on top of him was that demure and slim woman who'd stood beside him but a moment ago. Her ermine collar was awash with whipped cream, and she blinked adorably. Before he realized that his grip around her waist had been firm enough to break her fall, he cherished the feel of her warmth. She was narrowly built, but the curves of her body pressed against his made him harder than he'd been a moment ago when he'd watched her. It occurred to him that although she'd entered the shop like a queen intending to conquer the land, she felt like a damsel in distress in his arms. Delicious .

Chromius stood by his side, wagging his tail. He took the opportunity to step onto his thigh to begin licking at her cheek with his little pink tongue.

"Chromius! No! Get down!" He pushed the dog gently away.

"I am so sorry, Doctor." She slid off him and craaack, something tore. "Oh dear." She reached for her back. Peering over her shoulder he could see that her pelisse had split along the seam and through the gap he spotted a shiny, thin layer of an ochre-colored fabric.

Nick scrambled to move from beneath her and then got to his feet; he bowed, offering his hand. As he did so, he realized the extent of their accident. They had practically crushed an entire cake between them and were covered in its remnants.

" Les gateaux ! The cakes!" The owner came around the counter screaming, his arms in the air in a Gallic gesture of defeat. "They are for a wedding breakfast. Even now, they could be on the way to pick them up." He looked at the wall clock of white porcelain with tiny blue country scenes painted under a shiny glaze. "Two hours! Two hours!" And he disappeared into the back of the shop, leaving Nick and the elegant beauty standing in a puddle of custard and splattered cream.

And a happy terrier, who moved about them in doggy heaven, making quick work of the mess. It wasn't good for him, Nick knew, but he'd already consumed so much of it at this point the damage had been done. Besides, Chromius's work made for easier cleanup later.

Later —that reminded him. He was under the pressure of the clock as well. Nick sighed. Two hours exactly until the earl would lie under his knife. Again.

He felt a tugging at his hand. "I'll need that back, please," a lovely young voice said. and he realized his fingers were twined with the angel's— the young woman's , he corrected himself—gloved digits. He let go with a quick shake of his wrist.

"I beg your pardon, Miss…"

"Pippa, it's just Pippa. And I think I'm the one who has to beg for your pardon."

"Why's that?"

"There was something on the floor, I think, and I… I am unsure what happened, but I landed on your lap." She blushed, averting her gaze from his, and attempted to straighten her coiffure.

She had lovely, honey-colored flyaways that had fallen out of her pins, though some of her hair was still in a loose bun at the back of her head, as far he could tell. Her freed hair curled about her face. He knew that her attempt to knot those curls back into order would in no way tame her mane, which inspired illicit and inappropriate thoughts. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he couldn't help but stare.

She was beautiful in an unconventional way, not much like the young women of the Ton who came to the practice. And she struck him as put together, one who knew her path in life, and herself.

Then she blinked and patted the front of her pelisse as if searching for something. Whatever it was, he vowed, he'd find it, even if it meant crawling under a display case on his hands and knees. Fortunately, what she sought was easy to find and didn't hurt his pride at all. Nick spotted a soft, silk scarf in Chromius's mouth. It was splattered with whipped cream and custard. It took him a moment to retrieve it from the dog and once he did, he tried to shake off some of the cream off. "I believe this is yours… Pippa?"

"Oh! Yes!" She took it gingerly from his hand and frowned at it. But then she did the most adorable thing. She pulled her glove off, finger by finger, and swiped a generous amount of the custard from the silk with one of her freed digits. Nick watched as she proceeded to lick it slowly from her finger with the tip of her tongue and obvious enjoyment.

He could only gape at the sight.

Pippa noticed him watching; she shrugged and crinkled her nose as she smiled at him. "It would have been such a waste of the wedding cake," she said.

Nick could only nod.