Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

T he Duke of Spice could cook. Victoria had never tasted a scone so rich, so full of bacony goodness. So tasty. The man was a culinary genius. If this was the level of his home baking, he should forget about writing reviews and open his own restaurant. She would dine there every night.

Her rational self, told her she should be looking for a way out of here. Viscount Askett had promised they would come back for her. The carriage could be waiting in the laneway. Coco would be worried.

Though she didn't seem all that worried when she let the coach drive off and leave me here.

Victoria turned her thoughts from that of her sister back to the food. It wasn't every day, or any day for that matter, that she was given the opportunity to actually try her hand at cooking. This was a real kitchen. With a fancy American crafted stove. This might be the only chance she got to make something.

"Your scones are excellent. That was delicious. Tell me, what was the secret ingredient?"

His smile lit up his entire face. And for the first time since she'd met him, it dawned on her that the duke wasn't as old as she had thought. The little wrinkles at his eyes were laugh lines. They only served to make him more handsome.

"How old are you? If that's not too impertinent," she asked.

Robert's grin grew wider as he chuckled. "You broke into my garden. Stole my herbs. I think we can agree that you, Lady Victoria, are an impertinent young miss."

"Victoria, please."

He moved closer. Mirth still shone on his countenance. "I prefer your other moniker, Lady Thief." He sighed. "But Victoria it is. And in answer to your question, I am thirty-one-years-old. Which I expect by your standards makes me positively ancient."

And far more interesting. A younger man likely wouldn't have the sort of knowledge that Robert had. Few men in her social circle who were around her age would know the first thing about what constituted good food. Or the value of saffron.

"And in answer to your other question, my secret ingredient is just that, a secret," he said, tapping a finger to the side of his nose.

His teasing words and playful manner had her heart beating faster. He did things to her. Things which threatened to go well beyond making her throb between her legs.

"You said we could play in the kitchen. What did you have in mind?" she asked.

That smile. Every time she looked at him, she forgot that he was meant to be her enemy. That he was holding her against her will.

Is he?

She had a funny feeling that if she offered him her hand and asked him to take her home, he would do just that, and no one would ever know what had happened here tonight.

I don't want to go home. I want to cook. With him.

Robert moved away, and the air between them cooled. There had been magic in the air when he was close. Victoria pushed down her disappointment.

"Well, the scones are done and dusted. I can only eat so many in one go. How about we make something simple like an omelet? If this is your first time in the kitchen, we want to make sure that it is a success."

Victoria followed Robert, eager to get started. She didn't want him suddenly having second thoughts and deciding that the best thing to do with her was to put her in a carriage and send her home.

"Do you have a recipe I can follow?"

She had eaten plenty of omelets over the years and knew most only had a few ingredients. How hard could it be to make an omelet? But the last thing she wanted was for him to think she was some sort of simpleton.

Robert ushered her over to a nearby cupboard. He pointed at a bowl of eggs. "No need for a recipe, I will show you. We'll use three eggs, some butter, and a pinch of salt and pepper. And if you are feeling adventurous, we could add some herbs."

Victoria loosened the ties of her cloak and slipped it from her shoulders. Robert took it and with casual grace set it on the bench under the window. She was staying.

His words were music to her ears. They were actually going to cook. But she was still a little ill at ease. "You must think me ridiculous. I expect just about every other person in the entire city of London could make an omelet and not require a recipe."

He counted out three eggs and carefully handed them to her. "Everyone had a first time. Even me."

Victoria stood clutching the eggs to her chest as Robert grabbed a heavy pan from beside the stove and put it onto the hot plate. He pointed at the pan. "This new stove contraption is brilliant. I can cook so many things and all at the one time."

She watched with keen interest as he cut a large pat of butter off a block and dropped it into the pan. "What do you want me to do with the eggs?"

"Grab a bowl from under the bench, then crack the eggs into it. Can you do that?"

Collecting a bowl was achievable. The cracking of eggs might well be beyond her nonexistent skills. "You may need to show me what to do with the eggs."

He left the pan and butter heating on the stove top and hurried over to the bench. After placing a large ceramic dish in front of Victoria, Robert took one of the eggs from her hands and tapped it on the side of the bowl. His fingers did something magical and the egg yolk and white dropped into the bowl, leaving the shell in his hand.

"That's incredible, how did you do that?"

He took the other two eggs from her hands and placed them on the table. "Come and stand in front of the bowl," he instructed. Victoria did as asked, sucking in a sudden sharp breath as her captor-come-tutor came and stood behind her. With his arms encircling her body, he picked up the next egg and with one hand cracked it on the side of the dish. As with the first egg, the contents dropped into the bowl, and Robert was left holding the shell.

Magic. Nothing short of magic.

"Third time is the charm, but since this is your first attempt at cracking an egg, perhaps we should try the simpler way of doing it."

He handed her the last egg. "Now tap it hard against the edge. When it cracks, use both your thumbs to pull the shell apart."

Victoria wasn't sure which made her more nervous. Breaking an egg or having this man stand so close to her. With every breath she took in his manly scent. She swallowed deep, forcing down the primal urges which continued to stir.

"Don't worry if you drop a little bit of the shell into the bowl, I can use my fingers to take it out," he breathed into her ear.

She bit down on her bottom lip. The thought of him and his fingers sent her mind running to wicked places. To nights of lying in bed and her own hand…

Her breathing was ragged as she raised her hand and struck the side of the bowl. The egg gave a satisfying crack, and with shaking hands, Victoria pulled the sides of the shell cleanly apart. She was still silently congratulating herself at her efforts, when Robert scooped up the dish and headed over to the stove.

In a matter of seconds he had grabbed a fork, whisked the eggs, and after adding some salt and pepper, poured the mixture into the now sizzling pan. "Grab some of the chives from the pot," he called over his shoulder.

Victoria spun on her heel and quickly searched the nearby bench. Her gaze landed on a large pot containing all manner of herbs. A veritable cook's garden in the kitchen. What a clever idea. She reached for the chives, then stopped.

How do you harvest herbs?

He must have read her mind. "There is a pair of scissors next to your cloak. Just trim off a couple of inches of the chives and bring them over here."

She found the scissors, then with great care cut a few stems and brought them over to where Robert was standing at the stove. He took them and the scissors, and proceeded to snip the chives into tiny pieces, dropping them over the eggs which were cooking in the pan.

"The omelet will be ready very soon, so we probably don't have time to chop up anything else," he said.

Victoria nodded her understanding, smiling when he added, "Timing is essential in the kitchen. Preparation is everything. If you have all your ingredients washed and cut up ready for the pot or the pan, then you can focus on the cooking part."

He was actually giving her a cooking lesson. She felt close to tears. This was beyond her wildest dreams.

Apart from the being his prisoner part.

Her mother would be in the midst the world's biggest temper tantrum if she had the slightest idea as to what Victoria was doing right now. Instead of being tucked up in bed with a good book, she was alone with an unwed nobleman. While being held captive in his home.

Did I mention we were making an omelet?

And if Victoria was honest about it, the duchess would be well within her rights to be losing her mind. Her middle daughter was flagrantly ignoring the part where she'd agreed to do her best to marry sensibly, while also avoiding getting her family involved in any more scandals.

Then again, it would only be a scandal if I got caught.

She doubted very much that the Duke of Spice would be looking to tell anyone about the events that were transpiring in his kitchen this evening, least of all the Duchess of Mowbray.

Robert picked up a wooden spatula and handed it to Victoria. He then motioned for her to stand at the stove and take hold of the pan's handle. "Now the trick is to flip part of the egg mix over, so that it seals properly."

She screwed up her face. "I haven't the foggiest idea what that means." Her skill set revolved around eating food, rather than preparing it.

He shifted behind her once more and laying his hand over hers, helped to guide the spatula under the edge of the omelet and fold it over at the middle.

"Oh, I see what you mean. That's very clever."

Victoria was still mentally flipping the edge of the egg mix over in her mind as Robert removed the pan from the heat, then carried it over to the table and set it on a wooden board. "The board helps to protect the table," he noted. He really did know his way around a kitchen.

"What else can I do?" she asked, feeling less than useful.

He nodded in the direction of a nearby shelf. "If you would like to collect some plates and a couple of forks for us, we can eat while our creation is still hot."

She really liked the way he said our creation, as if she had actually played a part in making the omelet. He was being kind. A wave of regret washed over Victoria. She'd been foolish and petulant in writing all those letters to the newspaper and then arguing with him at the dinner party.

I have no right to be telling this man anything about food. My experience is nothing compared to his. I am just a fraud.

Forcing her thoughts of self-rebuke away, she gathered the plates and forks and set them on the table, watching with barely restrained excitement as Robert dished up the food. Her hands were shaking at he passed her a plate, and in a warm voice which sent shivers down her spine, he said, "Take a seat and I shall join you in a moment."

He served up the other part of the omelet, then after picking up the pan, he disappeared through a doorway on the other side of the fireplace. When he returned a few seconds later, he gave her an easy smile. "Since your Mama has never let you into the kitchen at Mowbray House, I doubt you have ever seen a scullery either. That's the room next door where I wash and store the dishes and pots."

She had to ask.

"Why don't you have any servants to prepare your food? I mean you are a duke. I would have expected a house full of people, yet you appear to live alone."

He pointed his fork at her plate. "Eat your omelet while it's still warm."

Victoria forced her disappointment down at his misdirection and took her first bite of the food. It was hot and tasty. For something which had only a few ingredients in it, the eggs and chives made for a delicious late-night snack.

They ate in silence for a time, Victoria keeping her gaze on her plate. All the while she chided herself for not holding back her inquisitive mind.

Foolish girl, you crossed a line asking him such a personal question.

When her omelet was all gone, she rested her hands in her lap and waited for Robert to speak. A moment later, he picked up her plate and rose from the table. She watched him head into the scullery once more, before he quickly returned.

Their eyes met, and to her relief, there was only a gentle warmth on his face. He didn't seem angry.

Thank heavens.

She really didn't want him to tie her up again.

Robert moved from the other side of the table and came to where Victoria sat. He bent his knees, resting on his haunches before her. He took a hold of her hand. "Thank you for the omelet, Victoria, it was the best I've ever had."

Her cheeks burned. He was being nice. He brushed his hand over her hot cheek and smiled. "You are a most unusual female, Lady Victoria Kembal. It's a rare thing to meet a woman who knows her food."

She blinked long and slow as a thrum of need began to pulse low in her body once more. At that private spot between her legs that she touched when she was alone in bed.

"You have a little bit of egg in the corner of your mouth," she murmured, pointing to a speck of omelet. He idly brushed at his lips but missed the mark.

"Here let me," whispered Victoria, her pulse beating hard in her throat. She reached out and brushed at the spot with her fingers. Robert opened his lips, and the tip of her thumb slipped with ease into his mouth. She was still in two minds as to what to do, when she sensed the pressure on her hand. He was sucking her thumb, ever so gently.

If this was wrong, she didn't ever want it to be right.

The thousand reasons why she shouldn't be here with this man fell away, yielding to the one reason that truly mattered. Because she wanted to be here, with him. For this quiet moment to become a memory she would always treasure.

Victoria leaned forward, cupping Robert's chin with her free hand. The soft hair of his five o'clock shadow settled against her skin, and she sighed.

His eyes flashed to hers and she felt herself falling into their blue gray expanse. She went willingly.

They drew closer. The hitch in his breath was unmistakable. Whatever she was sensing in this moment, he was feeling it too. "Victoria," he whispered, as he claimed her mouth in a soft, gentle kiss.