How the Dukes Stole Christmas Page 33

  She went on the offensive. “Have you never considered marriage?”

  “No. I am far too busy to pursue a wife. And, in truth, I’ve never met anyone worth the chase.” They arrived at the steps, and he held open the swinging door for her. “All the good women seem to be taken,” he murmured as she brushed by him.

  A thrill skated down her spine, centering between her legs. Oh my. You are in over your head, Rose.

  The trouble was, when it came to Duke Havermeyer, she had no idea how to save herself from drowning.

  Chapter Six

  Rose stared at the ingredients in front of her, a bead of sweat rolling between her shoulder blades. The guests were packed into the warm kitchen, standing around her in a semicircle, their gazes rapt. An audience awaiting the master.

  Little did they know she wasn’t even a novice.

  Breathe and follow the recipe. How hard could it be?

  The maids had placed the ingredients on the large workspace, as well as a bowl, mixing spoon, rolling pin, and pan. With shaking hands, she tied an apron around her waist and reached for the recipe. Cleared her throat. “All right, let us begin.”

  The first ingredient was sugar. This gave her a boost of confidence. As a devoted fan of cakes and pies, she was well acquainted with sugar. After measuring the correct portion and pouring it into a bowl, she went in search of the butter. A dish containing a stick of butter was on the other counter, so she retrieved it and added the softened mass to the sugar.

  She began mixing, the warm butter easily folding into the sugar. The recipe said to “cream” the butter and sugar, but Rose had no idea how long that took. She kept working the mixture, stirring it, breathing hard, until one of the maids—Ida—said softly, “Is that sufficiently creamed, madam?”

  “Yes, I believe it is,” she said, having no idea if the declaration were true or not. “Though I do like to be certain.” She gave it one more beat for luck, then set the bowl aside. “Now for the flour.”

  “What type of flour do you use?” one of the female guests asked.

  There were different types of flour? Rose attempted to sound knowledgeable when she answered, “Oh, the regular kind. I stick to the tried-and-true ingredients.”

  “I like Hungarian flour,” one of the other wives said.

  The woman used flour shipped in from Europe? The extravagance of these high-society types absolutely boggled the mind. Hiding her dismay, Rose added the flour to the mixture, along with a tablespoon of salt.

  “That certainly was a lot of salt,” someone commented.

  Rose peeked at the recipe. She could never remember the difference in the abbreviation for tablespoon and teaspoon. Had she added the wrong amount?

  Too late now. Swallowing her trepidation, she lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps that is what gives this particular recipe its distinct flavor.”

  She began combining the dry ingredients with the wet concoction to form the dough. When it was combined, she dumped the mixture onto the counter and floured it. The instructions said to knead it, so Rose set out to work the dough with her hands. She’d seen her mother and Mrs. Riley do this many times in the Lowes’ kitchen. Of course, Rose wasn’t as competent as those two, but she soon had a firm ball ready.

  So far, it looked good. Perhaps this cooking thing was not that difficult after all.

  The recipe said to roll out the dough. Was she supposed to flour the wood first to keep the dough from sticking? She debated this for a moment until she realized everyone was staring at her, waiting. Mrs. Walker would know exactly what to do.

  With a confidence she did not feel, she took a handful of flour and rubbed it on the rolling pin. Then she began flattening the dough as best she could. The job was harder than it appeared, however. After a few moments, the dough was uneven and jagged. Hmm. Mrs. Riley’s dough was always so smooth. Perhaps Rose should start again.

  After gathering the dough into a ball once more, she rolled it out as best she could, avoiding Duke’s intense gaze the entire time. The shape was not perfect, but it would have to do. Carefully, she lifted the dough into the pan and spread it out.

  “Interesting,” one of the women said. “These shortbread cookies appear thinner than the standard kind.”

  They did? Rose hadn’t a clue. The dough did look a little thin, but wouldn’t they puff up when baked?

  “I suppose we’ll find out when we sample the finished product,” Duke said from the back of the room. The edges of his mouth were curled up in a soft smile, turning him quite dashing. Rose bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling back.

  “How will you score the dough to decorate them?” another woman asked.

  Oh. Rose hadn’t considered this, which was silly of her. Of course every shortbread cookie had indents and lines on it. Digging deep for inspiration, she found a long knife on a nearby counter and began embellishing the dough. Sadly, her creativity with words did not extend to the kitchen—a regular joke between her and her mother. When she was finished, it appeared as if someone had stabbed the shortbread dough in a blind rage.

  Sighing, she snatched up the pan and hurried to the oven, hoping her audience wouldn’t see. Perhaps some magic would occur during the baking process and these would emerge as perfectly as everyone in the room expected.

  Oh, Rose. Now you are delusional.

  “I’ll just put these in to bake and we’ll return upstairs to wait.” And pray.

  She pulled on the heavy oven door and noticed the oven was cool. That was odd. Hadn’t she and the maids discussed leaving the fire burning?

  Lord above, this was an unholy disaster.

  She shoved her miserable tray inside, quickly shut the door, and sent a plea to the shortbread fairies. “Shall we have our coffee in the salon?” The sooner she herded them upstairs, the better.

  Ida suddenly appeared, looking as if she were trying not to laugh. “I have coffee ready for the guests, madam.”

  “Thank you,” Rose said, conveying her panic with her eyes as she untied the apron. “We will get out of your way now. Please bring the cookies up when they are done.” Ida merely winked in response, confusing Rose even further.

  Henry led the guests to the stairs, the group chattering loudly about what they’d seen. Miraculously, Rose had impressed them, though most seemed perplexed about the decorating at the end.

  She hung back to ask Ida about the cool oven, but Duke remained, as well, his expression full of a scorching heat that caused Rose’s knees to wobble. Goodness, she could melt into a puddle from that look.

  “That was quite the demonstration,” he said when he reached her side.

  “You enjoyed it?”

  He lifted a hand and swiped her cheek with his finger, which came away coated in flour. Horrified, she started to rub her face—until he caught her wrist. “No, allow me.”

  Taking out a handkerchief, he lightly held her chin and dabbed the soft linen over her nose and cheeks, his touch gentle and thorough. She held her breath, heart pounding, as he cleaned her. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, his body close enough that she could feel his exhalations on her forehead. If she pushed up on her toes, she could kiss him . . .

  She considered it for one rash minute, unable to prevent herself from staring at his mouth. Would his kisses be rough or sweet? Hard or coaxing? She liked kissing. In fact, she liked it quite a bit. She hadn’t kissed anyone in over a year, but she still remembered how it felt, the pleasant joining of two mouths. The shared breath, the slide of a man’s tongue against hers.

  “There,” he said softly, breaking into her thoughts. “You are presentable again.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, a deep throaty timbre she had never heard before.

  “It was my pleasure.” He didn’t move away or put distance between them. Instead he seemed to wait, the two of them watching each other as the moment stretched. There were flecks of gold and green in his dark irises, a complex set of colors for a complex man.
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  The sudden clatter of china behind them in the kitchen startled her, and she took a step back. What had just occurred between them? Her face burned with embarrassment and . . . disappointment.

  He cleared his throat and adjusted his cuffs, but his eyes never left her. Rattled, she darted around him and started up the steps. “Shall we join the others?” she asked.

  She didn’t bother to check if he followed. There was no need. She could sense his presence behind her: the man she longed for but could never have.

  * * *

  The shortbread cookies arrived not long after coffee had been poured. Duke was surprised the cookies had cooled so quickly, but how could he complain? They were absolute perfection: delicious buttery squares with intricate designs on top. Of course, they hadn’t looked this smart going into the oven, but clearly Rose knew her business.

  The board members and wives oohed over the results, biting into the cookies and rolling their eyes in pleasure. Satisfaction and pride flooded him. Rose Walker was a marvel. He made a mental note to give her an increase in her salary. Whatever he paid her, it was not enough.

  He watched her move through the crowd, the perfect hostess. She had paused when the cookies arrived, almost appearing nervous over the results, but now she smiled broadly, accepting the compliments graciously, humbly, her hair shining in the soft glow of the gasolier. Christ, she was lovely. When they’d stood alone near the kitchen stairs, he’d been certain she was thinking of kissing him—as he had been thinking of kissing her. It shocked him how much he wanted her, wanted to feel every inch of her pressed against him. In one evening, the woman had completely charmed him.

  What was he prepared to do about it?

  “Did you like the cookies?”

  Duke turned and found Mr. Walker standing there. Had Walker seen Duke ogling Rose? “They are superb.” He glanced at the cookie in his hand. “I must admit, after seeing what went into the oven, I wouldn’t have guessed they’d be this perfect.”

  “Rose is a wonder. She never ceases to surprise me.”

  Duke recalled Walker’s passionate embrace with a maid earlier. For a man who held his wife in such high esteem, his actions certainly were baffling. He studied Walker’s face. “Have you known each other long?”

  “Nearly all our lives. We’ve always been best friends.”

  That was an odd way for an unfaithful husband to describe his wife. Though perhaps this was a hint that the two were more friends than lovers. “There is something oddly sweet to two best friends getting married.”

  Walker leaned in, his gaze narrowed intently. “Yes, it is sweet. She’s always looked out for me and I always look out for her. Always.”

  “I get the feeling you are attempting to tell me something.”

  “You’re rumored to be a smart man and an excellent journalist. I’m certain you will figure it out.”

  Duke crossed his arms over his chest. “Then I think it’s best I warn you, as well. I watch out for my employees. Everyone at Havermeyer Publishing, from the mailroom clerks to the top editors. If I think they are in danger or at risk of being hurt, I will step in.”

  Walker appeared confused by this, his brows dipping together. “You’re worried I will hurt Rose?”

  “If certain things came to light, yes.”

  “Certain things?”

  “I know what you are up to, Walker.”

  The other man blinked a few times, then his expression cleared. “Oh, so you know about the . . . ?” He gestured toward the kitchen stairs, where Duke had witnessed the earlier embrace.

  Duke nodded once. “Indeed.”

  Instead of appalled, Walker had the audacity to appear cheerful. “What a relief. The subterfuge is damn exhausting.”

  “But necessary,” he snapped. “My God, man. You have a houseful of guests.”

  “I know that. The entire thing was Rose’s idea. You cannot blame me.”

  Ah, so it was as Duke had suspected: Rose and her husband had an understanding. This was not so uncommon in marriages of the higher classes. Duke’s own father had hardly bothered to hide the existence of his mistresses over the years. It was the way things were done, but the wife was not normally so accommodating. “She’s quite novel, your wife.”

  “That is a polite way of putting it. I am surprised she told you, though. We had planned to keep it a secret.”

  “Yes, well. I’ve been around reporters too long, I suppose. Always searching for the truth.”

  Walker chuckled. “We hadn’t considered that. I hope you won’t hold it against her. She loves writing for your papers.”

  “Why on earth would I hold it against her?”

  “Some men are petty that way. At least now I needn’t play the jealous husband any longer.”

  God, this man was revolting. “I suppose that happens often?”

  “Come on.” Walker elbowed Duke’s arm. “I saw the way you were staring at her tonight. Now you know I won’t stand in your way.”

  Duke’s jaw dropped, his body tightening in shock. Was Walker so eager to be cuckolded, then?

  “You two are awfully tense.” Rose appeared, her head turning between Duke and her husband. “Anything the matter?”

  “Nothing whatsoever,” Walker said. “Just clearing the air a bit. Havermeyer, glad we had this chat. If you will excuse me, I’ll visit with our other guests.”

  Walker strolled away and Duke resisted the urge to follow—and subsequently pummel him. Though he longed to seduce Rose into an affair, she deserved better than a husband who clearly cared little for her. “Interesting man, your husband.”

  “Yes, he is,” she said with a fond smile in Walker’s direction. “Were the two of you arguing?”

  “No, merely coming to an understanding.” An understanding in which Duke was free to pursue Rose Walker. The full implication began to sink in, a rush of excitement flooding his veins. She was here, standing before him, and there was no reason not to make his feelings known. “About you.”

  “Me?” Her brows shot up. “Why would you need to come to an understanding about me?”

  As was his style, he decided to be direct. No tiptoeing around an issue. “Because he knows I’ve developed an interest in you.”

  “As one of your valued employees.”

  “No. This interest has nothing to do with your ability to craft a pithy column. A personal interest in you, Rose.”

  The idea settled and color spotted her cheekbones. “I—I am sorry. You . . . what?”

  “I want to spend time with you. Privately. Originally, it seemed a terrible idea because of your employment at my newspaper, but I’ve come to think we can handle the situation like two consenting adults.”

  “But . . .” She cast a glance over her shoulder at the rest of the guests, possibly confirming they were truly alone. When she turned, she licked her lips. “No. This is impossible.”

  “I realize my timing is poor, as we’re still in the midst of this gathering, but I believe in stating my intentions up front. That way, no one may claim to be surprised later on.”

  “Have I a say in this?” she snapped.

  “Of course.” He thrust his hands in his trouser pockets to keep from touching her. “But you should know that once I decide on a course of action, I never change my mind.”

  “Nice for you, but no. Whatever you are suggesting is unwise for many reasons.”

  “Such as?”

  “You are my employer, for one. I cannot risk my position, considering you hold all the power.”

  “I give you my word that I’m able to separate the two. Whatever happens between us shall not affect your job.”

  “Even if that were acceptable, I have no plans on being unfaithful to my husband.”

  “Are you certain he deserves such loyalty?”

  She rocked back on her heels, her head tilting slightly. “Of course. Why would he not?”

  He clenched and relaxed his hands several times. He’d muffed this. Badly. “All I ask
is that you consider it.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?”

  “Yes, why should I consider anything improper?”

  Because I cannot tear my gaze away from you, not for an instant.

  Because your smile thaws out a part of my soul.

  Because there is a fire in you, a burning energy that I yearn to feel and taste.

  He couldn’t share those thoughts, so he said, “Because you will enjoy yourself, I promise.”

  Her eyes narrowed into slits. “You overstep, sir—”

  “Mrs. Walker,” a voice said behind them. One of the board members waited there with his wife. “We wanted to thank you for such a lovely evening.”

  Rose led the couple away, but not before throwing an inscrutable glance at Duke over her shoulder. He watched her go, not deterred in the least. In all her arguments, she hadn’t expressed a lack of interest in him. That was telling. If she’d found him unappealing, he would have immediately backed off. Never pursued anything further.

  However, the way she’d stared up at him in the kitchen, her clear blue eyes filled with heat and longing, he knew there was interest.

  But would she act on it? He couldn’t say, but he damn well wanted to find out.

  Chapter Seven

  Because you will enjoy yourself, I promise.

  The words kept tumbling around in Rose’s head. Had he been serious? As far as Duke knew, she was a married woman.

  Perhaps he’d overimbibed tonight. She hadn’t noticed him drinking more than everyone else, but what else could explain his bizarre proposition in the midst of a dinner party?

  She quickly said her goodbyes to the guests and retreated to the kitchens for some quiet. And yes, to hide until Duke left.

  Bridget was finishing up when Rose arrived. “Is there anything I may do to help?”

  “Why aren’t you with the guests?” Bridget asked as she wiped down the work surface.