Secret Desires of a Gentleman Page 7

  She made a sound of irritation. “You really are the most arrogant, pompous—”

  “Did you know?”

  Maria folded her arms and glared at him, unwilling to make any admission which would weaken her position, but she knew that cool, assessing stare of his missed nothing. It would be pointless to lie. “When I encountered you a week ago, it was purely by chance,” she told him. “And when you told me you were living here, it was the greatest surprise to me. Nor was I aware that Lawrence was living with you. In fact, I didn’t even know he was back from America.”

  “The remodeling of my home and the news of Lawrence’s return from New York have been exhaustively reported in all the society papers. How could you not have known these things?”

  “You might have time to laze about all day long reading the society pages, my lord, but I don’t.” Before he could respond to that, she went on, “I found out that Lawrence was in London only a few hours after I saw you. The Duchess of St. Cyres, who happens to be my dearest friend, told me of it.”

  Her mention that her best friend was a duchess didn’t seem to impress him. His eyes narrowed. “I don’t suppose that once you learned the true facts, you could have chosen to lease premises elsewhere?”

  “And give up prime frontage on Piccadilly? Are you mad?”

  “So that is your only design in settling here? To open a bakery?”

  “A pâtisserie,” she corrected. “I’m envisioning something along the lines of a Parisian café.”

  He studied her a moment longer, then gave a curt nod. “All right. I can accept that encountering me was the purest chance.”

  “A fine concession.”

  He ignored the sarcasm. “But what of Lawrence? Do you intend to claim that cannoning into him on the very same corner was chance, too?”

  “I had to do it! You left me no choice. I’d been searching for months and months, trying to find the right location for my pâtisserie. Then I saw this place, and I knew my search was over. I had no intention of letting you stop me from having it.”

  “And so you made the deliberate choice to break our agreement.”

  Any shred of patience she had left vanished with those words. “You’re damned right I did!” she flared in defiance. “And I wouldn’t have cared if the devil himself lived next door. I was not going to let the best kitchen in London get away because of some promise I made to you when I was a silly girl in the throes of heartbreak! This is business, Phillip,” she added and slammed her palms down on the table. “This is my livelihood!”

  Breathing hard, she stared him down. He stared back. Neither of them spoke. The silence was so long, in fact, that by the time he broke it, she was sure her admission had lost her any chance to stay. But this time, Phillip surprised her.

  “Very well, then, I won’t evict you,” he said, but before she could even breathe a sigh of relief, he added, “Not yet, at least.”

  She straightened, frowning at him, feeling wary. “What do you mean, ‘not yet’?”

  “The term of your lease is one year, but I find that unacceptable. I shall have a new lease drawn for a period of three months, and we shall see how things progress. If I see any sign—any sign at all—that your motives are not purely mercantile, I will have no compunction about evicting you. Every three months, we shall reevaluate the situation.”

  “You’re joking,” she said, even though she knew Phillip never made jokes. “I can’t establish a business on such an uncertain basis.”

  “Then I suggest you start packing.”

  She let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, all right,” she said crossly. “I agree to your terms.”

  “That I am allowing you to remain does nothing to mitigate the promise you made twelve years ago. You have already violated that promise once, Maria. Violate it again, and I will evict you on the spot, and I won’t give a damn how much your character is maligned in the process. Is that clear?”

  She set her jaw. “Perfectly clear.”

  “Good. And remember, I’ll be watching every move you make. If you come anywhere near Lawrence, I’ll swoop down on you like a peregrine on a field mouse, so watch your step.”

  With that, he turned away and walked to the door. Maria watched him go, contradictory emotions raging inside her. She was relieved that he’d changed his mind and happy to be keeping this lovely kitchen, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to hurl a few eggs at his head as he walked out the door.

  Chapter 5

  The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts, all on a summer’s day.

  English nursery rhyme

  Maria was confident she could keep to the bargain she and Phillip had made. She had no desire to see Lawrence, and besides, she had work to do. During the fortnight that followed, she spent every free moment readying her shop to open, with some much-needed help from her friends.

  Though their leisure hours were infrequent, all the girl-bachelors from the lodging house in Little Russell Street offered their assistance. Her friend, Miranda, an illustrator, designed the “Martingale’s” insignia using Emma’s color scheme, and had cards and stationery printed for her. Lucy, who operated an employment agency, dispatched a selection of young women to 88 Piccadilly for Maria to interview, and from among them, she chose two maids and two shop assistants.

  In addition to her new staff, she had other, equally valuable assistance. Lucy’s sister, Daisy, who was at present a typist for a firm of solicitors by day and an aspiring writer by night, composed advertisements for the bakery and placed them in various London newspapers. Prudence and Emma extolled Maria’s baking skills at every opportunity, assuring the ladies of London society that should their own cooks not possess quite as light a hand with pastry as they would wish, Martingale’s would soon be able to provide them with the most luscious scones and cakes imaginable.

  The help of her friends and her employees enabled Maria to concentrate her efforts on what she did best. From dawn until well past dark, she kneaded dough, tempered chocolate, whipped cream, and cooked icing, meticulously testing each of her recipes on each of her stoves, perfecting her techniques. Even after her assistants had gone home and her maids were fast asleep in their beds upstairs, it was not uncommon for Maria to still be in the kitchens. For when it came time to put her pastries in front of the public, she was determined that they would be the finest it was humanly possible to make.

  Because she was so inundated with work, Maria knew avoiding Lawrence would be easy. What she didn’t appreciate, however, was that Lawrence had no intention of avoiding her.

  Late one night, only a few days before her pâtisserie was to open, Maria was staring in bafflement at what was supposed to be a Victoria sponge, but which had turned out to be a heavy sponge flop, when the kitchen door opened and a cheery, familiar voice said, “By Jove, it smells heavenly in here.”

  She looked up, surprised by the sight of the handsome brown-haired man who stood in the doorway. He had clearly been out about town, for was he wearing evening clothes, cloak and top hat. “Lawrence? What are you doing here?”

  Before he could answer, the sound of another male voice, also familiar but much less cheery, floated through the open doorway. “Come away, Lawrence, and stop bothering Miss Martingale. It’s clear she’s busy and doesn’t need us lounging about.”

  Lawrence winked at her. “Am I bothering you?”

  She should say yes, tell him to go away, and save herself the aggravation of arguing with Phillip. “Of course you’re not bothering me.”

  Lawrence took off his hat and leaned back in the doorway, angling his head to see the sidewalk above. “No need to worry, dear brother. She says I’m not bothering her at all.”

  He returned his attention to Maria. “We’re just home from the opera. When we stepped out of the carriage, we noticed you still hard at work, and I suggested we come down and keep you company.” Leaning back again, he said, “Do come down, Phillip, there’s a good chap. You’re standing on that sidewalk as if rooted t
o the spot.”

  Probably because he was wishing she and her bakery were thousands of miles away, Maria thought. Nonetheless, she wasn’t surprised when she looked through the window by the door and saw him descending the steps. No doubt, he wanted to protect his brother from her, but at least he couldn’t say any of this was her fault. She’d been keeping to her end of the bargain.

  Lawrence entered the kitchen, but Phillip paused just inside the door. Like his brother, he was formally attired in a black evening suit, and he tucked his black silk top hat into the crook of his arm before giving her a stiff bow. “Good evening, Miss Martingale,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

  Mimicking his formality, she responded with her deepest, most exaggerated curtsy, then tilted her head to one side and studied him as if puzzled. “Was the opera painful for you, my lord?” she asked after a moment.

  “Painful?” He frowned at the word. “Not at all. Why do you ask?”

  “You’ve a grim countenance, so the opera must have been quite an ordeal.” She smiled. “Unless coming down here is the cause of your pained expression? You look as if you are paying a visit to the dentist.”

  Lawrence laughed as he crossed the kitchen to stand on the opposite side of her worktable. “Don’t be offended, Maria. You know how he is, with his damnable sense of propriety. He didn’t want us to come down. Said it wouldn’t do to call on you at this hour.”

  Phillip shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced at the ceiling, looking as if he’d prefer to be anywhere else. “It’s after midnight, Lawrence. Not an appropriate time to pay calls.”

  “Oh, but we’ve no need to stand on ceremony with Maria,” Lawrence said over one shoulder.

  Maria didn’t miss the impatient glance Phillip gave his brother in return. “This is a respectable neighborhood. Miss Martingale is an unmarried woman. Skulking about down here could hurt her reputation.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” Lawrence looked at her. “Do you want us to go?”

  “Of course not,” she answered at once, happy to fly in the face of Phillip’s stuffy notions of proper behavior. “The curtains are not drawn, the windows are wide open. Anyone passing by can see us and can hear our conversation. I’d hardly describe it that you’re skulking about.”

  “Bandy the semantics if you wish,” Phillip said in his haughtiest tone, “but the fact remains that my brother and I should not be here.”

  “You’re so punctilious, my lord. We’ve known each other nearly all our lives. It seems a bit absurd to worry about precise rules of etiquette at this late date, doesn’t it?” She leaned sideways, looking around Lawrence to give Phillip her most provoking smile. “To my mind, it’s a far more grievous offense to avoid old friends, or worse, to pretend they don’t exist.”

  Her shot hit the mark. He stiffened.

  “Hear, hear,” Lawrence said, interrupting any reply his brother might have made.

  “These notions that unmarried men and women can never be unchaperoned under any circumstances are falling by the wayside,” she went on. “Women like myself, who have to earn their living and have gone into trade have no reputations to protect, really. It’s only ladies who need worry about such niceties.”

  “Forgive me for being hopelessly old-fashioned,” Phillip said with a biting inflection of sarcasm. “But aside from the social ramifications, there was the question of your mood to consider.”

  This turn in the conversation surprised her. “My mood?”

  “Through the windows, we observed you with your hands on your hips, a distinct scowl on your face. I suggested to my brother it might be wiser not to intrude upon you at such a moment.”

  So now, in addition to being a temptress, she was also a shrew. Maria opened her mouth, but before she could let fly with an equally flattering opinion of him, Lawrence spoke again.

  “You did look a bit cross.”

  “Did I?” She gestured to the flattened layers of sponge cake on the table. “A case of culinary frustration.”

  He gave the cakes a dubious look. “What are they? Some sort of crepe?”

  She sighed. “They were supposed to be a sponge.”

  “Look a bit flat for a sponge, don’t they?”

  “Miss Martingale no doubt appreciates your keen observation, Lawrence,” Phillip said, but his brother seemed oblivious to the incisive remark.

  “What happened to it?” he asked her. “Why would it be flat like that?”

  “It’s the third oven,” she said, waving her hand to one of the stoves behind her. “It’s as difficult to gauge as the weather, for I can’t seem to bake anything delicate in it.”

  “Then it ought to be replaced. My brother will talk to Mr. Gainsborough about it, won’t you, Phillip?”

  Replacing a temperamental oven was well beyond the scope of a landlord’s responsibilities, and she didn’t wish to be beholden to Phillip in any way. She hastened into speech. “No, no, thank you, but that’s not necessary. Every oven has its idiosyncracies. I just have to become accustomed to this one.”

  “All right, but if it keeps giving you trouble, you’ll inform one of us, I hope.” He glanced around. “It’s turned out quite a nice kitchen, isn’t it? Very modern and up to date. Fiona would like it, don’t you think, Phillip?”

  “Since it was to her design, I believe that’s a safe assumption.”

  “Fiona?” She glanced from Lawrence to his brother and back again. “Are you referring to your aunt Fiona?”

  Lawrence nodded. “She was in the midst of opening a tea shop here. She envisioned something along the lines of the ABC’s, only more genteel, more ladylike.”

  “Like Miss Cranston’s tea shops in Glasgow?” she asked. “Those are quite fashionable, I understand. London has nothing like them. It would have been a great success. Why didn’t she proceed?”

  Lawrence began to laugh. “Well, several weeks before she was to open the place, she met Lord Eastland. He’s our ambassador to Egypt, or some such. Anyway, they fell madly in love, the dear old fools, but he was returning to Cairo within the week, and couldn’t delay his departure, so they decided…they…umm…” He paused and tugged at one ear, still chuckling.

  It was Phillip who conveyed the vital point. “They eloped.”

  “What?” She laughed. “Your Aunt Fiona eloped with an ambassador?”

  “Elopements do seem to run in our family,” he said coolly, dampening Lawrence’s amusement at once.

  “I think…” Lawrence raised a fist to his mouth and gave a cough, his face reddening. “I think I’ll um…just have a look about the place, Maria. If you don’t mind?”

  She waved a hand toward the scullery. “Not at all.”

  He crossed the room, dropped his cloak and hat on the counter by the stairs, then departed for the back kitchen.

  Maria glanced at Phillip, who hadn’t moved from his place beside the door. “You aren’t standing at the gates of hell, you know,” she said with some amusement. “It is safe to come in. After all, I’m not a devil.”

  “Aren’t you?” he murmured, and crossed the room to where his brother had been standing a few moments before. “You have given me cause to wonder about that on more than one occasion.”

  “Just what is it you fear, my lord?” she asked. “As I said, this isn’t hell. I have no evil designs on your brother, no desire to tempt him into sin with the delights of my kitchen.”

  He nodded at the sponge cakes. “Not with those, certainly.” He returned his gaze to her face. “But there are other, more tempting, delights.”

  Sensation tingled along her spine, a sudden awareness that made the delicate hairs on the nape of her neck stand up. In his voice was an inflection she’d never heard before, a soft note beneath the hauteur that caught her by surprise. On the other hand, perhaps she was imagining things. There was nothing soft in his eyes. In their blue depths was a warning, the flash of anger and something more, something she could not quite identify. She tore her g
aze away.

  “Don’t be absurd,” she scoffed. “I don’t know why you insist on blaming me for what happened all those years ago.” She seized the cooling rack from the table, bent down, and jettisoned the ruined cakes into the rubbish bin. Then she hung the rack on a pair of hooks beneath the table and straightened. “I wasn’t attempting to kidnap your brother at gunpoint and force him to Gretna Green.”

  Footsteps thumped on the floor, and the sound of Lawrence whistling floated through the doorway, preventing any further discussion of the subject.

  “If you’ve finished your explorations, Lawrence,” Phillip said as his brother reentered the room and came to stand beside him, “we should be going. It’s quite late.” He turned as if to leave.

  “No need to rush off,” she said, her cheerful words stopping him. “I’ve got a bit of tidying up to do, so I’ll be here another half hour at least. Would you like a cup of tea?” Without waiting for an answer, she walked to a nearby cupboard and pulled down the teapot.

  “This seems like old times, eh, what?” Lawrence said to his brother while Maria filled the pot with hot water from the boiler tap and added tea. “Remember how, when we were boys, we never wanted our tea in the nursery? We always insisted upon having it down in the kitchens. It drove old Sanders simply wild. ‘Gentlemen don’t take tea in the kitchens like hall boys!’ he used to say. Remember?”

  “Yes,” Phillip said shortly. “I remember.”

  She gathered cups, saucers, spoons, and the sugar bowl on a tray, then went to the ice room for milk. “I remember those days, too,” she said, returning to the worktable. She set the milk jug on the tray and reached for the teapot. “You two always wanted to sit in the corner of the kitchen by the buttery door,” she went on as she poured tea for the three of them.

  “To be near you, of course,” Lawrence said, smiling as he reached for the silver tongs and added several lumps of sugar to his cup. “You were always using the table in that corner to roll out pastry or pat out scones for your father. You wore a bibbed white apron, I recall, just like the one you’re wearing now, and had the same sort of kerchief wrapped around your hair. And you always had tarts waiting for us.”