UnexpectedChristmas (3 page)

Caro wasn’t sure but he seemed eager to get at the beans.

Funny, she could have sworn he was enjoying himself, this
fashion plate of a lord. One whose exploits fascinated the
ton
. The
London society columns relished any tidbit of news about him and the latest
beautiful lady seen on his arm. Even she had occasionally seen a paper and knew
of his amorous activities, although she knew little else about him. She’d never
expected him to seem so intrigued with tasks usually done by a servant.

Sitting back and looking perfectly happy, he idly asked her
how she’d managed to cook the eggs.

“There’s a long-handled pan hanging by the stove. I rinsed
it out with snow and used that.”

With a small sigh, she began to clear the table. She’d
better get more snow to melt. At least she knew one thing—even though she’d
worried about their survival, she now knew this beautiful man would see to
keeping them both alive.

If his lordship seemed admiring of her cooking feat, it
meant nothing. He was undoubtedly used to females producing miracles for him.

Sebastian smiled with satisfaction, his hunger replete. Not
the fanciest food he’d ever tasted but definitely the best. He’d attack the
coffee beans next. His body tingled from head to toe from exercise, including a
few muscles he’d not used for a while. He’d thought boxing at Gentleman Jim’s
and working out at the fencing academy were keeping him in excellent shape but
swinging an axe called on a few muscles he hadn’t even known he had.

He felt more at peace than he had for some months. This
situation might seem regrettable but by god he’d hadn’t been bored since he set
foot in this miserable excuse for an inn.

His companion was more enterprising than he’d expected.
Certainly a governess, as he’d mentally classified her, wasn’t expected to cook
eggs over a fire. She was much younger than he’d thought her to be. But not too
young, thank the lord. Now, with a smudge from the cooking marring her perfect
skin and her hair tied back with a simple ribbon, she looked about the age of
the debutantes at their first dance. Her eyes, which she’d kept downcast before
this morning, were as gorgeous as he’d first thought. A beautiful shade between
blue and purple. She was as beddable as any woman he’d ever seen.

His trousers felt uncomfortably tight. By god, he’d better
get his licentious thoughts under control. He’d always been careful his
liaisons were with women who understood the rules of the game. Widows with
unmet sexual urges, eager to experience his expertise in the arts of
love—actresses or painter’s models—never an innocent.

He’d wager his last pence this girl had not been touched.

This was no time to break his lifelong code. She had no idea
how she could inflame a man. Hell, he doubted if even a ninety-year-old could
keep his cock in his pants if he saw her now.

And you, Sebastian, had better not show her any
differently.

He turned to her with a smile.

“Let’s see if we can’t we make the task of cooking a little
easier for you. Let’s go look at the kitchen. Maybe the stove would be better
than holding food over a fireplace.” She shrugged.

“I’ve already looked, Sebastian. It’s an impossible
monster.”

“Maybe I can do something,”

He grinned in delight and strode toward the kitchen.

“Let’s go see.”

Striding ahead of her so she had little choice except to
follow, he soon found himself in a kitchen that was obviously used only for the
necessary food a bar might be expected to produce. Certainly no decent cook
would do anything but stalk out in disgust. The stove was an old-fashioned
monster. He knew little about stoves, but surely this one was from another age.

He stared at it, almost nonplussed.

“I’ve never seen a stove like that. But I’ll bet it works
and that I can figure it out.”

His companion let out a squeak of delight.

“Oh look. Here’s flour and sugar. Maybe I can make biscuits
when the bread is gone.”

Amused, Sebastian turned to her. “Are you good at making
biscuits?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried. But I’m sure I can stir
flour and water together and make something edible. And look, here’s a crock of
butter. Yes, I’ll make biscuits as soon as the bread gives out.”

She looked so pleased at the prospect Sebastian again had to
steel himself not to grab her in his arms. Her answer gave him further pause.
This was no ordinary girl. Everything about her, the purity of her features,
the delicacy of her hands, the fact she knew a few things but not much about a
kitchen confirmed what he’d already determined. She’d been raised to be a lady.
A lady who’d been loved by her servants and indulged.

What had happened to force her into traveling alone and in some
of the most regrettable clothes he’d ever seen?

“How did you know how to cook the eggs?”

She flushed. “When I was a child I used to watch Cook when I
had a chance. She let me stir the eggs for an omelet once.”

Seeing his stare, she added, “Surely all children find
kitchens fascinating.”

“Yes, of course they do.”

He didn’t add that not all households had a cook. Nor one
addressed by her job title. Intrigued, he probed a bit further.

“I’m sure Cook taught you more than just eggs. What else did
you learn from her?”

She flushed, bit her lip and turned to the sink.

“That filthy sink is disgusting. I’m glad I didn’t eat
anything here last night.”

He let her get away with the change of subject. She was not
about to volunteer any information. Still, she was so guileless he thought if
he could keep her talking he’d find out a bit more.

This girl was so unspoiled he found it hard to credit. All
of his liaisons had been with women who expressed complete enchantment with his
person and his lovemaking. When he first came to town he’d believed their
flattery and thought himself one hell of a virile fellow. Now he wondered if
any of them would have given him a second glance without his title and his
money.

Shrugging, he set to work bringing in wood for the monster
stove and getting it to work. Two fires would keep him busy chopping wood but
he didn’t want to have Caro’s skirts catching on fire if she leaned too close
to the fireplace.

God bless the fates. It felt good to be in charge of his
life in the most basic way. He found himself responsible for not only his own
life but that of his lovely companion. He’d be almost sorry when this
unexpected interlude was over.

In spite of his father keeping him from actively joining the
fighting with Wellington, he wasn’t exactly useless.

* * * * *

Twilight began to send little shadows into formerly sunny
spots in the inn as Sebastian finally decided they had enough wood for at least
twenty-four hours. He’d barely stopped since breakfast. The path to the jakes
was clear, wood was stacked beside the fireplace and near the stove. He’d even
found candles in a kitchen closet and two of them now burned in the darkness of
the kitchen to help Caro as she cooked the inevitable eggs.

But she’d also sliced off generous pieces of ham and warmed them.
She’d toasted more bread and set two places at the kitchen table. The table
looked inviting, if you weren’t particular about the setting. Two banged-up tin
plates were in place, as well as two spoons. She’d opened a bottle of wine from
the bar and filled two shining glasses. She proudly assured him she’d rinsed
everything with snow.

Evidently the innkeeper served mostly food eaten with
fingers only. Probably he’d hard-boiled the eggs.

With a grin he sat down. He’d eat sawdust if that was what
she was about to serve. He raised his glass to her and was pleased when she
raised hers in return.

“I don’t recall ever being so hungry. I’ll eat anything you
put before me, my beautiful cook.”

She blushed and, taking his plate, filled it with scrambled
eggs and warmed ham.

“I’m sorry there are no potatoes, my lord. Or no fourth or
fifth removes.”

She dimpled as she filled his plate.

He damn near dropped it as she handed it to him, leaning
close to him to place it in his hands. Did she have any idea how she could arouse
a man, with her flushed cheeks and gorgeous hair? She hadn’t formed it into a
bun again, thank the lord, but swept it back into a long fall that she’d
brushed behind her back. It hung thick and heavy, a glorious mass any man would
want to bury his face in. And she was familiar with dining with removes?

He tamped down his thoroughly inappropriate desires and,
smiling at her, attacked his food.

Finally, feeling better than he could ever remember, he
heaved a sigh and leaned back in his chair. She refused more than one glass of
wine and he sat sipping his second.

“I’m consumed with curiosity about you, my lovely cook. You
seem not really at home in a kitchen, although you’ve accomplished wonders.
You’re a lady. Why were you traveling alone and unprotected? You are an enigma
to me.”

She flushed a becoming rose but said nothing until she’d
taken his plate and carried it to a large pan already filled with water.

“I couldn’t bear to use that filthy sink. I thought I’d keep
our dishes separate and a little cleaner.”

Damn and blast. She’d been working as hard as he had. Come
to think of it, there were shadows under those remarkable eyes. And she wasn’t
about to trust him with the story he was becoming increasingly determined to
know.

“Let’s go sit by the fire. I’ll take two candles and read to
you from a book I have with me. Does that appeal to you?”

She let out a sigh of pure bliss. “Wonderful. What is the
book? Although I’ll enjoy listening to almost anything tonight.”

He motioned her closer to the fire, setting one candle
beside her and one so the light shone on the book in his hand.

The thought of what he’d like her to enjoy tonight made him
shutter his eyes. His one desire would be to bring her pleasure before he
buried his already rigid cock in her and released himself.

Crossing his legs, he leafed through the book to give
himself a chance to speak normally.

“It’s an old favorite of mine. Inventive and it relaxes me
every time I read it. It’s a good book to travel with.
Shakespeare’s Sonnets
.”

Her start of surprise amused him.

“Some of those are far from relaxing, sir.”

So she’d read them. He smiled at the added clue.

“Do you have any favorites, Caro?” His voice caressed her as
he thought of how far he could take the conversation if she confessed to liking
the subtly disguised erotic ones he favored.

She blushed but shook her head. “No, no favorites.”

You’re not telling the truth, little imp.

He grinned. “Then I’ll read one of mine to you. Sonnet 18.”

As he flipped through the pages to find that particular sonnet
he looked up and saw her lips moving with the opening lines, “
Shall I
compare thee to a summer’s day
?”

Without finding the passage, he fixed his eyes on hers and
began to softly recite the poem. As he’d expected, she followed him silently,
her lips moving in harmony with his.

He said nothing when they’d finished, hoping she recognized
the question in his piercing eyes.

She looked at him as if he’d attacked her and she stiffened.

“You chanced to pick one I happen to be familiar with. I
think it’s time for bed. It’s been a hard day for us both.”

The room had gotten much hotter than the warmth the meager
fire in the hearth provided. He conceded temporary defeat.

“Perhaps I can read more to you tomorrow. You sit here and
relax a bit. I’ll bank the fires and bring in more wood.”

As he strode out he wondered what the hell he was doing.
He’d never seduced a virtuous miss. Surely he hadn’t changed that much, had he?
It was only the enforced proximity and knowing they had no chaperone that
spurred him to be so outrageous.

Well, no more of this blatant flirting with an innocent. But
damn it was fun seeing that perfect complexion blaze with color when she
blushed.

Did she even realize how beautiful she was?

He very much doubted it.

Banking down his libido should be as much his objective as
seeing to the fire in the hearth.

When he came in with a new stack of wood he was not
surprised she was already heading toward the stairs. The stack of logs was
growing smaller than he liked. They would have to start conserving what was
left. As he piled the logs in the fireplace a splinter of one lodged under his
right thumbnail.

By god that hurt. He muttered a string of French curses, his
habit since he was a boy and had first learned how much he could get away with
cursing in another language.

To his surprise, he heard a gurgling chuckle. As he whirled
around he saw Caro had turned and was laughing at him.

“Your accent is a little off but your vocabulary is
impressive. Maybe I should teach you some new words.”

Looking at her amused face, he wanted nothing in the world
so much as to grab that delicious body to his and demonstrate some of the other
French words he knew. She was beyond beautiful when she relaxed. He summoned
his reserve and managed not to pounce on her but it was a near thing for a
moment.

“Imagine a nice girl like you knowing words like that.”

He smiled at her with questioning eyes and she blushed a
beautiful shade of rose.

“I’m a French teacher,” she explained. “I guess I haven’t
mentioned that.”

“Really?” The drawl was gone. This was the first fact she’d
volunteered. “And you teach young ladies these words.? Tsk, tsk, Caro.”

“Don’t be silly. But the girls in the school I attended in
France—”

She stopped abruptly.

“Let me see the splinter.”

She proceeded to effectively remove the splinter by
squeezing it out with her fingernails. It wasn’t comfortable but he didn’t make
a sound. When she finished she brought a mug of water over, soaked his finger
in it and then calmly tore a tiny strip off her petticoat and bound it around
his finger.