company of men. I’ll be on dry land for at least the next month or two—plenty o’ time to get you whipped into shape.”
Jane just shook her head at the promise. The last time she had seen him, he was barely more than a boy himself. He had changed so much since joining up four years ago—and not just physically. Yes, his short hair was now bleached almost blond, and his body now well padded with muscles, but it was more than that. It was the way he held himself, the easy confidence that seemed to straighten his spine and lift his chin. He seemed to have somehow found himself on his ship. Language and innocent-ear-sullying conversations aside, he was exactly what Weston needed. And more than anything, she was just happy to have twice the family with her than when she woke up.
Her brother pushed away from the table and stood. “Are you sure you can’t stay with us?”
“Thanks, but the boardinghouse suits me just fine. After such close quarters all these years, I’m looking forward to having my rooms to myself, and decent meals to boot.” Weston’s face fell, and Emerson hooked an arm around his neck and half hugged, half strangled him. “Enough of that. Between our lessons and my helping out with the errands, you’ll be sick of me by the time I leave.”
Jane started to rise, but he waved a hand at her. “No, don’t get up—I can see myself out. I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon to help out, and I’ll even bring dinner with me. Sleep well, my family. It’s good to see your pale, landlubber faces again.”
After waving good-bye, Jane turned back to the broken china scattered across the table. How many treats had been served on those plates and platter? She could scarcely picture her mother without her holding one, offering up some baked good or another. Gingerly, she picked up one of the larger pieces and turned it in her hand, letting the candlelight catch the tiny purple flowers. What could they do with it that would make Jane think of Mama every time she looked at it, and not Lord Raleigh and this dreadful day?
An idea came to her then, and she sat back and smiled.
“What’s that look for?” Weston asked as he joined her again at the table.
“I think I may have just figured out what to do with the mosaic.” And it couldn’t have been any further away from anything anyone would ever have associated with the earl.
Chapter Six
Dear God, he had died and gone to heaven.
Richard closed his eyes, chewing reverently so as not to miss a single moment of the blissful, surely sinful, pleasure of the rich chocolate flavor and the delicate, buttery, melt-in-the-mouth texture of the seemingly inauspicious biscuit of which he had just taken a bite.
It was like tasting chocolate-dipped angel wings. Was that blasphemy? He didn’t care. He opened his eyes and lifted the rest of the biscuit to his lips, gracelessly shoving it in his mouth. He shouldn’t take such a large bite, but he did still have—he did a quick count of the contents of the bundle—ten biscuits remaining.
Was that all?
Thank God he had set them aside before the ball. He might have eaten the entire batch if he had known how good they were, and that would have made dancing all night rather unpleasant indeed. No, it was much better to find them sitting on his bureau when he returned to his chamber some five minutes ago.
Richard swallowed and licked the crumbs from his fingers. So the woman could bake. He chose another biscuit from the bundle and took a bite. He shouldn’t have been surprised—she worked in a bakeshop, after all. He supposed it was simply hard to imagine something so perfect coming from someone so prickly.
A baker never reveals her secret ingredients. The sound of her silky smooth voice was as clear as if she stood beside him. Richard snorted. He would have never guessed the woman had a sense of humor underneath that disagreeable facade. He popped the rest of the biscuit in his mouth and lay back against the cool
Jane just shook her head at the promise. The last time she had seen him, he was barely more than a boy himself. He had changed so much since joining up four years ago—and not just physically. Yes, his short hair was now bleached almost blond, and his body now well padded with muscles, but it was more than that. It was the way he held himself, the easy confidence that seemed to straighten his spine and lift his chin. He seemed to have somehow found himself on his ship. Language and innocent-ear-sullying conversations aside, he was exactly what Weston needed. And more than anything, she was just happy to have twice the family with her than when she woke up.
Her brother pushed away from the table and stood. “Are you sure you can’t stay with us?”
“Thanks, but the boardinghouse suits me just fine. After such close quarters all these years, I’m looking forward to having my rooms to myself, and decent meals to boot.” Weston’s face fell, and Emerson hooked an arm around his neck and half hugged, half strangled him. “Enough of that. Between our lessons and my helping out with the errands, you’ll be sick of me by the time I leave.”
Jane started to rise, but he waved a hand at her. “No, don’t get up—I can see myself out. I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon to help out, and I’ll even bring dinner with me. Sleep well, my family. It’s good to see your pale, landlubber faces again.”
After waving good-bye, Jane turned back to the broken china scattered across the table. How many treats had been served on those plates and platter? She could scarcely picture her mother without her holding one, offering up some baked good or another. Gingerly, she picked up one of the larger pieces and turned it in her hand, letting the candlelight catch the tiny purple flowers. What could they do with it that would make Jane think of Mama every time she looked at it, and not Lord Raleigh and this dreadful day?
An idea came to her then, and she sat back and smiled.
“What’s that look for?” Weston asked as he joined her again at the table.
“I think I may have just figured out what to do with the mosaic.” And it couldn’t have been any further away from anything anyone would ever have associated with the earl.
Chapter Six
Dear God, he had died and gone to heaven.
Richard closed his eyes, chewing reverently so as not to miss a single moment of the blissful, surely sinful, pleasure of the rich chocolate flavor and the delicate, buttery, melt-in-the-mouth texture of the seemingly inauspicious biscuit of which he had just taken a bite.
It was like tasting chocolate-dipped angel wings. Was that blasphemy? He didn’t care. He opened his eyes and lifted the rest of the biscuit to his lips, gracelessly shoving it in his mouth. He shouldn’t take such a large bite, but he did still have—he did a quick count of the contents of the bundle—ten biscuits remaining.
Was that all?
Thank God he had set them aside before the ball. He might have eaten the entire batch if he had known how good they were, and that would have made dancing all night rather unpleasant indeed. No, it was much better to find them sitting on his bureau when he returned to his chamber some five minutes ago.
Richard swallowed and licked the crumbs from his fingers. So the woman could bake. He chose another biscuit from the bundle and took a bite. He shouldn’t have been surprised—she worked in a bakeshop, after all. He supposed it was simply hard to imagine something so perfect coming from someone so prickly.
A baker never reveals her secret ingredients. The sound of her silky smooth voice was as clear as if she stood beside him. Richard snorted. He would have never guessed the woman had a sense of humor underneath that disagreeable facade. He popped the rest of the biscuit in his mouth and lay back against the cool
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