“Elizabeth will be excellent.”
“Elizabeth doesn’t have quite your reputation, dear,” Lady Margaret FitzHerbert said in a confidential tone. “She’s far too brash for most of our members.” She lowered her voice to a stage-whisper. “And I think she was drunk at this afternoon’s meeting.”
Claudia laughed. The irony of being holed up in Bath because her guardian believed her to be capable of just that kind of behaviour! “I’ll… see if I can make it.”
“You’ll let me know by tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, dear. The gala is Friday. I need time to pull a rabbit out of my hat if you forsake me.”
“Forsake you!” Claudia laughed in earnest now. “I’m hanging up. I’m sure I’ll be able to work something out.”
She wiped her hand on her apron and then reached for her phone, pressing the ‘disconnect’ button and shaking her head as she returned to stirring. The mixture came together into a gloopy mess and she carried the bowl over to the muslin cloth she’d moistened and floured earlier. It was lining a colander; she poured the batter into it, using the spoon to empty the last of the mixing bowl and then she lifted the spoon to her mouth and licked it, sighing as the unmistakable flavor of Christmas assailed her taste buds.
For someone who adored all of the rituals of Christmas so completely, she was incredibly disciplined about not undertaking any of the festive activities at any other time of year. To boil a pudding in June would be a sacrilege. No, December and December alone was the month for fruit mince pies, pudding, egg nog, gingerbread houses, mulled wine and sugarplums.
She wrapped the pudding, singing as she worked, tying the bakers’ twine around the ball and then lifting it to test it for strength. Satisfied, she placed it carefully into the pan of boiling, salted water and stepped back.
Perfect.
The kitchen was a little the worse for wear, and she would tidy it in due course.
But for the moment, more important things called Claudia’s attention. Like speaking to Stavros and explaining why it was imperative for her to return to London.
The gala event was one of the highlights of her year. She couldn’t miss it just because her guardian had decided to exercise his power over her.
She had common sense on her side; the conversation should not have been a difficult one. And yet she dreaded it for one reason alone: she hadn’t seen him since the unpleasant incident with the book, the day before. She’d stayed in her room all afternoon, only venturing into the kitchen to make a sandwich sometime around ten at night.
She checked the time on her watch and padded through the house, keeping an ear out for activity. It was strangely silent. She peeked into the conservatory, smiling as her eyes landed on the Christmas tree, then moved back into the house, down the hallway and up the stairs. Her heartbeat increased with each step she took. He was somewhere in the house, and the probability of that being his bedroom or study were both high.
The bedroom was closest. She moved quietly towards it, her pulse throbbing under her flesh as she went, tormenting her.
She lifted a hand and knocked at the door then stepped back, giving it a wide berth, as though he would emerge and burn her.
He didn’t. Half a minute passed with no sign of Stavros. She exhaled a sigh of relief and moved down the hallway. She needed to speak to him, but it was better for that conversation to take place outside of his bedroom.
Chicken, an inner voice taunted.
What exactly was Claudia waiting for?
Three years earlier, as a naïve eighteen-year-old, she’d begged him to make love to her. To take away her virginity and make her a woman. At twenty-one, she wanted the same thing. She wanted to know what all the fuss was about with sex.
But did she still want her guardian to be the one to teach her?
The kiss pushed itself to the forefront of her mind. His lips on hers. Their breath mingled. Their hearts pounding in unison. The taste of desire heavy between them.
She’d never known it could be like that. A kiss without thought or rational action. A kiss as a simple biological expression of need.
His office was
at the end of the house. It had views in one direction of the river and in the other of the little forest behind the gate house. She paused on the threshold, caught her breath and then knocked three times, hoping the rapping on the door gave the appearance of confidence, which she was far from feeling.
“Nai?”
Show time.
Nerves simmered through her as she pushed the door inwards. Stavros was sitting at his desk, but he wasn’t working. His fingers were templed beneath his chin, and his attention had been caught by the bleak sky beyond.