Authors: Tiffany Clare
“You might know it as Turkish delight.” He lifted one of the cubes and held it out to her.
“I do not know what that is. I'm afraid I lived too far north for any cultural variety in cuisine.”
“Then you will be pleasantly surprised. Try it.”
Amelia's eyes darted around the coffeehouse. “We'll be seen.”
“And we won't be judged here. Try it, Amelia, because if you lick your lips one more time, I'm going to want to put my mouth on yours instead of feeding you this tiny morsel of heaven.”
She tried to grab it from his hand, but he only tsked and pulled it away before she could snatch it up.
“That's not playing by the rules,” he admonished.
“Those are your rules, Nick.”
“In case you've forgotten”âhe edged closer, his elbows on the table, his knees trapping hers under the small round tableâ“I like making all the rules.”
She felt a blush warm her cheeks. “How could I forget?”
“Now, come here and take it.”
She felt absolutely silly and awkward, but she leaned forward anyway because she wanted this flirting to be over. Well, not entirelyâshe just wished they had a private room at the very least. Nick didn't let it go when her lips touched the jelly; his thumb and finger brushed against her tongue before he slipped them out of her mouth, only to put them in his and suck the sugar clean off his fingers.
Amelia sat back in her chair, feeling suddenly breathless as she bit into the jelly cube. It had a distinct lemon flavor but under that was a flavor noticeably fragrant and floral.
“What's in it?” She picked up one of the orange ones and brought it to her nose. “It smells like roses.” She bit into it, tasting a hint of orange zest and that floral scent again.
“Rosewater,” Nick said. “Adnan has a lemonade he serves in the summer that has rosewater in it as well.”
“Rosewater? Who would think to put that in food?”
“You don't like it?”
She popped another in her mouth, wishing she could steal the plate and eat all the tiny cubes. “I think I'm in love with it.”
Nick smiled and leaned forward to brush his thumb over her lip. “You have a little powder here.” There was a hunger for more than a mere touch in his eyes.
Her tongue darted out; she made sure there wasn't more sugar on her lips, fearing what she might do if he touched her so provocatively again. Her breath hitched, but before she could contemplate her reaction, Adnan was back, breaking the tension.
He set down a dish in front of Nick of yellow pudding with raisins and chopped nuts sprinkled on it. Holding a towel placed beneath the spout of the small copper pot, he poured Nick's coffee. It was darker than Amelia remembered and foamed at the top. Nick placed a cube of sugar in his cup and thanked Adnan.
The proprietor then placed a strangely shaped glass that looked like the rim had been dipped in gold. Its shape was thin through the middle and rounded on the top and bottom, like a corseted woman. Adnan separated the stacked teapots, pouring out the top one in the glass first. The color was nearly as dark as Nick's coffee.
“We steep the leaves in a small amount of boiled water first. You can dilute to your preference,” he said. “We do not serve our tea with milk, like the English prefer, so you must tell me how strong you like it.”
“I usually only take lemon and on occasion, sugar.”
“Perfect,” he lifted the other pot and poured out just as much of the clear boiled water as he had the dark concoction. The colors swirled together until they were a deep red instead of brown.
She inhaled some of the steam that came off the glass. “It smells like black tea.”
“It is. Just brewed stronger.” Setting the pots together, he bowed again. “I will come again when Lord Burley arrives.”
“Thank you, Adnan. And thank your wife for the treats,” Nick said.
“It is our pleasure.”
Nick motioned toward her glass. “You're meant to drink it while it's hot enough to burn.”
Amelia picked it up and tried the tea. It was bitter but still pleasant. She dropped a sugar cube in and stirred it with the small spoon Adnan had left for her.
Clearing her throat, she said, “There are some issues that stand between us that I would like to address.”
“Now is not the time, Amelia,” Nick said shortly.
“I'm beginning to think there will never be a time for that conversation.” She sighed and ate another piece of Turkish delight. If the rest of their party didn't join them soon, she feared she'd eat the whole plate.
Nick took a sip of his coffee. Satisfied, he set it down and scooped up a spoonful of the pudding that sat between them.
“If you won't talk about why you're avoiding me, can you tell me why Lord Burley wasn't part of the deal with Lord Murray, if you are giving him the leases in Highgate?”
“He and Lord Murray go back some years. There was a feud between their fathers. On principle alone, Lord Murray would never have sold the land to Landon.”
“But he knows you two are friends, that you do business together.”
“Yes, so Shauley was quick to point out on more occasions than I care to recall.”
Nick scooped up another spoonful of the pudding and held it out to her. She didn't think twice about taking it. When she realized what she'd done, she looked around her, and while the coffeehouse was brimming and bloated at the seams with business, no one seemed to pay them any mind.
“You shouldn't do that,” she whispered.
“Why not?” He pushed his cup across the table. The strong smell of the coffee hit her nose pungently and had her pulling away. “Try it. It's different from the coffee you had at the hotel with me.”
“Different how? It smells worse.”
Nick laughed but still gave her a firm look. “Someone once told me you should try the things you dislike at least a dozen times before giving up altogether.”
“I daresay, they could probably stomach a great deal more than I.”
“Perhaps, but you'll never know if you don't sample it.”
She nibbled at her lip, looking at the frothy cup of black coffee in front of her. He'd push if she refused. So she picked up the cup and took a small, tentative sip. Her mouth puckered as she swallowed it. “It's very bitter.” She set the cup down and pushed it toward him again.
“I see you don't find it nearly as distasteful as you did the last time you tried coffee.”
“Oh, I certainly do. I just don't want your friend Adnan to notice my dislike. He's been so generous since we arrived that I would hate to insult him or his wife.”
Nick turned the cup where her lips had left a mark and lifted it to his lips. “But now, I can think of what your lips taste like when I'm enjoying my coffee.”
His lips touched the cup where hers had just been. She couldn't understand why that felt . . . erotic, but it made her feel hotter than she currently was and as if Nick was feasting on her mouth instead of sipping his coffee.
“You have to stop doing this to me.” Her voice was needy to her own ears. She pinched her lips shut, hating that he could so easily affect her this way.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table again, their faces but a handspan apart. His hand reached under the table and grasped her thigh. Her breath was frozen in her lungs as she stared back at him, feeling a familiar ache at the apex of her thighs.
How could she want him here and now? He'd turned her into a hedonist with only a few words. She was suddenly desperate for his kiss. Thank God the diameter of the table was wide enough that she couldn't accomplish that feat in their current position.
“Tell me something, Amelia. If I manage to get my hand under your skirts and between your legs, just how wet will I find you?”
“You're liable to make me embarrass myself. You need to refrain from such comments,” she said, even though that was the last thing she wanted. God help her, she was addicted to this man.
“What if I should slide over to the next seat? My body would cover you enough that no one would guess where my hand is buried.”
Amelia swallowed hard, picked up her tea, and took a larger swill than she should have with the temperature still burning. It did bring her back to her senses but did not diminish the ache she had for the things Nick promised.
“When is Lord Burley supposed to arrive?”
Nick's hand flexed over her knee, as though he were fighting whether to lift her skirts or let her be. She was torn on what she wanted too.
“Nick. Didn't think you'd arrive before us,” came a masculine voice.
Amelia let out a shaky breath, and as she stood from the table, her chair knocked into the wall behind her. They were squished into a tiny table space, and she couldn't easily maneuver the seating arrangement. Lord Burley and his wife had either interrupted the most erotic tea break she'd ever had or perhaps saved her from committing a sin in public.
“Don't bother yourself, Miss Grant. My wife will sit next to you, if you don't mind.”
“Not at all, Lord Burley,” she said, ducking her head in greeting.
Lady Burley returned the gesture to those around the table. Amelia had met these friends of Nick's on one occasion, but they'd sat across from each other and hadn't had an opportunity to get to know each other through their last dinner.
“I've heard great things about you, Miss Grant.” Lady Burley smoothed her hand over her skirts as she took the seat next to Amelia.
“You flatter me. But I hardly accomplish all that Huxley did, only a fraction of the tasks for which he no longer has time, as he is pulled away from the house constantly for business matters.”
“Huxley is a hard man to replace, but from what I hear from my husband, you fill the role well. I'm fascinated by women who take on the workforce like a man would. It's admirable, and had I not married, I'd be tempted to do the very same.”
“It was driven from necessity, not a desire to prove women are just as good as any man.” Amelia did not explain that she'd gone the usual route and started as a governess, far more typical to women of gentle breeding.
“Let me be the judge. We are apt to spend a great deal of time together over the next few years. I'll be initiating raising funds for the school.”
This announcement took Amelia by surprise. “I have spoken at length with Miss Riley and hadn't realized that we would be raising funds for the school.”
“I only decided to commit to that recently. Why should all the money come out of my husband's and Mr. Riley's pocketbooks when there are plenty of purses that can be opened in society for such a charitable and community-building endeavor.”
“You don't think the residents of Highgate will put up a front against the school?”
“The stores along the main center of the area have been mismanaged for years. Anything to help the local economy will be welcomed with open arms, once my husband turns over the leases on the less-than-desirable tenants.”
“You're going to toss everyone out of their homes,” Amelia said with alarm.
“Not at all, Miss Grant,” interjected Lord Burley. “We are giving them an opportunity to make it a better place to live for everyone. The funds we raise will be used to build residences in the local township for the families of the children accepted into the school. With the integration of more people, more services will be required.”
“Was this always your plan?” Amelia asked Nick.
He nodded and sipped his coffee. To think so far in advance of what you could do with a small lot of land with a dilapidated manor house . . . she admired Nick more and more throughout their conversation.
Adnan served more rounds of tea, coffee, and sweets through the afternoon. And Amelia's imagination was given no opportunity to stray, once she found out that Lady Burley was from Scotland and that they had visited a few of the same places. She also learned they needed to schedule a stay in Highgate this coming week.
Amelia allowed herself to be swept up into the extended friendship she had with Lord and Lady Burley and stuffed away all thoughts of her brother and Shauley for the remainder of the afternoon. Though she knew the escape from reality would be short-lived, she was thankful for a little bit of normalcy. All too soon their meeting came to an end, and they were off in their carriage toward home.
“I'll be dropping you off at the townhouse,” Nick advised. “I have to meet Hart at his hotel and then make a few stops to inquire about the inspector who handled your brother's murder.”
Just like that, their lovely afternoon was forgotten, and the reality of the past few weeks crashed through her good mood.
“When do you expect to be home?” Really, she wanted to know if she should wait up for Nick.
“Rather late. I'll come to your room when I get in.” His focus wasn't on her as he said this; he was looking out the carriage window, staring at the passing scenery.
“Nick?”
When he looked at her, a whoosh of air emitted from her lungs. There was anger mixed with something indefinable as he stared back at her in quiet contemplation.
“What are you going to do to Shauley?”
“Nothing, until I have proof.”
“Do you think he'll hurt anyone else?”
“I suspect he knows there is only one way to hurt me, and that's through you.”
She did not want to believe that Shauley was capable of anything so sinister. That someone would want to hurt Nick so much that they were willing to commit murder. She wanted to believe that Nick was taking everything out of context, but the truth of the matter was . . . She trusted Nick's opinion, his belief. And that frightened her.
“Then why hasn't he already tried to hurt me?”
“Because he's playing a game, Amelia.”
“Help me understand why.”
The carriage slowed, and before he could answer her, he opened the door and helped her down.