Part 22 (1/2)
It was all Gregor could do not to groan. She had no idea how tantalizing she was. Gregor forced himself to look away from her plump lips as she added a large dash of cinnamon from a small tin.
Gregor lifted the knife and slammed it down. The tops of the carrots rolled across the table, some hitting the floor.
Venetia jumped, her gray eyes wide. ”What on earth are you doing?”
He slammed the knife again, more carrots scattering. ”I'm chopping carrots.” He lifted the knife again.
She reached across the table and grabbed his wrist, her fingers warm on his skin. ”Gregor, they are carrots! Not tree branches.”
”I fail to see the difference.” He shook his wrist free and slammed down the knife once more, the tip biting into the wooden table this time.
He went to lift it, but it would not budge.
”Here.” She walked to his side and twisted the knife free. Then she placed a carrot before her and, rocking the knife back and forth, deftly cut the carrot into tiny pieces.
”Oh.” He watched as she picked up another carrot and did the same. ”You really do know how to cook.”
She made a face. ”So would you if your parents had a tendency to argue with the cook before every dinner party.”
His lips twitched. ”I can imagine.”
”Mama would get in a tizzy thinking something hadn't been done, and before we could stop her, she'd be in the kitchen, berating the poor cook.” Venetia sighed, her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing against the thin material of her dress. ”Mama can be quite demanding, especially about justice.”
Gregor forced himself to look away from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, wondering about the color of her nipples. ”I 'm sorry?”
”She felt the cooks were cheating her of their salary when things did not turn out as she wished.”
He shook his head. ”I've known for the longest time that you were the only sane member of your family, yet I still keep trying to make sense of them.”
”I just accept and love them as they are.” She laughed, her white teeth flas.h.i.+ng between her rosy lips. ”Otherwise, I'd go mad with them.”
He laughed, too. Even when he was at his sourest, Venetia had a way of making things seem brighter, her humor contagious, her unusual beauty appealing. That d.a.m.ned young upstart, Ravenscroft, had recognized her value all too well.
d.a.m.n Ravenscroft. Gregor's hand tightened on the knife.
”If you do not stop ma.s.sacring those carrots, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the kitchen.”
Gregor looked down. He'd chopped the carrots, tops and all, into minutiae.
Venetia frowned at the mess. ”Those are the last carrots, too.”
”I can pick out the greenery.” He used the tip of the knife to flick little bits out.
”Gregor! That went into my scones!” Venetia walked around the table, sending him an irritated glare. ”Stand back; I'll do it.”
As she bent over the table and began to remove the leaves from the carrot pile, Gregor eyed the exposed nape of her neck. Of all the sensitive places on a woman, it was his favorite. What would she do if he nuzzled her there, tasting the sweetness of her skin?
He knew what she'd do. She was a tinder box of pa.s.sion, ready to burst into flame at the smallest strike. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her.
Now was the time to tell her of his plan to save her reputation, and explain how marriage was their only recourse. Yet as he opened his mouth to do so, she moved to one side, still bent over the table. He found himself looking down at her skirts as they curved over her lush bottom, so perfectly rounded to fit his hands.
His mouth went dry and he was suddenly unable to speak a word. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, what was wrong with him? This was Venetia, not some ladybird who knew l.u.s.t and how to use it to her advantage. Venetia's allure was completely unconscious and he'd d.a.m.n well better remember that. His lack of control had caused them enough trouble as it was.
He closed his eyes. He supposed he should just be thankful that he'd only recently discovered Venetia's dangerous combination of vitality and sensuality. If he'd discovered it sooner, their friends.h.i.+p wouldn't have lasted.
He wondered how many men other than Ravenscroft had noticed Venetia's attractions? His jaw tightened at the thought. Thank G.o.d she'd never shown any interest in any of the men her parents had paraded before her. They were determined to see her wed, though as the years pa.s.sed and she remained steadfastly unattached, they'd been less aggressive in their efforts.
”I am surprised your father countenanced Ravenscroft,” he said.
Venetia looked over her shoulder, surprise in her expression. ”Why wouldn't Papa countenance him? He is a gentleman in every sense of the word.”
”Except in abducting you.”
She straightened, her hips brus.h.i.+ng him in a very uncomfortable place. Unaware that she'd just sent a jolt of awareness through him more potent than any brandy, she said, ”Gregor, I was picking stems from your carrots. What made you say such a thing about poor Ravenscroft?”
”He abducted you. I find his presence more and more onerous.” He paused, then said in a deliberate voice, ”Once we are married, I will not countenance that puppy in our house.”
Venetia turned to face him, her eyes wide with disbelief. ”What did you say?”
He reached over and removed the knife from her hand. ”You don't have any choice,” he said grimly. ”You are ruined.”
”But that's-I don't know why you-” She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward, unwittingly giving him a direct view down the front of her gown. ”Gregor MacLean, how much port have you had?”
Her bosom rose and fell in outrage, the very bosom he was staring at as if he'd never seen one.
Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were remarkably full and ripe, the tops curved enchantingly against the material of her gown. Her chemise was plainly visible where it held the tantalizing curves together, pressing them upward as if offering them to him. The delicate sc.r.a.p of lace at the top of her chemise seemed to be straining with the weight.
Gregor's mouth watered as if he'd just been offered a piece of his favorite cake. No wonder Ravenscroft had been so demented as to face possible ruin. Well, Gregor would make certain that neither Ravenscroft nor any other man besides him received such a view again. Once he married Venetia, he'd purchase a whole new wardrobe of high-cut gowns. Red ones and green ones and pink ones and- ”Gregor?” Venetia followed his gaze. She gasped and crossed her hands over the top of her gown. ”Gregor!”
He grinned wickedly. ”Sorry, my love. You were saying?”
”You shouldn't look at me that way!”
”You are my intended. I can look at you any way I wish.”
”Even if we were engaged, which we are not, I wouldn't countenance that!”
His brows rose. ”No? I think you'd enjoy it.”
She opened her mouth to retort but could find no words. Venetia pa.s.sed her hand over her eyes.
She couldn't believe Gregor was asking her to marry him.
Actually, he was telling her. ”You said you would never marry.”
He shrugged. ”I see no other solution.”