Looking down at the worktable, he evened up the utensils on the surface. “Speaking of joy, I was worried you were skipping our lesson tonight.”

Not skipping, per se, but postponing until she’d shored up her defenses against his potent magnetism. “No. I just needed to do this first. I didn’t wish to keep Mrs. Berman up too late.”

“Had you planned on telling me?”

“I . . .” Had he been waiting on her? They hadn’t spoken after dinner and she assumed he’d fill his evening with Harrison or the casino. Drinks and merriment. Not watching the clock for when she’d arrive. “I was going to find you later.”

“Were you?” He searched her face. “Or were you upset that I disparaged the Duke of Lockwood before dinner?”

Not exactly upset. More like confused. “It’s clear you do not like him.”

“You should make up your own mind. So, forgive me if I put you off in any way.”

An apology. How unexpected. She liked this thoughtful and sensitive version of Kit Ward. A lot.

Christopher is not the marrying kind.

It was imperative to keep repeating those words, to keep a lock around her heart that prevented scoundrels—no matter how charming—from stealing it. She wanted to seduce a man who would return her affections and actually marry her. Kit was not that man.

There was only one thing to do. She handed him a dry towel. “Help me finish the dishes.”

Chapter Eight

Alice rinsed another ceramic bowl and handed it to Kit. He hadn’t complained once about drying dishes; instead, he merely removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and got to work. If this was his first time helping in the kitchen, she couldn’t tell.

Working side by side with him was easier than expected. He didn’t chatter on to fill the silence, as many people did. Instead, she washed and he dried, with the smell of baking bread and cinnamon filling the kitchen.

“How did you find me?” she asked as she handed him the last utensil for drying.

“I asked several footmen, one of whom saw you come down the stairs.”

“What if we are seen?”

“In the kitchen?” He huffed a laugh. “Not a soul would believe I was here, drying dishes.”

“Not manly enough for you?”

“Not scandalous enough for me.”

She drained the water in the sink. “Perhaps it’s a different sort of scandalous. Think what the gossip columns would say.”

“One shudders to consider it. I’d never be able to show my face in the Union Club again.”

Now it was her turn to chuckle. “Your secret is safe with me.” She dried her hands and went to the oven. “Will you help me glaze the loaves?”

He finished drying the last spoon. “It would be my pleasure.”