Shadows darkened his whiskey-colored gaze, a flicker of sadness in a man who leaned toward the perpetually cheerful. An ache blossomed in her chest and, without thinking, she rose up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I am sorry.”

A deep chasm formed between his brows. “For what?”

She cocked her head, surprised. Had no one ever sympathized with him? Had no one ever told him that no child should have to endure hundreds of terrible memories? “For a boy who deserved better.”

Blinking, he stared at her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, his expression revealing little as they stood together. Had she overstepped? She’d merely wished to offer some comfort, a small comment to ease his mind.

Just as she opened her mouth to apologize, Kit spoke. “Shall we continue with our lessons?”

Right, the lessons. For a moment, she’d forgotten. They had seemed like two friends, talking and sharing, getting to know one another better, but that had been an illusion. She and Kit weren’t friends. They were friendly, yes, but he was helping her in exchange for recipes.

Stepping back, she wrapped a towel around her hand and lifted one of the hot loaf tins. “Of course. Let me move these so they cool down for tomorrow.” Soon she had both loaves in the larder, where they would remain until tea the following afternoon. When she returned to the kitchen, Kit held the bowl with the sugar syrup in his hands.

“Oh, I suppose we should wash that.” She tried to take it from him . . . but he didn’t let go.

“Wait a moment,” he said. “We’ll use this for our lesson. I want to demonstrate that anything can be used to flirt. Even food.”

Was he serious? “How on earth can one use food to flirt?”

“Think about it. You use your mouth to eat food, and anything that calls attention to a woman’s mouth has the potential to drive men wild.”

She considered this. “Because it brings to mind kissing?”

“And other things,” he said cryptically.

“What other things?”

“Things your husband will show you. Now, watch me.” He dipped a finger into the syrup and brought it to his lips, where he licked the liquid off before slipping his finger into his mouth. Lids falling closed, he gave a tiny moan.

Good God.

While only a performance on Kit’s part, the move caused a riot inside her, waves of wanting that had her gripping the workbench to keep from crumbling. His masculine appeal was almost painful, almost overwhelming in its intensity, with a face she could stare at for hours. From the full lips and cleft in his chin, to the sharp jaw and angular cheekbones, Kit was a superior specimen of manhood.

Finally, he dropped his hand, his gaze clearing as if he hadn’t just sent the temperature in the room soaring. “Now, you.”