Page 33 of The Viscount and the Vicar's Daughter
It was mad, of course. He had yet to meet the three diamonds, not to mention his father would be in an uproar if he chose Viola over a nobleman’s daughter. Not that any of it would dissuade him if he fell in love with her. But as she said, she had her father to think about and did not need her life put into further upheaval because he had suddenly taken a fancy to her.
More than a fancy.
She was becoming someone quite serious to him.
“Time for me to roll out the crusts.” She set aside her teacup and grabbed a rolling pin to flatten the first three balls and set them each into equal sized baking pans. While rolling out the remaining three that would serve as lids, she began to issue instructions regarding the pie filling that was still simmering in the large frying pan. “That’s right,” she said in her soft voice, “drain the excess juices and then carefully pour the remaining contents into each baking pan. Drain it well, for too much juice will make the bottom crust soggy and the pie will fall apart when we serve it.”
He watched her take a moment to shape the crusts to be used as lids into decorative patterns. She then pierced each one. “This allows the steam to escape so the pies will remain crisp and firm.”
“What comes next?” he asked once the three pies were put in the oven. “The clean up?”
She laughed gently and nodded. “I hate this part. But I’ll leave the frying pan for later. It has to cool down first.”
“We’ll do the cleaning up together.” He rose from the stool he had been sitting on and helped her gather the scraps to put in a bag for slop for Mrs. Bligh’s pigs. The utensils and bowls went into a basin to be filled with hot water which Viola now put on to boil.
Some flour dust billowed as he picked up the bag to put it back in her larder. A little of the dust accidentally landed on Viola’s nose.
“Got you,” he said with a grin and moistened a clean drying cloth. “Sorry about that.”
“No worries, I do it to myself all the time. The flour gets in my hair, on my chin. On my eyelashes.”
He turned toward her. “Hold on a moment, Viola. The flour isn’t the only thing you’re wearing on your face. You’ve also collected the ingredients of the pie on your chin. A streak of chicken spices right…there. You look good enough to eat.”
He was merely jesting, but it suddenly did not feel like a jest as he tucked a finger under her chin and tilted her face upward to meet his gaze.
The girl was so beautiful, staring up at him with her big, trusting eyes and a few silken curls fallen out of place.
To be precise, she looked delicious.
Perhaps it was the fruity Farthingale soap he inhaled as his nose was close to her lightly perspiring neck, or it may have been the enticing aroma wafting about the kitchen as those pies baked that was causing his heart to beat faster.
He tried to calm himself, struggling not to kiss her as he dabbed her nose…then her chin…her cheek, and now her lips that flushed a darker pink under the slight pressure of the cloth.
Lord, he ached to kiss her.
He was going to explode if he did not kiss her.
Never mind that all hell would break loose once he did. “Viola, I–”
She skittered away as someone startled both of them by pounding on the kitchen door. “Oh, heavens. I had better answer it,” she said with a nervous titter.
His estate manager rushed in the moment she opened the door. “My lord–”
“Wilson, there had better be a bloody good reason for the interruption. Miss Ruskin and I are busy here.” Well, his mind was busy on something other than baking. He supposed he ought to be grateful for the timely interruption.
Viola was not the sort of girl he could ever kiss unless he was ready to marry her.
Besides, what was he thinking?
She had never been kissed before.
For him to kiss her now would lead to complications. At the very least, he might have frightened her, and then she would have backed out of helping him with his party.
Not that he cared about the damn party.
Wilson cleared his throat. “My lord, your father is here. He is demanding to see you at once.”
His blasted father?
