Sabrina whirled around in surprise and demanded, "What are you doing here?"
"You invited me to be your guest for several days," Adam replied, sauntering across the kitchen toward her.
Sabrina was not amused. "I meant, what are you doing in my kitchen?"
Adam smiled. "I was on my way upstairs when Forbes informed me that you were making the best gingerbread in England," he said. "I do love gingerbread with clotted cream."
Sabrina could have throttled the majordomo. Resigning herself to the marquess's presence, she gave him the sweetest smile she could manage and said, "You'll need to whip the cream."
"I would love to whip your cream," Adam said in a husky voice.
Sabrina looked at him for a long moment. There was something about the way he'd said those words that made her suspicious of his meaning. Was that laughter lurking in his blue eyes? What was so damned humorous about whipping the cream?
Letting his comment pass unanswered, Sabrina set a bowl down in front of him. She poured chilled cream into it and handed him a whisk.
Without taking his gaze from hers, Adam lifted the whisk and began his task.
"Do not overwhip," Sabrina ordered.
"Heaven forbid," he said with a smile.
Sabrina poured the gingerbread mixture into a pan, put it into the oven, and then sat down at the kitchen table.
"Do not tell a soul that you saw me doing this," Adam said, glancing over at her, "or I'll be the laughingstock of London."
"I'll consider remaining silent," Sabrina said with an impertinent smile.
"What made you want to bake so late in the evening?" he asked.
"I always bake my anxieties away," she answered.
"And what anxieties would those be, Princess?"
"Clearing my father's name and my betrothal to you," she answered honestly.
"Why don't you like me?" Adam asked.
"You are overwhipping the cream," she told him. Do you want to top your gingerbread with butter?"
"You haven't answered my question," he replied.
"Why would one of England's wealthiest aristocrats wish to marry a perfect stranger?" she asked.
"Do you always answer questions with questions?" he asked.
"Not always."
"Well, you've answered your own question," Adam said, gifting her with one of his devastating smiles. "You are a perfect stranger. Simply perfection, rarer than a rose in winter or a snowdrop in summer."
Sabrina blushed hotly at his outrageous compliment. She shifted her gaze to his and became caught by the intensity of his gaze. How was she to reply to that? No man, including Edgar, had ever spoken so intimately to her.
"What a blusher you are," Adam teased in a husky voice.
Finally, Sabrina managed to tear her gaze from his. "My lord, I believe the cream has been whipped enough." Judging the gingerbread done, she grabbed two potholders and lifted it out of the oven to cool a few minutes before cutting it into squares.
"Do you like yours topped with whipped cream?" Adam asked.
"I love whipped cream," Sabrina admitted.
Without saying a word, Adam dipped a finger into the bowl of whipped cream and then offered it to her. Shocked, Sabrina blushed and stared at him.
"Taste it, Princess," he said in a voice barely louder than a whisper, his finger hovering near her lips.
Scandalized but excited, Sabrina could only stare at the finger coated with whipped cream.
"You don't want it to melt, do you?" Adam coaxed her.
On impulse, Sabrina flicked her tongue out and tasted the whipped cream. "Delicious, my lord. You've done an excellent job."
"And so have you," Adam said in a husky voice. He turned his finger and said, "You missed the cream here."
Sabrina decided that he was trying to embarrass her but refused to give him the satisfaction of blushing. Instead, she stepped close to him and licked the remainder of the cream off his finger.
A devastatingly lazy smile spread across his handsome features. Adam leaned an inch closer, and his blue gaze captured hers. Slowly, his mouth descended to claim hers.
Sabrina closed her eyes before their lips met. His lips on hers felt warm and gently insistent, sending a delicious chill rippling down her spine. Leaning heavily against him, she surrendered to the new and exciting sensations.
Sabrina shivered with their passion when he deepened the kiss. As if from a great distance, she heard her own soft moan of pleasure.
The sound hit her like a bucketful of cold water. In one swift movement, Sabrina pulled out of his embrace and leaped back two paces before he could stop her.
"Never take such liberties with me again," Sabrina ordered, trying to regain her composure.
"You didn't like it?" Adam asked, wearing a knowing smile.
"No," Sabrina lied, and turned away when she felt the blush rising on her cheeks.
Now that she'd let him kiss her, how could she ever face him again and feign nonchalance? The marquess seemed so casual about what was to her one of life's milestones: her first kiss.
Embarrassed by what she'd done, Sabrina busied herself with cutting the gingerbread into thick squares and then placing them on their plates. Finally, she dabbed each with whipped cream.
"This feels very domestic," Adam said, sitting across the table from her.
The word domestic made Sabrina blush again. Why had the good Lord made her a redhead, the absolute worst kind of blusher in the whole wide world?
"I like gardening, golfing, and horses," Adam said without preamble, as if he wanted to avoid the subject of their kiss. "I despise men who hunt. What about you?"
"I love children and animals," Sabrina told him.
"Don't forget cooking and baking."
Sabrina nodded. "I also admire the fact that you don't kill for pleasure," she said. "Have you ever killed in self-defense?"
"Killing is not a suitable topic for our conversation," Adam told her. "I own three dozen ships which trade all over the world."
"I've never been on a boat," Sabrina admitted. "In fact, I haven't been to London since I was a child."
"Would you care to accompany me to Oxford tomorrow?" Adam asked. "It's a beautiful city."
Sabrina felt herself falling beneath the spell his gaze cast upon her, but was powerless to resist. Yes, she was in mourning, but what harm could a short excursion do? Especially with the man who'd already promised to help clear her father's name.
"I'd like that," she said. "Shall we invite Courtney and the others?"
"No, I think I'd like to use the time to become better acquainted with you."
Sabrina blushed. "Very well, my lord. We'll go alone."
Holy hemlock! Sabrina thought the next morning. Her fiery red hair prevented her from appearing as drab as a dormouse, which was exactly what Sabrina wished to be at the moment in order to discourage the marquess.
She had risen early and dressed in a black bombazine walking dress and black kidskin boots. After weaving her hair into a thick braid, she'd coiled it into a knot at the nape of her neck.
Grabbing her black woolen cloak, Sabrina sneaked one last peek at herself in the full-length mirror and silently cursed the wanton color of her hair and eyes. Oh, what she wouldn't give to have been blessed with mousy brown hair and dark eyes. Not that she considered herself a beauty. No, the acclaimed beauties usually had blond hair and blue eyes—never a harlot's red hair and emerald-green eyes.
Had her real mother given her the fiery tresses and green eyes? Sabrina wondered. Or had they been her father's legacy to her?
Sabrina left her bedchamber and started down the third-floor corridor. How could she possibly entertain the marquess for the whole day? She wasn't one of his sophisticated London flirts. She hardly knew the man. Whatever would they talk about? Not whipped cream, she hoped, inwardly cringing at her outrageous behavior the previous evening when she'd licked the cream off his finger and then kissed him.
Sabrina spied the marquess
waiting in the foyer. He turned around, as if sensing her arrival, and watched her descend the last few steps.
How did he know exactly what to do to fluster her? When she reached the foyer, Sabrina felt relieved that she hadn't tripped and toppled down the final steps.
"You are late," Adam said, smiling.
"Barely five minutes," Sabrina defended herself.
Taking her arm in his, Adam escorted her toward the door, saying, "Shipping magnates are exceedingly attached to schedules."
"I wonder that you tore yourself away from your business ledgers," Sabrina replied, glancing sidelong at him.
"You'd be surprised at what I'd be willing to do in order to spend a few hours alone with you," Adam told her, his voice husky.
Sabrina blushed. She tried to think of a witty reply, but her wits failed her. Again.
Bearing the ducal insignia on the door, a coach waited in the circular drive. Apparently, the marquess's men were accompanying them, for Sagi held the door open and Abdul sat in the driver's seat.
Sabrina sat on the coach's leather upholstery and watched Adam climb inside. For one awful moment, she feared he would sit beside her, but following proper etiquette, he sat across from her.
The day's unusual warmth hinted that the upcoming holiday was Easter, not Christmas. With the sun shining brightly, it didn't at all seem like late autumn, the wettest and dreariest time of the year.
"Tell me more about yourself," Sabrina said, in an effort to make conversation.
"Tell me more about yourself," Adam replied.
"I asked first," she said with a smile.
"I asked second," he said, returning her smile.
"How did you get that scar?" Sabrina persisted.
Adam reached up and touched the faint scar that ended at his right cheekbone. "When I first arrived at Eton, I found it difficult to make friends," he told her, and then surprised her by smiling, as if the memory was fond instead of painful. "One day I became involved in a disagreement with another boy, who used his riding crop to give me this. I returned the favor by giving him the same treatment, and we've been the best of friends ever since."
Shocked by his story, Sabrina could only stare at him. She never imagined that well-bred boys would resort to violence to settle their differences. On the other hand, she'd never had a brother.
"Yes, Princess, boys are different from girls," Adam said, as if reading her thoughts. "Jamie Armstrong, now the Duke of Kinross, and I soon became the terrors of Eton and were nearly sent down a couple of times. Fortunately, boys grow up and learn to control their savage impulses. You'll meet Jamie when you come to London."
Sabrina nodded in acknowledgment, but said nothing.
"Jamie married a girl from your former colonies last year," Adam added.
"An American girl?"
Adam inclined his head.
"Why do you say your instead of our?" she asked.
"No particular reason," he answered with a shrug.
"I never say things without a reason," Sabrina told him. "I doubt that you do either."
"Do you believe I am lying?" Adam asked, cocking a dark brow at her.
"No, you are evading my question."
"What was your question?"
Sabrina narrowed her gaze on him. "You are still evading my question."
"I've forgotten the original question," Adam replied with a boyish grin.
"Do you feel like an Englishman or a Frenchman?" Sabrina asked. "France is where you were born, isn't it?"
Adam nodded but remained silent.
"Well?"
"Some days I feel English," he answered finally. ''Other days I feel French.''
His words did nothing to relieve Sabrina's growing frustration. Was the man incapable of giving an honest answer? She didn't want a betrothed or a husband who refused to confide in her.
"What do you feel like today?" Sabrina asked, giving him one last chance to offer information about himself.
Adam leaned close and gave her a devastatingly wicked grin. "I feel like the luckiest man in England to be riding alone in this coach with you."
"Keep your secrets to yourself," Sabrina snapped, masking her embarrassment with anger.
"You are blushing again," Adam teased.
"Be quiet, or I'll order your men to return to Abingdon," she threatened, and then turned her head to gaze out of the window.
"Your every wish is my command," Sabrina heard the marquess say. And then she realized that he'd effectively stopped her from asking more questions. She would let him think he'd won this time, but he wouldn't always be so lucky.
Oxford lay seven miles north of Abingdon. Their journey ended a little more than an hour later when their coach turned down High Street.
"That's St. Mary's Church," Sabrina said, assuming the role of tour guide. "Oxford is known as the 'city of spires' because of its skyline of towers and spires. The Bodleian Library lies north of High Street, and the parks are located in the northeast sector of the city. Would you care to take a ride around the university?"
"Not particularly."
His refusal surprised her. "I beg your pardon?"
"I wasted a year of my life here as a university student,'' he told her.
"You attended Oxford?" Sabrina exclaimed, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.
"Now, why do I have the suspicion that surprises you?" Adam asked.
"Because it does surprise me," Sabrina replied, exasperated. "You invited me to drive seven miles to show you a city you didn't wish to see?"
"Abdul, pull the carriage over," Adam called. He looked at her and said, "I wanted to shop and needed your advice."
Sabrina narrowed her gaze on him.
Adam chuckled at her suspicious expression. "I have no experience with little girls and need to purchase a doll for a friend's daughter. I thought you might be willing to help me choose one."
Sabrina's expression cleared. Of all the things he could have said, purchasing a doll for a little girl was what she'd least expected. "I can help you do that," she said.
By this time, their carriage had halted, and Sagi was opening the door for them. Adam stepped down first and then helped Sabrina.
"We'll be shopping and then dining at the Turtle Dove," Adam told his men. "Meet us at the end of High Street."
Sabrina accepted his arm and let him escort her down the street. "Let's go in here," she said as they were about to pass a toy shop.
Once inside, the shopkeeper led them to a display of exquisitely beautiful dolls. One doll had a wax head and human hair. Another doll had been created with a fine Dresden china head, a body of pink kid, and a muslin dress. Still another was wooden with jointed limbs.
"What do you think?" Adam asked her.
"Do you think she wants to play with it or merely look at it?" Sabrina asked.
Adam shrugged. "I would guess she'd want to play with it."
"Then none of these will do," Sabrina told him. Turning to the shopkeeper, she asked, "Do you have any cloth dolls?"
"Why, yes," the shopkeeper answered, "but I hardly think a cloth doll worthy of—"
"Show us the cloth dolls," Adam said. "I'll also take the doll with the muslin dress." He winked at Sabrina, saying, "She'll look at one and play with the other."
With Sabrina's guidance, Adam purchased an enormous, stuffed cloth doll wearing a brightly colored, crocheted outfit. The shopkeeper boxed both dolls together and tied the whole thing with a bright ribbon.
"I never would have imagined you purchasing a dolly for a girl," Sabrina remarked as they left the shop.
"I like children and hope to have a house filled with my own someday," Adam replied, glancing sidelong at her. "What about you?"
Sabrina blushed and shifted her gaze away from his. "Ah, here is your man," she said, ignoring his question.
"Take this," Adam ordered, passing the box to Sagi. "We're going to dine now and will meet you later."
Sagi nodded and then walked down the st
reet to where Abdul waited with the coach.
"Your servants are men of few words," Sabrina said.
"True, but when they do speak, I listen," Adam told her.
An enormous, incredibly dirty dog sat near the entrance of the Turtle Dove Inn and whined as they started to pass it. When Sabrina stopped and turned to it, the dog raised one of its paws.
"Hello," she greeted it, accepting the offered paw. "Are you waiting for your master?"
"Never get too close to a dog you don't know," Adam said, drawing her into the inn.
"Nonsense, the dog would have growled if it wasn't friendly," Sabrina replied.
Adam insisted on sitting in one of the small private rooms. They dined on roasted beef served with Yorkshire pudding and horseradish sauce, and a variety of cheeses.
While Adam's attention was on pouring the wine, Sabrina sneaked a few pieces of roasted beef into her handkerchief, which she then hid inside her reticule. She realized the reticule would probably be ruined, but the poor creature whining outside the inn looked hungry. She would never be able to pass him again unless she had a bite to offer him.
"Now, how will we clear my father's name?" she asked.
"I'm still pondering that problem," Adam answered. "We may never be able to prove his death wasn't suicide, but I'm certain I can get permission to bury his remains in hallowed ground. Will that do?"
"No, I will never stop trying to clear his reputation," Sabrina insisted. "I certainly will not marry until I do."
"Is that a threat?" Adam asked, cocking a dark brow at her.
"I am merely stating a fact," she answered.
"When are you planning to tell Lord Briggs about us?" he asked.
His question surprised her. "You told me I needn't decide about going forward with the betrothal until after the season," she reminded him.
"True, but the baron is an unsuitable choice for a husband," Adam said.
"Holy hemlock!" Sabrina exclaimed. "Who gave you the right to decide who is suitable for me and who is not?"
"Uncle Charles."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Uncle Charles relies heavily on my judgment," Adam said with a smile.
Uncertain of how to reply to that, Sabrina narrowed her gaze on him. How did he dare walk into her life one day and begin to order her about? She damned well would consider anyone she pleased for a possible husband.
No Decent Gentleman Page 7
