Dirty Aristocrat(15)

Bake a cake. A lemon cake like the ones that my grandma pulled out of  her oven. Lemon cakes were simple things to do and all the ingredients  were sure to be in the house. Besides, baking always calmed me. I'd  probably have to beat the cake by hand, but that might be a good thing  considering the state I was in. Burn off some of that excess energy  bubbling inside.         

     



 

I looked in the fridge and the cupboards, and the only things I was  missing were a pound of unsalted butter and kitchen scales, but I had  made this sort of cake often enough that I could probably guess at the  measurements and get it right. As for the butter, I could pop down to  the Newsagent that was less than a ten-minute walk away for it.

I put on my coat, picked up the extra key that Ivan had left out for me  and went out of the door. As I pulled it shut behind me I saw a  gentleman put his key into the apartment door at the opposite end of the  corridor. I only hesitated for one second.

'Excuse me,' I called out.

He turned around slowly. He was good looking in a very English sort of  way, dark brown hair, pale skin, nice, boyish eyes and proper. Very  proper.

'Yes, can I help you?'

I walked up to him and smiled. 'I'm temporarily living at the end of the  corridor and I was wondering if you have a kitchen scales that I could  borrow?'

His eyes filled with amusement. 'I thought neighbors usually wanted to borrow a cup of sugar?'

I grinned. 'I've got that. I'm trying to bake a cake.'

He put his hand out. 'Ralph Drummond-Willoughby.'

I placed my hand into his. 'Tawny Maxwell.'

His eyebrows rose. 'Ah, the American heiress everyone is talking about is hiding out in my block.'

I grinned. 'You won't tell anyone will you?'

He smiled rakishly. 'Not if you promise to share a slice of your cake.'

'Deal.'

He pushed open his door. 'Come in. There should be a kitchen scales around somewhere.'

I followed him into his apartment. To my surprise it was decorated in a  very similar manner to Ivan's apartment. 'Who decorated your apartment?'

'My mother. Why do you ask?'

'She wouldn't have decorated Ivan's apartment too, would she?'

'I doubt it,' he said dryly. 'Why do you ask?'

'They are both startlingly similar in style and taste.'

He turned around and looked at me as if did not believe me.

'I promise you they are. You must come and see it,' I insisted

He nodded and, going into the kitchen, came out with the scales. 'So you are baking on Valentine's Day.'

I nodded. 'And why are you not out on a date? You seem  …  most eligible.'

He grinned. 'I like eating cake on Valentine's with astonishing blondes.'

I took the scales off him and smiled. I liked him. He was good in the  most unthreatening way possible for my battered ego. 'I'll bring you  some later.'

'Well then, I suppose I'd better help you carry this into your kitchen.'

'Are you sure?'

'Positive. This weighs an absolute ton.'

I looked at the little plastic thing cradled in his hands. 'Listen,' I  said, and smiled to take the sting out of my words. 'I'm still in  mourning for my husband so I hope I'm not giving you the idea that I'm  available or anything like that.'

'Perish the thought. You're absolutely ravishing. Of course, you're not available.'

I laughed and he followed behind. I opened the door to Ivan's apartment  and he carried the scales in and set them down on the island. He looked  around him.

'You're right. The color scheme is remarkably similar.'

'Thank you for the scales.'

'Right. I guess I'd better be off. Bring the cake around anytime it is  ready. I'll open a bottle of champagne and we'll have cake and bubbly to  celebrate our  …  um  …  friendship.'

'All right, see you about ten o'clock,' I said happily.

This day was turning out way better than I had thought it would. After  he left I popped around to the corner shop for the butter. Then I set  about baking my cake. It was nearly ready when I heard the key in the  door. I felt my body tense up. I was not expecting Ivan to come back for  ages and he had not warned me that anyone else had the key.

'Who is it?' I called out.

Ivan appeared at the door. 'Me,' he said.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

He sniffed the air. 'What's that smell?' he asked.

'I'm baking a cake.'

He seemed surprised. 'You bake?'

I smiled. 'Yup. I love baking. I usually bake in the middle of the night when there is no one around. It calms and relaxes me.'

'Really?'

'What are you doing home so early?'

He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of champagne. 'If I tell you, you'll never believe me.'

I leaned a hip at the counter top. 'Try me.'         

     



 

He plucked two tall flutes from one of the top shelves and placed them  on the island top. Deftly he untwisted the metal from around the top of  the champagne bottle and removed it together with the foil. The cork  came out with a quiet hiss and he filled the two glasses. Picking them  up he came towards me. He handed me a glass and I took it.

His gaze met mine. 'I thought you shouldn't spend Valentine's night on your own.'

My eyes widened with surprise.

'Happy Valentine's Day, Tawny.' His voice was strange, thick.

We clinked glasses. 'Happy Valentine's Day, Ivan,' I echoed.

I watched him over the rim of my glass.

'Does it taste like the greatest champagne ever made?' he asked.

'Why? Who says it is?'

'The head of Sotheby's Wine Department.'

I let my gaze float down to the faded label on the bottle. Krug  Collection 1928. 'Wow!' I exclaimed. 'It's older than both of us put  together.'

'It was served for King George VI and his guests at the first royal banquet in Buckingham Palace.'

'Hmm  …  I'd have saved it for a more special occasion,' I murmured.

'It is a special occasion.'

'It is?'

His fingers flexed restlessly. 'It is.'

I cocked an eyebrow. 'So what's the occasion?'

He shrugged. 'Something at work.'

'Oh. Great.'

His eyes were hooded and watchful. He raised his glass as if in a toast. 'Do you like it?'

I took a sip and considered the taste. 'It's  …  racy?'

He nodded and drained his glass. Then he began walking away from me and  poured himself another glass. There was something different about him. A  coiled tension. If I didn't know better, I would have said it was  sexual in nature.

'What happened to your date?' I asked as he turned to face me again.

He looked at me expressionlessly. 'What do you think happened to her?'

I shook my head.

'God, I really hate Valentine's Day. First you have to send out for  overpriced flowers, and then you have to take them out to restaurants  where you are cajoled into the set menu that you would never choose  ordinarily, and then the couple sitting at the table next to you starts  arguing.'

'Ah,' I said, trying not to smile.

'And this year I was one half of that arguing couple.'

'Oh dear! I'm sorry to hear that.'

A ping went off and I walked over to the oven and looked in through the  glass doors. The cake looked fabulous. I switched off the oven and,  donning thick mitts, opened the door and brought my cake out. Ivan came  over and stood beside me looking at it. I heard his breathing deep and  quick and felt his powerful body almost vibrating with tension. My pulse  started leaping.

'Impressive,' he said. 'I'm surprised you managed to find all the ingredients in my kitchen.'

I moved slightly away and forced myself to smile. 'Almost. I went down  to the corner shop for the butter, and Ralph lent me the weighing  scales.'

His body became peculiarly still. 'Ralph?' he queried softly. There was menace in his voice.

'Yeah. He had a real posh, double-barrel last name, but he lives at the end of the corridor.'

He frowned. 'I've been living here for years and I've never seen my neighbor.'

'You should meet him. He's really nice.'

He lifted his glass and took a sip, but there was a new tension about him.

'In exchange I promised him some cake.'

'How civil,' he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

'What's the matter with you?'

'And when did you plan to take the cake over?'

I flushed bright red. I couldn't explain. No matter what I said, champagne and cake would look bad.

'Oh my. Have I interrupted a late night cake eating date?'

'It was not like that. I was just being friendly.'

'Friendly?' he snapped.

'I was being neighborly. He was good enough to bring the scales over,' I explained.

'He came here,' he growled, suddenly aggressive.

'Well, yes. He helped me to carry it over.'

His eyes moved to the scales. 'What? That heavy thing there?'

I felt my face grow hot again. 'Don't you judge everybody by your standards, Mister,' I hit back angrily.

'What's wrong with this story, Tawny?'

'All right,' I conceded. 'He did try to hit on me, but I set him  straight. I told him I was still mourning Robert, but we could be  friends and he was totally fine with it.'

He laughed, a brutal, cutting sound. 'I can't decide if you're dangerously naïve or a total idiot.'         

     



 

'Just because I'm a country girl, doesn't mean I'm illiterate or  stupid,' I said with as much dignity as I could muster. I felt crushed  by his assumption that I was stupid and naïve, and disappointed that  again we were at loggerheads over something totally innocent. I would  have turned away and stalked out of the room if he had not caught my arm  and spun me around. My heart jumped.