Chapter 5
Tasty Cream
The next day, Arabella was walking up to Gunther’s with Winnie in tow. The weather was surprisingly nice, and it seemed that the whole ton had the same idea of enjoying a cool ice cream in Gunther’s.
Arabella entered the place, and the moment she did, she heard her name.
“Arabella,” Alexandra and her cousin, Theo, were waving at her.
She smiled at everyone as she made her way to their table, greeting and talking to almost everyone who was delighted to see her.
“Good morning, Alex,” she kissed the cheek of her friend.
“We would invite you, but we are leaving,” Theo said. “I need to travel to France, and we just came for one last Gunther’s.”
“It’s perfectly fine. I am actually meeting someone,” Arabella smiled.
“Who?” Alexandra said with interest.
“It’s just-” Arabella raised her head and looked around the shop.
And that was when she saw the Duke. He was sitting in the furthest corner table possible, the most private one, alone.
Everyone turned from time to time to glance at him with such intensity that Arabella dared to safely assume that this was the first time the Duke had visited this establishment.
It was, after all. a joyous place where people came to indulge themselves, notions to which the Duke seemed particularly allergic.
And yet the light filtering through the crystals of the shop bathed him in a light much different than that of her drawing room. He had noticed her, and their intense green was focused on her.
“You must excuse me,” Arabella said to her friend as she mustered her courage and wits. “We will see each other at the charity, of course. Theo, safe travels.”
Theo stood up and took her hand in greeting. Arabella smiled at him and made her way to the back of the shop, still stopping to politely greet the members of the ton that were watching which table would have the delight of her much sought-after company.
Her eyes drifted back to him. Even sitting down, it was impossible to ignore how simply too much of him occupied the area. One could have a lot to say about the Duke, none of them good. But if she were to be fair, she would have to admit that he was, in fact, blessed in the looks area.
Perhaps he was not so elegant as other members of the ton, but his face was all sharp lines, strong, masculine, his features chiseled as if carved to perfection.
His shoulders were broad and strong, and his chest was barreling inside the conservative black suit. All in all, he was annoyingly perfect.
It was something simpler that caught her attention, though.
His lips. Those same, devilish, audacious lips that roamed her neck just the day before.
The memories came flooding back to her, and she could almost feel the tint of blush on her cheeks.
And even worse, she saw the subject of her obsession smirk knowingly.
The Duke had followed her look, and he knew exactly what she was looking at.
That was enough for her to hasten her step, more determined than ever to erase that smirk for good.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” she arrived at the table, and was happy that she would be sitting with her back to everyone.
With a stony, impassive look, the Duke stood and bowed sternly, pulling her chair. The shop drew a collective breath. The Sunshine of the Ton, as some called her in the sheets, and the Cruel Duke. What a pair. Arabella just hoped that this… pairing wouldn’t be for long.
“You are late, Miss Arabella,” he said as he took his place. “I had to physically watch you being late from the entrance to the table. Perhaps if you stopped dallying with everyone, you would be on time.”
“You mean basic human interaction?” Arabella countered. “I suppose I should adopt your lovely disposition and empty the room with a scowl.”
“It is effective.”
Someone came to take their order, and Arabella smiled a wide smile. She had a four-step plan to make the Duke run for the hills in terror. And she was ready for step one.
“Oh,” she looked at the menu. “How can anyone decide on one flavor?”
“With ease,” the Duke hissed.
Arabella ignored him and kept looking at the menu with interest. She had a very particular flavor she loved, but today she was not in Gunther’s to enjoy herself. She was on a mission.
“The raspberry is divine, of course. But the bergamot is why everyone is here. And the lavender is also excellent. Lemon is so refreshing on a warm day. Now, call me what you will-”
“Infuriating comes to mind,” he said through gritted teeth.
“-but that brown bread flavor is too radical for me,” she continued unfazed.
He tapped his finger on the table impatiently, and Arabella noticed in delight.
“I do not see why I need to decide on such a lovely day,” she said with a smile. “Can I have some of each flavor? Except the brown bread, of course,” she turned to him with a straight face.
“God forbid,” he said in sarcasm.
“And now something to drink. Perhaps some chocolate. Or do I want tea? What flavor, though.”
“Miss Arabella.”
“Yes?” She said, a picture of innocence.
“Order!”
“I am, Your Grace.”
She returned to the menu, her brow furrowing in exaggerated contemplation.
“Hot chocolate.”
The Duke sighed in relief.
“Oh,” she said to the waiter, “perhaps some English biscuits. And some petits-fours. And send some to my chaperone.”
“Is that all?” The Duke said.
“For now.”
Arabella all but made a little triumphant parade at seeing his face so soured. She had skipped breakfast deliberately for this.
The waiter brought the full tray after a while, the little table wobbling from the weight of the dishes. Arabella looked at the table and realized that perhaps she had gone too far, but she was committed.
Summoning her inner child and struggling to dismiss the years of training on good manners, she fell upon the sweets with immense gusto.
She grabbed the spoon and made sure it chimed on the glass every time she scooped it, and her mouth opened wide.
Actual smacking sounds escaped her as she devoured each bite, exterminating each flavor after the other.
“Would you like some, Your Grace?”
“I am afraid I might lose a finger,” he said calmly, drinking his dark coffee.
She enforced step two. She deployed a long, loud, ridiculous laughter that sounded more like a cackle.
It echoed in the filled room like an ill-timed, outmost embarrassing assault on the ears.
She added a snort in the end for good measure.
An undignified sound akin to the final breaths of a dying goose was produced.
She had to practice in private all morning to achieve such a sound.
“A finger and an eardrum, as it seems,” the Dude said calmly over the rim of his coffee cup.
Arabella, irritated by his stoicism, decided to double her efforts.
She picked up a petit-four with her fingers, disregarding the small fork on the side, and she opened her mouth wide, shoving the sweet in her mouth and then chewing, mouth hanging open, a cardinal sin of etiquette that would have sent her governess into an early grave.
“So, Your Grace, how many estates do you own?”
The unlady-like question, delivered with a full mouth, and the spiting of some crumbs had Arabella think that she had accomplished her mission.
“Enough that I need not ration desserts, Miss Arabella.” The Duke blinked coldly.
Arabella stopped mid-chew, but she was not to be so easily thwarted. She smiled her most polite smile and wiped her face with the back of her hand.
“I am merely curious if there is at least one side of your life that you are fulfilled.”
His jaw ticked, not exactly irritated, but more calculating. He took the still-folded napkin in front of him and leaned.
“Allow me,” he said coldly, maintaining eye contact. “You missed a spot.”
He dabbed the corner of her mouth. Arabella heard the moment the shop held its breath for a moment before the wave of whispers erupted. The Duke glanced over her shoulder, and the whispers hushed. He leaned back in his chair, leaving the napkin on the table.
That conceited, insufferable…
“Speaking of rations,” Arabella regrouped, “what would be my monthly allowance?”
He stared at her as he sat comfortably, although the whole shop was watching his every move, his eyes unblinking.
“Are you negotiating, Miss Arabella?”
“I hear that is what one does in business transactions,” she smiled innocently.
“You will have enough.”
“Enough, according to you, I presume.”
His lips twitched to a slight upwards position that could have passed as a smile if it didn’t make him look so dangerous. Instead of an answer, he pushed the plate with the biscuits.
“You forgot these,” he said. “We wouldn’t want you to be… unsatisfied.”
* * *
Not long after, they exited Gunther’s after she deliberately stopped at each table for a short conversation for the fourth and final part of her plan.
It was supposed to make him awkward and underline her extroverted personality that was sure not to his liking.
Instead, he gave the people such a look that the small talk was cut short.
And now they were walking in Mayfair, Winnie in tow. The Duke insisted on escorting them back to her house, and Arabella couldn’t find a good reason to avoid his gallant gesture without offending him.
On the other hand, this was one of the ways to see the fruition of her well-laid plan. She was sure that by the time they reached the Lambourne Manor, he would have found a good way to tell her that he would be finding someone more suitable.
“Are you feeling well, Miss Arabella?” He asked suddenly.
“I am fine, thank you for your concern.”
“You made a rather disturbing face right now, so I had to make sure that the sugar that you consumed hasn’t impaired your cognitive functions.”
“My cognitive functions are in top-quality condition.”
“Are you sure that the raspberry hasn’t staged a rebellion?”
“Do not worry, I would be quick to squash it.”