Chapter 6 #4
Mrs Adamson nodded and looked as if she might say more but the door opened again, and Mrs Fairway appeared, carrying another tray, though this one not so hefty.
She set a bowl before Mrs Adamson, and then one before King, giving him a narrow-eyed look as she did so, as if to remind him of his manners.
Then she gathered up such remaining dishes that Mr Cogger had not been able to fit on his tray and went out again without a word.
“I do hope you like ices, Mr King?”
“I’m afraid I have never indulged,” King admitted, looking into his bowl curiously.
“You cannot say so!” Mrs Adamson said, and with such shock he laughed.
“Is it such a crime?” he asked, amused.
“Not a crime, sir, but a tragedy, for I hold it as one of the finest pleasures in life to sit on my terrace on a warm day with a bowl of flavoured ices. I confess, I am rather particular, and indeed Mrs Fairway believed I had quite taken leave of my senses when she discovered the amount of money I intended to spend on having the icehouse built.”
“That’s what you spent your money on?” King asked, feeling as if Mrs Fairway might have had a point.
She stiffened a fraction, and he cursed himself for taking a step back when he had been all forward momentum until that point.
“Only a portion of it, and not for my own pleasure alone,” she said, her tone somewhat chillier now.
“But this town makes its money in the summer chiefly, and with two public houses, a teahouse, and many holiday cottages for rent, I felt I must have something particular to offer that no one else did. When I lived in town, one of my chief pleasures was a trip to Gunter’s. Have you heard of it?”
“Why, naturally, I have,” King said, realising he was guilty of underestimating her, as it seemed many people must do.
“Well, then you know it is famous for its sweet treats, most especially its flavoured ices. I saw no reason why I might not replicate something of the sort in Little Valentine, and seeing as I alone can do so, all customers wishing for ices come to me and, upon discovering how good they are, they come back. Sometimes they come for tea and cakes, or for dinner, or they recommend my hotel to family and friends who come to visit—”
King held up his hand. “I humbly apologise for misjudging your motives, there is no need to beat me about the head with all the worthwhile reasons you spent your money on an icehouse. It was an investment, and one I suspect repaid its cost rather quickly.”
“It did,” she replied, her tone crisp but a degree less chilly than before.
King smiled. The expression seemed to curve slowly over his mouth, but he could not stop it spreading wider and wider until he was grinning like a damned fool.
“Whatever is the matter?” she asked, looking unsettled, as well she might.
“I hardly dare tell you, for I suspect I shall get a tremendous set down, but… but, Mrs Adamson, you are a wonder, and I feel such pride in knowing you and in everything you have achieved… well, it makes me smile, that’s all.”
A hectic splotch of colour stained her cheeks and throat, which was hardly attractive and clashed horribly with her hair, but somehow it only made King feel increasingly tender towards her.
It made him wish he might be her friend, though that was only a small part of what he wanted, and the confusion of everything he felt made his smile dim and a sense of restless unease overtake him.
As a somewhat awkward silence descended upon them, King turned his attention to the bowl of ice and took a spoonful.
Since making his fortune, he had indulged his taste for good food, eating well and enjoying new delicacies as often as he could.
His cook, Mrs Keller, was exceptionally gifted, and there had been many puddings and fancies, but no iced treats.
“Coffee,” he said in surprise, savouring the sweet yet bitter coldness.
“Yes, try the other,” she said, watching him with obvious interest. King did so, his mouth watering as tart lemon exploded upon his tastebuds.
He glanced up at her in surprise before turning his attention keenly on the bowl and finishing it all, rather bereft to discover it had gone far too quickly.
“Well?” Mrs Adamson asked, one delicately arched red brow quirking.
“You win,” he said simply, spreading his hands wide in a gesture of defeat. “Even if it hadn’t been such an excellent investment, I could not criticise your decision. That was the most delicious thing I have ever eaten.”
The smile she returned, at once filled with glee and triumph, gave him a glimpse of the carefree girl she might once have been, and again he felt as if the breath had been knocked clean out of him.
All at once, King regretted having badgered her into having dinner with him, for he had supposed the only danger in doing so was to her, but now he saw he had been a fool.
Mrs Adamson was a dangerous creature indeed, a woman for whom a man might do foolish things, might do anything, if only she would belong to him.
She got to her feet so suddenly, King started, wondering if he had unwittingly offended her until he saw she was still smiling.
“Come,” she said, running to him and holding out her hand, such an impulsive gesture he knew she could not have thought it through, else she would not have done so.
“Oh, wait,” she said, reaching to snatch two spoons from the table, then still holding his hand she towed him towards the door by which Mrs Fairway had left. King followed, enchanted and wondering if he might just follow her anywhere if she kept hold of his hand.
She led him down the backstairs and then turned, pressing her finger to her lips as they passed by the kitchen door.
They lingered for a moment, hearing Mrs Fairway and Repton chatting and seeming on very amicable terms. Mrs Adamson flashed him a conspiratorial grin, and then led him past the kitchen door, past the scullery and on to the storerooms. Here, she picked up a lamp and offered it to him so he might light the way as she opened a door.
They went inside and she handed him the spoon she had taken from the table.
“There’s the rest of the coffee ice cream,” she said, gesturing to a china bowl set in an ice filled basin, “and there’s the lemon.
This one is apricot, but I wasn’t certain you’d appreciate the three flavours together, so we did not serve it.
Do try,” she said, looking as excited as a child showing a favourite toy.
King dipped his spoon into the small mound of ice cream and took a taste. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Delicious,” he admitted.
Mrs Adamson looked like she might dance on the spot with delight but instead took her own spoon and delved into the apricot bowl. “I ought not to admit it, but I could eat all three bowls entirely by myself,” she said sadly, scooping up another spoonful.
I could eat you up entirely by myself, King thought, but did not say so. Though, having her so close to him, and the small sounds of pleasure she made as she ate the ice cream, was doing terrible things to his equilibrium.
Mrs Adamson shivered, though whether from delight or from the far cooler temperatures in the little enclosed room, King was unsure. Still, such gentlemanly instincts as he possessed asserted themselves.
“You’re cold,” he observed, and immediately stripped off his coat.
“Whatever are you—” she began in alarm, only to halt her anxious remark when he settled his coat about her shoulders.
She looked up at him then, an expression of such surprise in her eyes, such vulnerability, that his heart melted quicker than any bowl of ice ever had or ever would. Without thought or calculation, he drew her into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers.
Mrs Adamson gasped, but did not fight him, allowing him the kiss.
King felt a surge of possessive pleasure, of triumph, revelling in the feel of her lithe body in his arms, of the cold sweetness of her mouth against his.
He knew, however, that he had won nothing, not yet, she was allowing him the kiss, but she gave nothing away.
King pulled back, observing her, still seeing surprise in her eyes, curiosity too, but no fear, no shyness or desire to look away or back down. She held his gaze boldly, and then, bolder still, reached up and sank her fingers into his hair, pulling his head down for another kiss.
He obliged, for there was nothing in this world or any other that he wanted more than to do so.
All his ambitions, all his ravening hunger to conquer the world and devour everything in it, abated, sated for one blissful moment by the touch of her lips against his.
Such was the remarkable sensation of perfection, the profound connection that he felt, that his touch, which might otherwise have been greedy and all-consuming, became tender and slow and he kissed her with every bit of the reverence a loving husband might show his new and innocent bride.
The clatter of a pan in the kitchen brought him to his senses, reminding him of exactly where they were and that it was hardly the correct environment for a seduction.
Yet, as he forced himself to lift his unwilling lips from hers, King could not help but wonder which of them had been seduced by the other.
Certainly, he could not tell which of them was breathing faster, only that her breasts rose and fell, swelling against the low neckline of her elegant gown.
The sight made him ache with the desire to trail his tongue over the plump mounds that seemed to invite such devotion by constantly drawing his attention to them.
It was the hardest thing to release his hold upon her, but he did so, stooping to pick up his coat, which had fallen from her shoulders during their embrace.
Certainly, she did not appear to be cold any longer; he thought with satisfaction as he took in her heightened colour and the lush redness of her mouth.
The desire to haul her back into his arms and kiss her again, harder this time, giving her a glimpse of the tumult she had caused inside him was difficult to resist.
But King had not got where he was by giving into spontaneous desire when waiting would serve him better. He was a patient man when he knew waiting would bring him what he wanted quicker and more certainly than grabbing hastily for it ever could.
Her hands moved restlessly, smoothing her gown and checking her hair, taking a moment to compose herself before she met his eyes once more.
“Well, it is late,” she said, sounding rather too serene for his liking when he was still in mental disarray. “I think I shall bid you goodnight, Mr King.”
“Shall you, Mrs Adamson?” he said, a little affronted by her cool dismissal.
She smiled then, a glimmer of warmth shining through her sudden formality. “I must be up early in the morning when others are still abed. It has been a long day, and I am weary, but I have enjoyed our dinner very much, and I thank you for it.”
“You did?” he asked, taking her hands, his voice low, knowing he sounded like an eager boy fishing for compliments and despising himself for it, but unable to resist all the same.
“I did,” she replied with quiet assurance.
“And what part of it did you like best?” he asked, raising first one hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to her fingers, and then the other.
Her breath caught, and she tugged her hands free, but when she answered, there was a mischievous glimmer of delight shining in her eyes.
“Why, the ices of course,” she said, and hurried out before he could say another word.