Free The Wedding Cake (The Wedding Series) by Christine Dorsey Page A

I fear tomorrow will be busy. Plans for the hunting trip, you know.”
    “Of course.”
    “But I shall call on you in the afternoon if that is satisfactory.”
    “Certainly. I shall look forward to it.” A movement beside her reminded her of Ian’s presence, though she certainly had not forgotten he was there. “Lord Westfield, allow me to present Captain Ian McGregger. Captain McGregger, His Grace, Lord Alfred Westfield.”
    “Captain McGregger.” The duke’s tone was condescending.
    “Lord Westfield.” The captain’s was frigid.
    “I understand you’re in Mr. Murphy’s employ.”
    “He is to take over the management of Murphy Import and Export,” Cinnamon rushed to say, then knew by the expression on Ian’s face she shouldn’t have.
    “How very interesting, I’m sure.” Lord Westfield gave a tight smile. “Have you ever been hunting in the West, I wonder, Captain?”
    “Nay, I haven’t had the pleasure.”
    “Well, perhaps when I return I shall tell you of my adventures.”
    Ian bowed stiffly and excused himself. Cinnamon wanted to tell the duke that if he really cared about adventure, he should listen to Captain McGregger. Tales of the South Seas, of pirates and mutiny, now that was adventure. But she didn’t think Ian would thank her for it. So she simply watched him wend his way through the crowd, away from her, his broad shoulders rigid. She had a near uncontrollable urge to chase after him. To tell him... What? There was nothing she could tell him. A tight smile on her face, she turned toward the duke and her future.

Nine

    “C aptain McGregger!” Cinnamon’s flour-covered hand flew to her hair. “What are you doing here?”
    “It was Ian last night,” he said, smiling. “And I took a chance ye might be here and came round the alley to the kitchen entrance.” He waited, his eyebrow lifting as she stood in the doorway, blocking his way, staring at him.
    “May I come in, then?”
    What? Oh, yes... of course.” She felt a blush steal over her already-flushed face as she opened the door wider to let him in. His presence seemed to fill the room.
    She watched as his gaze swept over the kitchen: the flour spilled on the floor, the broken eggs, the oozing glob of batter seeping around the broken bowl which she’d accidently dropped. At least, she told herself, it was an accident. When his blue eyes finally lighted on her, she was near tears.
    “I can’t seem to get it right,” she managed to choke out before his arms came around her, “I’ve tried and tried.” She sobbed into his jacket. “But there’s always some mistake.” She shifted her head, staring up at him through misty eyes. “What is the problem?”
    “Ye’ll have to figure that out on yer own, I’m afraid.” He thumbed away a tear spilling over her lashes. “But I will help ye bake the cake. If ye wish, that is?”
    “You’d do that?”
    “Aye, Cinnamon. For ye I would.”
    “That’s—” She bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know how to thank...” Her voice trailed off as the intimacy of their position hit her. Wrapped in his arms, their bodies pressed together, their lips close enough that their breath mingled, she knew exactly how he’d like to be thanked. How she would like to thank him.
    “Well, then.” She tried to steady her racing heart as she pushed away. “I suppose we should get started.”
    “Aye. Started.” Ian took a deep breath. “Do ye know where a broom might be? And a dustpan? Never mind, I see one.”
    She almost asked why he needed a broom, but he was already showing her, sweeping up the mess covering the brick floor. When he had most of it in a pile, he motioned to her, then to the dustpan. Shrugging, she squatted to scoop up the debris.
    “Where’s yer little maid?”
    “I sent her away,” she answered as she dumped the floury mess. “Too many questions and, well, she never has liked the kitchen. Oh, no,” She stepped toward Ian, reaching out to brush his jacket.