Actually, Jemma adoredanythingchocolate, she had since she tried her first bite of the dark, sweet treat when still a toddler. Her father insisted she stay active, recommending long walks and a most demanding regimen of dancing and piano lessons as protection against stoutness. She did well with dancing, but the piano lessons she found dull, so instead she begged Tally, her father’s man, to allow her to tag along with him as he fished or practiced with his pistols. Her father was most displeased when he realized she couldn’t play a simple tune and voiced his objections to her unladylike hobbies. He relented when he found out what a good shot she was. The piano collected dust in the Sea Cliff drawing room.
Jemma pushed aside all thoughts of the piano and regarded the sideboard before her. Silver trays still held a number of desserts as the servants had not finished cleaning the dining room. Lady Corbett, her mouth grim, had nodded in disapproval when Jemma asked for another dessert after dinner.
“Well, she’s not here now, is she?” Jemma spotted her quarry. A trio of lovely, round tarts of dark chocolate, powdered with sugar, shining like a beacon in the candlelight. She sniffed the air in appreciation and stepped closer.
“I feel better already,” Jemma said out loud to the empty room.
Approaching the tray of chocolate tarts as a hunter stalks its prey, Jemma took her time deciding exactlywhich treat would follow her outside to the gardens.
A stack of linen napkins, neatly folded, sat next to the tray. Jemma grabbed a chocolate tart, wrapping it tightly in a linen napkin.
A bit of chocolate and some fresh air will clear my head.
She held the napkin lightly in her hand, hoping she wouldn't see anyone as she made her way outside. She thought of the Sinclair sisters throwing themselves at Mr. Shepherd, and she clutched the tart tighter. “I only wish,” she said to out loud, “that Agnes and Bertie wouldn’t make such cows of themselves in public.”Liar, avoice whispered in her ear.
Jemma hurried down the hallway, towards the large French doors leading to the terrace and the gardens beyond. A male servant, headed to the dining room with an empty tray, quirked a brow at her but said nothing as she sailed past him, her treasure held firmly in her hand.
The doors to the Corbett gardens were slightly ajar. Torches lit the portion of the gardens closest to the house, though the paths remained in shadow. Jemma disregarded the darkened paths and instead slid towards the left where she knew a small bench sat facing an atrocious statue of a cupid. She often thought the statue an odd addition to the gardens as everything else, plants, fountains and other statuary was of exquisite taste.
Damn and blast!She could feel the chocolate seeping through the napkin. She looked down at her dress, praying none of the dark sticky sweetness marred the cream-colored taffeta. She'd never be able to explain the stain away.
“Oh bloody hell.” Her foot slipped over an uneven brick. The chocolate tart flew out of her hands, landing with a small smacking sound on the terrace. The cupid stared at her, seeming to chastise her clumsiness.
Jemma shot the ugly cherub a beleaguered glance, wondering where her treasure had landed. “I shall blame you. You are most ridiculous looking.”
“But you are not,” a whiskey-laden voice murmured from the shadows.
“Mr. Shepherd?” she whispered into a dark corner of the terrace as her heart skipped a beat. “What are you doing lurking about? I thought you were happily ensconced inside with the sisters Sinclair. Why you could be accosted again.”
A husky laugh came from in front of her, followed by a large, dark form. “Hello Jem.” He held aloft the napkin wrapped chocolate tart.
Jemma glanced at her treat and reached out, hoping he would hand her the chocolate and excuse himself. Hoping he would not.
“May I have that, Mr. Shepherd?” She nodded to the chocolate tart.
“Possibly. I too enjoy chocolate.”
He said chocolate in a most sinful way. In fact, every word the man spoke sounded sinful.
“Does your father know you traipse about dressed as a boy, shooting pistols and saving visitors to your fair island from thieves?” He tossed the chocolate tart up with his hand and deftly caught it. “I can't imagine he approves. Nor your Mr. Corbett.”
“My father's approval is none of your business.” She watched him fling her dessert up in the air again. “And he knows, as does Mr. Corbett,” she said glibly. “If you seek to discredit me you will be disappointed, Mr. Shepherd. My eccentricity is well known.” The terrace suddenly felt very warm. She couldn't breathe and thought the reason likely the tightness of her stays.
“Discredit you? Perish the thought.” Torchlight lit the side of his face, illuminating the pretended look of shock upon his handsome features.
“I’m curious, Mr. Shepherd,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm. “Why areyouin Bermuda?”
He tossed her poor abused chocolate tart between his large hands as he spoke. “I believe the entire dinner conversation was dedicated to my reasons for being in Bermuda. Lady Corbett interrogatedme at length as to my connections, my financial status and my relation to the Cambournes. That lady would put the Spanish Inquisitors to shame. The sisters Sinclair displayed all the delicacy of the king's solicitors as they questioned every detail of my life to determine my suitability as a husband.” He peered down at her with a serious expression. “Were you not paying attention Jem? I could have sworn you were. Perhaps, I'm mistaken.” He tossed up the tart again.
“Arrogant dandy,” she scoffed. "You must think all women are asenthralledby you as the Sinclair sisters. I'm afraid I paid not a bit of attention to your conversation at the end of the table. I was much more interested in the soup course.”
“I'm sure you were,” he agreed.
“You are nothing more than a fortune hunter, a man with nothing to recommend him but a letter from one of England's famous families. Why, who even knows if it's real?” Jemma taunted.
“An excellent point. However, I assure you, I know the Dowager Marchioness quite well.” He dangled the tart in the air before her.
Jemma grabbed for it, frowning in frustration when he pulled it out of her reach. “The sisters Sinclair are fairly well off and their brother desires them out of the house. I'm sure either one would suit your purposes.”
