The Lucky One (A Wicked Widows novella) by Karen Hawkins

Author:Karen Hawkins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: regency england, novella, romance historical, london 1800s
Publisher: Karen Hawkins

Chapter 7

Rajah was right. James didn’t like to think it, but as much as he loved cooking, experimenting with flavors and textures, he could not give both the kitchen and the hotel his full attention. The debacle with the pastry chef would only be the beginning. He’d built the Burnham too well, invested too much time and effort, to see its hard-won clientele lost over a damned patisserie.

His sous chef Beatrice had been with him since Bombay. She’d learned his techniques and had shown great promise. She made the most sense to take up the reins in the kitchen. Unlike most chefs in the world, James had given her a chance; the same kind of chance his mother could have seized had anyone offered.

Beatrice would do well. Yet the thought of surrendering his cooking brought a bitter taste to his mouth. He loved cooking – it truly rested his spirit more than anything else. But if he wanted the Burnham to succeed—no, thrive—then he had to do the tasks he hated most. He had to be visible to court Society whose money he wanted. His life was not his own – he had to invest wisely, expand thoughtfully, wed practically.

This last made him think of a tempting redhead who even now slept in his bed.

The thought frustrated rather than soothed.

Katelyn Worthington. The Widow Tyndale. Despite his own inclinations, he’d been careful to follow all the rules where she was concerned. He knew something had driven her from her home to take shelter under his roof. He hadn’t discovered what it was, but he would. She was a puzzle he was destined to solve, he was certain of it. After that . . . There would be no after, he told himself regretfully. Not with a woman with such a past, one barely accepted by the very Society he needed to make his business a success.

He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing as he did so. He’d rather spend twelve hours with hot ovens and steaming soups than twelve minutes pouring over accounting ledgers and balance sheets. He always felt such a unique sense of satisfaction in discovering new flavors, or melding different textures. Not all his experiments worked, but as his knowledge of flavors and spices expanded, he enjoyed more successes than not.

He fought a yawn. Right now, he could be sleeping upstairs in the Queen’s Suite, the first room he’d designed himself, named for the mother he’d lost over twenty years ago. But no, he’d had to go and give it to a stubborn, if sultry and gifted, artist and her scamp of a daughter. And now all that awaited him was an overstuffed chaise in a crowded office. It’s your own fault, so no complaining. Exhaustion made him unfair and he knew it.

Kat might be stubborn, but so was he, especially in the kitchen. Still, he had to admit that he wasn’t used to being ignored. Earlier, she’d been so caught up in her painting that she’d forgotten he stood beside her, when all he wanted to do was consume her.

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