Page 11 of The Chef and the Countess (The Duke’s Bastards #2)

Monday arrived, and Celia rose early. Not that she’d gotten much sleep the night before as she was excited to start work. How disappointing to find no one was up yet, except the young apprentices chopping and peeling vegetables in the kitchen. Frustrated, she climbed the stairs and entered the hallway just in time to see Liam emerge from the bathing room.

Celia stopped short. He was shirtless, with a towel slung carelessly over his broad shoulder, and his trousers unbuttoned partway and riding low on his muscular hips. Her mouth went dry at the glorious sight of him. Liam stood as tall as a lovingly carved marble statue of the perfect man, at least in Celia’s eyes. He had just shaved. Running her fingers along his smooth, flawless skin would be tempting. Liam’s hair was disheveled enough to complete the handsome rogue look.

“Good morning,” she said with a smile, keeping her voice steady. She hadn’t seen him since he’d delivered her trunks early yesterday afternoon.

“I’ll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes.” He turned on his heel and headed toward his rooms.

Watching him walk away was almost as exciting as seeing him from the front. Liam’s back muscles bunched as he gracefully strode away. His shapely rear end punctuated the perfection point.

Celia shook her head. Holy crow, what am I doing? Desiring a man with her husband barely dead a month? With a deep breath and an exhale, Celia headed toward the stairs and the kitchen below. There had been no love in her marriage, and the sex had merely to beget an heir.

But she imagined sex with Liam would be the exact opposite—passion incarnate. All she could do was imagine; he’d filled her nightly dreams since she met him. Celia smiled knowingly. Now, she had a new vision to fill her heated nocturnal thoughts.

When Celia strode into the kitchen, she put aside all thoughts of the strikingly handsome Liam. “Good morning, lads,” she smiled. “Did you have breakfast?”

“Aye, miss,” Teddy replied shyly. “There’s toast and jam and eggs and bacon on a hot plate in the eating room.”

“Thank you.” Celia entered the dining area and swiftly filled her plate of food. A pot of tea sat nearby, and she filled her mug with milk and some sugar. By the time she was halfway through her meal, Liam had entered, inclining his head in acknowledgment.

He sat across from her. “I’ll get you started on the fillings after we eat. Tommy wants you to show him how thick you want the bread sliced. The good news is that the shrimp is already cooked and deveined. My supplier does it for me. It saves me time.”

“How clever,” she replied as she sipped her tea.

“Teddy is boiling eggs, and he will assist you in slicing and mashing the pickle. You will have to work fast; if you run out of bread, you must slice it yourself. Have Tommy give you tips. Save the crusts and other bits. We make a bread pudding from it. The lads will assist you when they can in the next few days, but ultimately, you must do the bulk of the work yourself. We can’t afford to fall behind. I have the kitchen running like a well-oiled machine. You must learn to move with the flow.”

“If I wasn’t nervous before, now I am more so. Did you see the menus I crafted? I left them on your desk yesterday afternoon while you were gone.”

Liam sliced his ham into bite-sized pieces. “I did. Thank you. We will use them today.”

Celia took a piece of bacon and nibbled on it. “About my trunks—”

“You already thanked me.”

“Did you see Darrington or Shinwell?”

“Shinwell. He still owes that gaming debt. I went there to collect it. He told me to sod off.”

Celia sighed. “Shinwell is a repugnant creature. No wonder he’s not married yet. He was always getting into trouble, fights with other boys, stealing, tormenting the staff.”

“And you?” Liam asked as he sipped his tea.

“Yes. It started with spitting in my pudding, tripping me, hiding my books. Thank God he was away at Eton part of the time when he wasn’t sent home for one infraction of the rules or another. They always took him back, however. When I turned twelve, and he was fifteen, the torment took on a more nefarious angle.”

“How so?” Liam asked slowly. His tone of voice showed he had already guessed what.

“He tried to corner me in dark cupboards or pull me into unoccupied rooms. Once, he pinned me against the wall and touched me—all over. I was already developing, you see. He tried to sneak into my room at night on numerous occasions. That was when I was sent away to finishing school. I think Aunt Etta suspected.”

“That miserable miscreant. I should’ve pounded him senseless,” Liam growled. “He assaulted you.”

Celia nodded. “Yes, he did. I never thought of it in such stark terms, but it’s true. I don’t know why I told you that. I’ve never told a living soul before. Be careful when dealing with Shinwell and Darrington--there is something sinister about them. I do not want you harmed. My advice is to wait for my aunt to return. You can collect the debt through her. It would be safer.”

“I’ll think it over.” Liam frowned. “I despise that you were treated that way.”

“Women and girls from all walks of life encounter such, I’m sure,” Celia murmured.

“Unfortunately.” Liam stood. “That doesn’t make it right. I’m sorry you were subjected to that. Come, let’s get you started. Leave the dishes. The boys will collect them.”

He held the door for her, and she entered the kitchen, already a whirlwind of activity. Celia admonished herself for revealing those private and harrowing memories. Perhaps she’d only wanted to prove to him how dangerous her cousin could be. Or maybe, some hidden and dark part of her wished Liam would give Shinwell the pounding he deserved.

Celia glanced at the clock on the wall—two hours had passed. She couldn’t believe it. The restaurant opened in an hour, and she was not nearly finished making the fillings. The stew had been served, the cleanup completed, and everyone was busily preparing the luncheon menu. Today’s choices were cream of mushroom and potato soup, already simmering on the stove. Liam had put together a mustard sauce for the baked herring, served with mashed potatoes, boiled carrots, and fried onions. The pork loin was cut into chops and ready for frying. Watching Liam work was like watching a master paint a portrait.

He came over to her station. “You must work faster. Don’t chop the shrimp. Use this.” He placed a large mortar and pestle in front of her. “Mash everything together in this. Transfer the paste to a bowl, then do it again. This glass bowl should be three-quarters filled. What we don’t use today is good for tomorrow.” Liam took a handful of shrimp and tossed them in the mortar. Then he took her hand, placed the pestle in it, and guided her. With his hand covering hers, he showed her how to do it. “Like that,” he said, whispering in her ear.

“Yes, Chef,” Celia whispered so only he could hear. Her insides turned to mush as he hovered near, his hand covering hers. It was challenging to remember to take a breath.

“I like it when you call me that,” he whispered huskily in her ear. “Are the pickles prepared?”

“Yes. Tommy’s mixing the boiled eggs with salad cream.”

Liam took his hand away. “You have to prepare the cakes.” He pointed to two large trays sitting on a preparation table. “You have to test those by taking a bite. Are they fresh enough to serve? If a cake frosting is too hard and cracked, scrape it off. But don’t toss it. We can freshen it up later. Understand?”

“Yes, Chef,” she murmured.

He gave her a brief, dazzling smile before returning to the stoves, and the sight of it caused her heart to skip a beat. The smile made him all the more handsome and shook her resolve to stay detached.

Holy crow, it’s hot in the kitchen. Three overlarge gas stoves roiled at full tilt. Celia felt sweat trickling down her back. Everyone rushed about, shouting directions. The waitresses were assisting in the kitchen as well. Hannah lined up ten three-tiered trays for her on one of the prep tables, then ran to the stove to stir the mustard sauce. The frantic activity didn’t deter Celia; she soaked it in.

She remained thoroughly engrossed in her tasks for the next hour. Liam came by to check on her progress more than once, and with the fillings prepared, she moved over to the trays of small cakes, biscuits, and loaves. She hurriedly stuffed a piece of currant cake in her mouth. It was still fresh. She cut the pieces smaller, then moved on to the ginger biscuits. They were a little stale. Celia set them aside. Liam mentioned that anything that was not as fresh but still edible was given to the poor.

“Fire time!” Liam yelled. Whatever that meant. The servers hurried out front to open the door. The lads had left for school, so Celia would be on her own with preparation. She opened the swinging door partway to see a crowd pour in as the waitresses showed them to the tables and booths.

“Get ready! Service!” Liam yelled. Fiona had joined them in the kitchen ten minutes ago and was preparing plates and bowls. Kettles of water boiled for tea and coffee percolated in a device Celia had never seen before.

Hannah burst through the door. “Pork chop, table two. Tea tray, table four, soup, table one.” She swiftly gathered a teapot and cups and disappeared again. With a pencil in hand, Liam scribbled on a piece of paper, his focus unwavering.

Celia sprang into action. She hastily made three sandwiches with the fillings, remembering how the cookbook said to first spread the thinnest layer of warmed butter on the bread. She cut the sandwiches into finger lengths with a large sharp knife, removed the crusts, and placed them on the bottom tier. Next, she arranged the tea biscuits and currant cake on the second tier and the frosted cakes and tarts on the top tier. What did Liam say to do next— right. “Tea tray, table two!” she yelled, perhaps too loudly, as everyone turned to look at her.

Celia started prepping more sandwiches as Enya came into the kitchen next. “Herring, table five! Tea tray tables one and three!”

Pork chops and onions sizzled in iron skillets as Liam pulled a large roaster pan of baked herring from the oven, and new pans were placed inside to replace them. Celia’s mouth watered.

“Pick up the pace, Celia!” Liam called out.

How could she go any faster?

It went on like that for the next three hours, with Celia hardly having time to breathe. At last, around four-thirty, things finally settled down. They had used up all the sliced bread. Most of the fillings and the second-hand food was gone. Celia looked down. The front of her apron was covered in egg salad, shrimp, and butter.

Never had she felt more alive.

* * *

At half past five and with the main dish orders all but over, Liam headed toward Celia’s station. “You did it,” he said.

She gave him a wide smile. “I did, didn’t I? Is this what it’s like every day?”

“More so because the rest of the week we open at twelve, which means our breakfast and the prep work start at seven in the morning.”

“What does fire time mean?”

“It means start cooking—the restaurant is open.” The three boys entered through the rear doors. “Lads, start the dishes. I’ll make your supper.” Liam turned to her. “What would you like, the herring or the pork?”

“The pork, if you please.”

Enya stuck her head in the door. “Late customer. Tea tray, table two. I’ll fetch the tea. And Liam, it’s her again. She wants to talk to you.”

Liam slammed the skillet on the counter. “Fecking hell.” He tore off his apron and tossed it on the table. He strode through the swinging door into the dining area.

Celia hurriedly made sandwiches and arranged the tray as Enya gathered a teapot and two teacups from the prep table. “What is that about?”

“Viscountess Hampton. She comes once a week without fail and asks to see Liam. She fawns over him and usually brings a different friend each time to show him off like a prized stallion.”

“Oh,” Celia replied quietly. She had never heard of the woman, but then, she hadn’t met many peers through the years. “Is he involved with her?”

Enya snorted. “Not likely. But that doesn’t stop her from trying. I’ll be back for the tray.”

Enya departed, served the tea, then returned for the tray. Celia followed her to the swinging door and cracked it open wide enough to observe what was going on. Luckily, the nearly empty restaurant made listening in easy.

The viscountess and Liam were facing Celia, and the look of rampant lust on the woman’s face was hard to miss.

“Is he not everything I said he would be, Baroness?” the viscountess crooned as she stroked his arm.

The baroness nodded in reply, giving Liam the once-over. How disrespectful.

Liam gently but firmly removed the viscountess’s hand, then held out her chair. “Your tea is getting cold, my lady.”

She sat, and he pushed the chair in. Liam’s mouth was pulled into a taut line of displeasure.

The viscountess grabbed his hand before he could pull it away from the chair. “The offer still stands. Be my personal chef and I will pay you 250 pounds per annum. Or name your price. There would be considerable benefits, as you can imagine.”

It appeared men had to endure this kind of behavior as well—being mauled, propositioned, and treated like a piece of prime beef. The viscountess wanted Liam for more than her chef. The sultry tone of her voice made that plain. Celia felt sickened and angry on his behalf. She would do well to remember not to treat Liam as the viscountess was doing. He was more than the outer handsome shell. That was something the viscountess and those of her ilk would never understand.

Liam pulled his hand away. “I thank you for the generous offer, but I’m entirely content here running my own business on my terms. Besides, the staff depends on me.”

“Well, bring along your scullery maids!” the viscountess said, dismissively waving her arm. The baroness chuckled.

Liam’s face looked like thunder. He bowed stiffly. “Enjoy your tea, my ladies.”

He marched toward the door, and Celia hurried to her station. Standing before the stove, Liam grabbed the iron skillet and started cooking. His jaw worked angrily, and Celia thought it best not to say anything. She kept herself busy cleaning up her area, placing her leftovers in the assigned containers, and taking them to the larder and the icebox as Fiona had shown her yesterday.

By the time she returned, Liam held out a plate toward her. “Don’t let it get cold.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not hungry. Teddy, Tommy, Timmy, get your supper and clean up this mess!” Liam yelled. The boys snapped to attention. “Finish the dishes after you eat, then mop the floors and clean the walls and the stoves.”

Liam tore off his apron and exited the rear door, slamming it hard.

“Don’t mind him, Miss Celia. He don’t—doesn’t—mean it,” Timmy offered. “It’s hard being the boss.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Celia said, smiling as she carried her plate into the dining area. The boys followed, and they joined the other employees at the table. The food, as always, was delicious and perfectly cooked. As Celia was introduced to the nighttime pub employees, she couldn’t stop thinking about Liam. Should she check on him later, or would that intrude on his private time?

All she knew was that no one should be treated with such contempt. After finishing her meal, Celia ladled still-hot mushroom soup into a large crockery bowl and grabbed bread, fresh tea, and a spoon to take to Liam. He had to eat. Besides, she was concerned for him and could not relax until she knew he was all right.

Yes, her feelings were growing with each passing day. Celia would have to do her best to keep them hidden. So far, she seemed doomed to fail.