Page 50 of Cruel Hearts

“Miss Hancock?” said the teacher, who had introduced herself as Miss Harper. “Please stay close, so I can instruct you on the proper technique.”

“Right,” I snarled. Even if I wanted to ignore her, it would seem odd if I moved halfway across an empty room.

The classroom filled, but Miss Harper ignored everyone else to focus on me. It didn’t matter that I was making what amounted to a potato crepe while the other students created more elaborate dishes.

Her micromanaging gave me the vibe of an over-helpful shop assistant who stuck to a girl’s ass throughout the store to stop her from stealing. Fuming at her over-attentiveness, I rolled the potato-and-flour dough, wanting to ram the rolling pin up her tight ass.

In the few moments where someone approached Miss Harper for help, I turned around to find the boys chopping up ingredients and sprinkling spices from a plastic tub. Every time I tried stepping over to get a better look, Miss Harper would turn her attention away from a needy student to give me an unwanted, helpful tip.

Orlando strolled through the door with a bag of groceries and a lazy grin.

Miss Harper straightened. “Mr. Nevis?”

He raised his bag. “I’m honing my Welsh rarebit recipe.”

With a smile, she waved him to the back of the class. “Off you go.”

Flicking my head in Orlando’s direction, I whispered, “I wouldn’t trust Nevis to make something like that without supervision.”

Miss Harper gave me a condescending smile. “He’ll be fine. It’s an easy enough dish.”

So, Orlando could stroll in saying he wanted to melt cheese on fucking toast, and Miss Harper was up my ass like I was Walter Fucking White? I brushed those thoughts aside. At least one of us could watch Elizabeth’s cooking minions.

For the rest of the evening, I followed her every instruction like a little robot and made a perfect stack of tattie scones. As Miss Harper helped me wrap up a portion into a little gift box, guilt whacked me across my chest. She had only wanted to be helpful, and I’d mistaken it for suspicion. That’s what happened when a girl spent too much of her youth shoplifting.

“Thank you,” I said to the teacher. “Mr. Burgh’s going to love this.”

Her face twisted into one of those grudging smiles. “The headmaster’s a fine man.”

Herbert placed a lid on the vat of curry and left it to simmer while he and his friend turned to chat with Orlando, who offered them a slice of cheese on toast.

Miss Harper left my side to help the other students, and I sagged on my work station. That was the last time I would invoke Mr. Burgh’s name. How could Elizabeth handle all that attention? It was stifling.

At the end of cooking club, I took my packed up scones and thanked Mrs. Harper again for all her help. Orlando waited for me outside.

“Now I’ve seen everything,” he murmured.

“What?”

He sidled up to me and placed a large palm on the small of my back. “I’ve seen you dance, I’ve seen you tease two fellows until their balls turned blue, and I’ve seen you cum. Until now, I haven’t seen you cook.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “It was dark in the nu-jazz room, and you should put those kinds of thoughts out of your mind.”

He snorted. “Where are you going?”

“To put these in Mr. Burgh’s fridge.”

“You’re such a dutiful granddaughter.”

With a haughty sniff, I turned a corner and headed for the entrance. “Unlike some, I value loyalty.”

Orlando didn’t say anything for several moments. We stepped out of the double doors into the wintry night. The moon reflected its silver light on the salt-covered snow littering the driveway, and I hugged the warm container closer to my chest.

He placed an arm around my back and brought me into the heat of his large body.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“The ground doesn’t look salted, and I’m making sure you don’t slip. Unless you have any objections—”