Arthur hadn’t even looked at him. That, more than him having been gone at all, made the freezing room feel colder still.

What had his mother said to him? Had she told him something about him, something that gave him pause or – upset him somehow? She had always been so good at twisting men around her fingers. His lover might not have had true interest in her, but that did not mean that she could not steer him away from him.

The hand on his thigh earned a subtle glance downward. Malachi reached for his glass and took a generous sip of wine to busy his mouth.

“Oh, indeed,” Levi agreed wholeheartedly, smashing the prongs of his fork against the crumbs to pick them up. “This was my favorite, growing up. Mother used to have the servants make it every Sunday for me.”

Between all of the other sweets they made for him during the rest of the week, that was.

“The closest I have found to it elsewhere was at this delightful little restaurant in the East End – in fact, it was run by people like you, Mal – but I find that nothing quite beats this one.”

“Do you bake, Doctor Adams?” asked his wife. Her own cake was half-finished, and her wine was diminishing.