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His lips twitched in a smile. “Indeed.”

Victoria turned back to the dough and continued kneading it. William had removed his hand, letting her do it on her own, but he didn’t move away from her.

“This isn’t as easy as you make it seem,” Victoria complained, as her hand started getting tired.

“In bakeries, usually the worker who is responsible for kneading the dough is called the geindre.”

Victoria paused and searched her French vocabulary. “The moaner?”

“Yes, exactly,” William said straight-faced. “Because of how difficult it is, the kneader moans and whines loudly as he or she kneads the dough.”

Victoria couldn’t help it; she fell into heaps of laughter. “You are making that up!”

William raised his hands in a gesture of self-defense. “God’s honest truth.”

Victoria turned around fully, leaning her hips against the table, her breasts brushing against the front of William’s shirt, and raised her face to his. “Would you like me to moan then?”

William’s eyes drifted to her mouth and then returned to her eyes. “If I wanted you to moan, baking bread would not be the activity I’d select.”

Victoria’s heart slammed into her chest with such a force that she was certain William could see it. Her breaths grew shallow, and all she could do was just stare at him as heat pooled low in her belly, and her entire body trembled with anticipation.

He cleared his throat. “I should prepare the oven.” And then he walked away, taking his heat and strength with him, leaving Victoria weak in the knees and almost collapsing to the floor.

* * *

William was hard as a rock. A bead of perspiration was moving down his forehead, and he wiped it away with the sleeve of his shirt. He washed his hands in a basin and wiped them clean before readjusting himself in his breeches and walking toward the oven.

Being so close to Victoria, smelling her scent, feeling her rump against his cock, her fingers on his skin, and not being able to kiss her, envelope her in an embrace, raise her skirt, and plunge into her was driving him insane.

And he wouldn’t change a moment of it.

If this was what it took to be near her, he’d take it in a heartbeat. Even if he couldn’t relieve himself in the shadows of the night. Even if he was forced to endure this torment every waking moment of every single day. He wouldn’t trade it for anything.

He took a few deep breaths to calm his mind and body before getting the oven ready for bread.

By the time he had prepared everything, Victoria’s dough was ready.

It didn’t have perfect consistency, but it was her first time, and for a pampered princess who hadn’t seen what yeast looked like in its raw form until this day, he’d say she did quite well.

William found himself feeling a sense of pride not only for her accomplishment but for her attitude through it all.

She wasn’t receptive toward him during their first days together at all, but she took every hardship in stride, slowly but quietly making this tower into her home.

Little by little he started seeing the Victoria he had fallen in love with. The woman he saw himself spending the rest of his life with. Whether they traveled uncharted roads, hid out in the tower, or lived in a gilded mansion, she was the woman he wanted to have beside him.

She could make him laugh in the most difficult of times, and they could spend hours talking about anything and everything. Life with Victoria would never be boring.

If, of course, she learned to accept him for who he was.

As the table was cleaned and the bread was in the oven, Victoria took off her apron and hung it on the wall beside the hearth.

“How long should we wait for it to bake?” she asked, hands on her hips, lips pursed, looking solemn. And yet a smudge of flour adorably dotted her nose.

He walked toward her with a wry smile on his lips. “About an hour.”

He reached out and she leaned back, confusion in her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“You’ve got a little something…” He gestured at her nose. “Here, let me help.”