Sophia considered the two piles of clothes she’d removed from her trunks. One was another somber set of widow’s weeds that belonged to her aunt. The other was a lovely powder-blue silk gown.
She chewed her lip as she considered the blue gown. It would be more appropriate for dining, even if they were taking the meal in their room. And Kendal had made it a point to note he didn’t much care for widows.
She ought not to care for his preferences, but despite what she’d said about not wishing to marry him, she could not deny her attraction. It was ever-present, a constant companion to her thoughts—the bemused smirk on his lips, the way his dark eyes seemed to carry a dangerous glint. The memory of that kiss.
There had been a moment when she was bathing that she knew he was likely taking off his wet clothing and changing into dry attire. She had not been able to stop the wicked thought that they were naked in the same room together. The realization had left a warm pulse between her legs and her skin oversensitive. Just like his kiss had.
And anyway, the blue gown fastened at the front, which made for easier dressing. The latter reason was why she’d finally reached for the neat pile of powder-blue silk.
Or so she told herself.
She pulled the chemise from the pile first, letting it fall over her. The soft linen was cool against her now warm skin. It felt glorious to be clean, truly scrubbed clean, after so many days of being in the carriage. While getting caught did not solve her problem of facing an unwanted marriage, not having to run anymore did assuage the urgency of constantly looking behind her back.
She didn’t bother with stays as she could not properly tie them on her own. Instead, she drew on her petticoats and finally the silk gown, working at the buttons along her bosom. It was a bit of a snug fit without her stays, but it would do.
No sooner had she secured the final button than a soft rap came at the door, followed by the murmur of voices and the savory scent of hot food.
Her mouth watered and her stomach issued forth an angry growl. It had been hours since she’d eaten.
“Either you’ve got a small dog with a foul disposition back there with you,” Kendal said in that slow, smooth way he spoke, “or you’re nearly starving. Are you quite done?”
She hastily combed her wet hair and hesitated, unsure what to do with the heavy mass. Even if she were to braid it, her tresses would never be dry by morning. Too hungry to worry about it, she left it unbound.
“It was a small dog with a foul disposition,” she said airily as she emerged from behind the screen. “A lady would never make such noises, no matter how hungry she was.”
Kendal sat elegantly dressed in fresh attire with his jacket buttoned formally. Before him was a table laden with food. Fillets of fish, a venison roast, steamed asparagus, some sort of white soup, and an assortment of tea cakes and breads.
Her mouth watered.
He glanced at her, then did a double-take, and stared at her with obvious appreciation. Heat burned in her cheeks, making her suddenly shy.
“I can’t put my hair up until it’s dry.” She pushed the heaviness of it behind her shoulders and immediately regretted the action as the silk at her back grew damp.
“No weeds.” He shifted in his seat, looking to be in a bit of discomfort.
A strange thing when the chairs appeared to be thickly padded.
“It seemed foolish to wear them when we both know I’m no widow, and I know you don’t—” She almost said that she knew he didn’t care for them but stopped herself. What good would come of Kendal thinking she had considered his preferences?
Not that it mattered. His eyes narrowed in that perceptible way they did. He knew.
“That I don’t like widows.” His mouth twitched into a slight smile, perhaps the biggest she’d seen thus far. “How thoughtful of you.”
She sank into the chair and found it was indeed comfortable. “I see you’ve ordered quite the feast.”
“You aren’t the only one who is nearly starving.” He shifted the soup in front of himself and lifted a spoon.
Sophia did likewise, taking the first delicate sip from her spoon. The taste exploded with the most exquisite creaminess. Exactly the way white soup ought to be. After the soup had been finished, Kendal cut a slice of venison and put it on a small plate for her.
“I confess, I’m rather curious how you thought you might pull off setting up a whisky distillery?” He arched a brow at her as he went about slicing a bit of meat for himself.
“I was going to pay someone to teach me.” It wasn’t much of a plan, and she knew it.
“With your jewelry.”
She nodded. “I had a necklace in particular…” Her voice trailed off. There was no sense in going into it. He would perhaps just think her a naïve ninny.
He tilted his head for her explain, but when she did not, he continued, “And what of the excisemen?”
“Excisemen?” She slid a forkful of venison in her mouth and practically sighed with pleasure as she had accidentally done in the bath. The meat was tender, but the crust on it was crisp and salty.
Lord Kendal held his fork perched in his hand with a bemused expression. “Excisemen are the ones who locate whisky runners and punish them.”
Sophia swallowed the mouthful of venison. “Punish them?”
“Of course.” He shrugged. “It is smuggling whisky, after all.”
She frowned. He hadn’t explained any of this previously.
“How would one be punished for smuggling whisky?” she asked in a voice she wished could be more confident.
“Any number of ways.” He took a bite of meat and thoughtfully chewed before answering, “You could get lucky and pay him off with one of your fine bracelets or necklaces. You could be arrested and heavily fined. Or you could be hanged.”
“Hanged?” Her fork clattered to the plate.
“You’re stealing from the crown by smuggling whisky and not paying the heavy taxes, which is stealing from the king. It’s treason.” He scooped a bit of trout and held it out to her. “Fish?”
She shook her head absently, no longer hungry.
Her options now were marriage or the prospect of being hanged.
Lovely.
How had she found herself in such a predicament?
“And there is one more thing.” He pushed to his feet and strode across the room to the small table near the wall. When he returned, he had a crystal decanter in his hands filled with amber liquid.
He set it on the table with an audible thunk. “Have you ever even tried whisky?”
9
The decanter of whisky sat between Kendal and Sophia like a barrier. And, in a manner of ways, it was.
She looked from the bottle to Kendal, her blue eyes wide.
“Have you ever tried whisky?” he repeated.
A flush colored her cheeks. “Of course, I have not. I’m a lady.”
He chuckled. “Do not sound so indignant, Lady Sophia, lest I remind you that you’ve been without the benefit of a chaperone for nearly a sennight and are currently sharing quarters with a man who is not your husband.” He lifted the stopper off the cut crystal with a soft clink. “Yet.”
The pale blue silk she wore strained at the buttons over her bosom, and the telltale pebbling of her nipples informed him she was without her stays once more. His thumb yearned to brush over the glossy fabric, teasing those little peaks into pleasure.