“It has a sharp finish,” she admitted, pulling her attention to the whisky rather than Kendal’s mouth. “But I find myself warming to it.”
For it was genuinely warming her from the inside out. So much so, she almost forgot the damp silk at her back where her hair had soaked the fine fabric.
The skin around his eyes tightened and he regarded her as if he meant to study her.
Heat effused her cheeks at being observed so keenly. “Why are you staring at me?”
“I’m attempting to figure you out, Lady Sophia.” He took another sip of his whisky.
It wasn’t the first time she’d heard a man say that. Regardless, she gave her usual response, “How so?”
“You pretended to be a widow to escape to the wilds of Scotland—where you’ve never been—to create an alcohol you’ve never even tasted and live off its earnings like a common merchant.” His brow furrowed. “All to avoid marriage.”
She scoffed. “Have you met Mr. Mongerton?”
“I have indeed had the displeasure of an introduction.” He cringed.
The older man’s image welled in her mind like a nightmare. Gray and white hair slicked back from his fleshy face. That scowl he always wore. The disconcerting way his eyes glided over her body.
She didn’t bother to suppress her shudder. “Then you can understand why I ran.”
“Partially.” He drank from his glass and held the liquor in his mouth for a long moment before swallowing.
Suddenly, it occurred to her he was referring to himself. After all, she had run from him as well. Twice, in fact. Nearly three times.
A hot blush stole down her cheeks to her chest. “It’s not always the man. Sometimes it’s the circumstance.”
“Meaning marriage.”
She nodded. “I’m far too stubborn. Whatever poor man I end up wedded to would doubtless be driven mad. I’ve never been one for conforming to the rules, you see. I’m surprised my father honestly thought that I would abide by his wishes to marry Mr. Mongerton.” She tried to feign innocence. “Really, he ought to have known what I was planning.”
“Yes, I’m sure he ought to have readily deduced your plans.” Mirth danced in Kendal’s eyes.
She chuckled at the ridiculousness of her father even fathoming that she would set up a whisky distillery and sipped from her glass. It still burned as it went down. Perhaps it always would. Perhaps that was why men liked it, for the heat that scorched her throat, then bled throughout her body and left all of her languid with gentle, pleasant comfort.
“Why don’t you like rules?” Kendal put his chin on his fist, staring at her openly now. “Why be so stubborn?” He cocked a brow. “Why run?”
She had the sudden temptation to trail her fingertips over the whiskers prickling over his jaw, letting them rasp against the sensitivity of her skin as she came to the cleft at the point of his chin. His brows were thick and gave him a brooding, sullen look that could easily change into a shrewd expression, which made her feel as though he saw straight into her soul.
He really was handsome.
“You may think my reasoning is ridiculous,” she admitted.
“I can’t decide until I know.” He smirked.
“My mother…” Her voice caught on the last word. It had been ages since she’d even said it. She cleared her throat and tried again. “You know she perished some years ago.”
The mirth immediately fled his eyes, leaving his face solemn as he nodded.
“It was cholera.” Grief squeezed its way into her chest, occupying the entire space of her heart. “My younger twin siblings died with her, George and Julia. They were only three.”
It was too easy even now to recall how they’d smile up at her with matching green eyes when she pushed their blond curls from their sweet, smiling faces. Sophia and all her siblings had been close when they were young, but the twins had always loved her best, running toward her on stout legs, their dimpled fingers stretching for her amid squeals of delight.
But those weren’t the only memories to surface. Their small bodies in matching coffins tore forefront in her thoughts; the two so still for children who had never stopped moving in life.
A tear spilled over Sophia’s cheek before she even knew it was there. She wiped at her face and took a drink of her whisky. “Forgive me.”
“You don’t need to apologize for such things,” Kendal said softly.
“They were too young.” Sophia sniffed, not caring if it was ladylike or not. “I was only nine, but I made a promise to them that day, my precious brother and sister whose lives were cut far too short. I swore to live my life to the fullest, not only for myself but also for them.” She dabbed at her eye with her handkerchief and regarded Kendal. “That’s what I’ve done and I won’t regret even one moment.”
His expressive brows furrowed. “That’s the best reason for anything I’ve ever heard.” He frowned slightly. “You think marriage will be more rules, don’t you?”
She chuckled, grateful to be done with such a painful admission. “Won’t it?”
“I think it depends on who you wed,” he replied thoughtfully.
“Oh?”
“Mmmmm,” he hummed.
“Would you be a good husband?” Her voice sounded strange to her ears. Too thick, the words blending into one another.
“I wouldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t wish to.” His eyes locked on her with sincerity.
Or was it determination?
She reached out before she could stop herself and let her palm skim over the coarse hair at his jaw. “Even marrying you?”
Without giving him the chance to reply, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
10
Kendal wanted nothing more than to scoop Sophia into his lap and kiss her until they were both panting for breath. Her hands cupped his face, holding him closer to her as her mouth moved over his.
The sensual, citrusy scent of her bath oil surrounded him like an embrace, making him linger over the kiss longer than he should have.
For as much as he yearned to draw her against him and show her what a true kiss could be, he could not—in good conscience—continue to do so. Not when only moments before, she had begun slightly slurring her words.
He drew back, heart pounding, cock aching.
She leaned toward him, reaching for him, but he shook his head.
“Then dance with me.” She stood up and held out her hand to him.
He lifted a brow. “I’m not one for dancing. Remember, I’m quite boring.”
“But you’re not.” She smiled coquettishly at him. “You’re wonderfully fascinating.” Her hand waved in the air, encouraging him to stand. “Come, twirl with me. Live your life to its fullest.”
He regarded her from where he sat. “I assure you, I am.”
“I assure you, you are not.” She pulled him to his feet.
He didn’t struggle, lest she tip over, but nor did he bother to unbutton his jacket. Not when his desire was entirely evident. He held out his hands, palms up in demonstration. “Are you pleased?”
She laughed, a happy, tinkling sound with a giddiness that could only be produced by alcohol consumed in great quantities. At least until the aftereffects took hold. It was merely a matter of time before she learned that lesson about whisky.