“I’d like to do it again,” he said honestly. “But that’s a terrible idea. Most likely, so is this.” He handed her the package.
“Oof.” She settled the heavy cylinder between her thighs. “What is this?”
“A quarter gallon of refined libation,” he said with a straight face. “Using the same methodology for liquid measure as the half peck for dry.”
“Horrid scamp,” she scolded him. “Now I’m more interested in weighing it than unwrapping it.”
A maid appeared in the doorway.
“Thank God.” Cole motioned her over. “You must chaperone us.”
Diana lifted a finger to stall the maid. “But first, fetch me my basket of scales, Betty.”
“Wait—what?” Cole stammered, but the chit was already gone.
Diana grinned at him. “She’ll be back, don’t worry. Besides, I’m rubbish at waiting to open presents.”
She pulled the twine off the package and slid the contents from its brown paper wrapping. Her laughing eyes met his. “A miniature beer barrel?”
He attached the tap. “A beer barrel full of—”
“Shh,” she scolded. “You’ll ruin the surprise.”
As she reached for a bell pull, a footman arrived with a small tea tray.
“You are a prince among men,” Diana informed the footman, then ignored the kettle in order to pour ale into two of the teacups.
Cole cleared his throat. “I have a plethora of personalized mugs out in the carriage.”
She placed a frothy teacup and a small cake upon a saucer and handed the set to Cole.
He accepted the offering.
“If this is meant to dissuade me from taking advantage of handsome dukes in empty gardens, you’re doing a terrible job,” she warned him.
“Perhaps it’s meant to dissuade you fromotherdukes,” he suggested. “Has any of those henwits brought you ale he brewed himself?”
“Yourale?” she exclaimed in delight. “Fresh from theWicked Duke?”
“Scandalously so,” he assured her. “Do feel free to comment upon the flavor balance’s obvious superiority to the swill offered in every other tavern.”
She lowered her head to the teacup and inhaled deeply. “I hope your kitchen staff took my suggestion on barley.”
“You’ve spoken to my staff? Wait—you’ve been in my tavern?” He gaped at her in disbelief. “Have you already tried my new beer?”
“It’s a fine gift,” she assured him. “And exceptional beer. I have not had the pleasure, and am thrilled indeed to rectify that lack.”
“Good,” he said. “It’s the spoonful of sugar to sweeten what I came here to say.”
She added another dollop of ale to her teacup. “I’m listening. I promise.”
“I do not regret last night,” he began.
“Thank heavens.” She glanced up. “I would hate to waste such good beer by tossing it in your face.”
“But,” he pressed on, “I believe honesty is the only policy, so I must be clear about my intentions.”
“You haven’t any. Neither do I.” She took a sip of ale. “I thought we covered this last night.”
