First came artful decorating with candles. A vase of fresh flowers here, a vase of fresh flowers there. Then he got rid of the excess candles, because they were too much. Then the flowers looked like too much, so he got rid of those, too. Then it wasn’t enough, and he was forced to buy more flowers and prepare a few candles after all.
The problem wasn’t the room. The problem was Reuben. Beneath his rakish veneer, he was nothing more than an idle, lonely bookworm, whose idea of scintillating conversation was to blurt out aspects of Greek historical influence before he’d even imbibed his ale. Of course an intelligent woman like Gladys would run away from the real him.
He would pretend to be whatever it took for her to give him a few more precious moments of her time. If only he knew what that was.
By the time she finally knocked on his door, Reuben was no longer sure his shoes were even on the right feet. After sending away his valet for privacy, Reuben had immediately repented. In the past hour, he’d dressed and undressed and redressed twelvefold, redoing his cravat and his coiffure every time. He and his rented rooms were as clean and presentable as possible, giving an air somewhere between Don’t worry, this is definitely not a seduction and But of course it can become one in an instant, if a seduction is what you want.
“Good afternoon,” he said breathlessly as he answered the door.
The breathlessness was not because he’d sprinted at top speed across the room the very second her knuckles touched the wood door panel, although that was exactly what he had done.
The breathlessness was because he always forgot to breathe whenever he looked at her.
Gladys did not have the least air of frantic costumery. She looked calm and collected and utterly captivating in a simple gown of pale rose sprigged muslin, with her hair gathered behind her head and only a single brown tendril framing half of her captivating face.
One of her dark eyebrows lifted with amusement. “And a fine afternoon to you, good sir. Am I interrupting something?”
“What? No, I... Come in, come in.” He stepped aside and welcomed her into the small parlor.
After much deliberation, he’d left the door to his bedchamber shut tight. Closing it off made the available space seem even smaller, but at least for the moment, the look he was going for was cozy, not mouth of the dragon.
He motioned her over to the sofa, armchairs and tea table, upon which latter object stood a covered dish, two place settings, and a pair of crystal wine glasses.
“Wine?” she asked. “I thought you promised ale.”
“I have ale if you want it,” he said quickly, “but I fear toasted barley won’t go as well with fresh pudding as an inch or two of fine port.”
She took her seat, and set her infernal hourglass atop the table. “I do like port. And pudding. Where did you get it?”
“From the very best chef in the region,” he assured her.
“The pudding competition?” she guessed. “Who won it this year?”
“I didn’t catch her name,” he admitted and started to take his seat.
An odd look flashed across Gladys’s face.
He paused. “If you’re not peckish, we can jump straight into cards?”
Her face smoothed. “I’d have to be dead not to have room for pudding.”
Relieved, he reached for a serving spoon and scooped a portion of hot, crumbly pudding onto each of their plates. After pouring a bit of port into each crystal goblet, he lifted his glass toward hers. “To good wine, good food, and a good game.”
She touched the lip of her glass to his, then sipped her port. “Mm, this is quite decadent.”
“From my private collection,” he confessed. “Some things, one cannot leave up to the cellar of one’s inn.”
She sent him a considering look. “Do you always travel with your private wine collection, or is this a special occasion?”
“I… might have picked out the best bottle I could find during my jaunt back to London in search of your book.”
Her lips twitched. “You did a fine job.”
“Thank you.” He picked up his fork. “Try your pudding.”
She scooped some up obediently. When she placed it into her mouth, the euphoric look upon her face was reminiscent of rapturous expressions Reuben had only ever previously seen in bedchambers. Even her eyes fluttered closed in ecstasy.
“No wonder this won,” she said in awe. “This pudding is better than opium.”
