“Stop it!”
“I mean it. They are thick as thieves. You know, girls are more dangerous with their tongues than most men with a sword.”
“She doesn’t look dangerous,” Sebastian muttered as he cocked his head. Even though his neck was stiff and his sinuses irritated, he wasn’t too sick to appreciate the beautiful young woman across the room.
“Can you sit with her and behave like a gentleman?” Thomas asked, setting his glass down. “This is a celebratory dinner after all.”
But Sebastian moved. He was nothingif not dutiful. With practiced ease—and an uncomfortable awareness of just how tight his trousers suddenly felt—he approached her.
She hadn’t said a word to him, and honestly, that might’ve been a mercy. He deserved her silence after the sneezing incident. And the ogling.
But she was looking right at him now. Eyes sharp, lips soft, dress sinful.
With a bow—perhaps a touch too graceful—he pulled out the chair for her, fingers brushing the velvet fabric as he guided it into place.
He accepted his wine, though he would’ve traded it for a pint of ale and the blessed relief of distance. But he peeked at her lips again.
And regretted it immediately.
They were glistening. Crimson. Wicked.
“Do you like Chablis, Miss Madeleine?”
“Not particularly, my lord.” She took a sip, her lips wet with the sheen from the wine.
Sebastian had never wanted to be wine before.
He cleared his throat and adjusted the napkin over his lap. “Please. Call me Sebastian. And shall we call a truce?”
“You mean because our first and second meetings were less than stellar?”
He exhaled. “Yes.”
“Very well.” She studied him. “Chablis. Is it one of your favorites?” she asked, and her tongue caught a drop of wine.
Sebastian forgot how to breathe.
He’d seen plenty of women drink wine. None had ever made it look like foreplay.
“Chablis is made from Chardonnay grapes in northern Burgundy. A waste of the grape, if you ask me.”
He blinked. She wasn’t just lovely. She was clever. And opinionated.
“You are a connoisseur, then?”
“Hardly.” She set the glass precisely beside the water goblet.
“The Kimmeridgian limestone gives it its pale color and green apple acidity, with a hint of…” She licked her lips again. “Salinity.”
Sebastian took a large gulp and nearly choked. “Too steely for me.”
“That depends on the barrel. If it’s aged in oak, it has a fresher finish.” She blinked at him with slow, devastating lashes.
He was going to have a fresher finish if this went on. Right here. At dinner. All the more reason to go to his chambers, curl up under a blanket, and avoid polite society.
But something about Miss Madeleine made him want to be not so polite. Not rude, of course. Kind. Loving. Gentle. Slow at first, but then harder…argh!
Her collarbones glowed like porcelain beneath lace, and the pearl resting there looked criminally lucky. He wanted to kiss that spot. Wanted to press his mouth there and hear her gasp.
