“The Scottish have been making some form of whisky since—”
“The fifteenth century.” She tilted the bottle toward one of the short glasses. “May I?”
“By all means. Did you enjoy painting earlier?”
“I’ve no talent at all.”
“I’m quite aware of that, but did you enjoy it?” He lifted one of the glasses she’d poured.
Charley lifted the other. “I might have if I had been spared an audience.”
“Let’s toast.” He stopped her before she could lift it to her mouth. “To our marriage.”
“Acquaintance,” she countered.
“Betrothal,” he persisted.
“Friendship.” She wanted to laugh.
“Courtship.”
If she wasn’t careful, this man could wear her down. “Fake courtship.”
He shook his head but clinked his glass lightly against hers. “To all of those.”
Wanting to correct him but unwilling to delay tasting the drink in her hand, Charley lifted the glass and tilted it against her lips.
It was dry, woodsy, and very smoky. She swallowed and it burned more than she’d expected.
“What do you think?” He studied her over the rim of his glass, making her wonder if the warmth in her chest and belly was only from the scotch.
Unnerved, she sipped from her glass a second time before answering. “It reminds me of my grandfather. He wasn’t a very pleasant man, but he had character. In spades. I think he only washed once every few weeks and his hands were rough and calloused. He was strong, purpose driven, and he always smelled of tobacco.” She tipped the last few drops into her mouth. “He frightened me a little.”
“But you loved him.”
“I did.”
Julian leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes at her thoughtfully. “I do believe this is going to be more interesting than I first imagined.”
“What do you think of it?”
He lifted a pitcher of water and poured enough into each of their glasses to rinse them out and then poured the water into a bucket on the floor beside him. “I cannot improve on your description.”
“You don’t have to open another one,” Charley protested half-heartedly just before he broke the seal on a second bottle.
“I know of a few gentlemen who will be more than happy to assist me in finishing these bottles later on.”
“Lord Chaswick? I cannot keep all of them straight. You all seem to have known one another for some time.”
“We went to school together. Living away from home at such an impressionable age, the six of us found it easier to survive together—eventually eight of us, if you include Peter Spencer and Major Lord Lucas. At one point, we considered ourselves something of a gang.”
“Did you give your gang a name?”
“We did not.”
“The Cocksure Gents,” she suggested without thinking.
He cocked one eyebrow and gave her a half smile.
