Oh, it was sweet on my tongue! Syrupy and thick, with a sweet cherry taste and a hint of cinnamon and cardamon.
Mr. Nightshade was watching me with those strange, dark eyes.
The ratafia was so tasty that it went down quicker than I wanted, and then it seemed no problem at all to drink the next one he poured for me, too.
After all, I was here with my guardian. And after two glasses of ratafia, even the rather tough old bird they had served us seemed almost edible.
“I suppose you would like me to find you a husband,” Mr. Nightshade said.
I flushed but set my chin defiantly.
“I can find myownhusband.”
“Oh, can you?”
There was a malicious little light in his eye that made me want to prove him wrong. But I was uncomfortably conscious that my reactions to him weren’t what they ought to be. I was far too conscious of the motion of each tanned finger as he gripped his knife and fork, of the way each bite made the strong columns of his throat move. And he was my guardian, too! It was all most improper so I had to put it out of my mind.
“I can take care of myself. But any assistance from my guardian is of course welcome,” I added belatedly.
“And how exactly am I supposed to marry off a penniless orphan girl?”
“I have other qualities!” I protested, taking another delicious cherry sip of my third glass of ratafia. “I am–good at running a household.”
“But do you know how to please a man?”
For some reason, his question made me giggle, and the more I tried to stifle my laughter, the more came out.
“Aremen hard to please?”
My own response struck me as very funny, too, and my guardian’s head was cocked, a little smile tugging at his lips. So itwasfunny. AndIwas funny.
I felt bubbles of joy bursting out of me, and I felt warm, my cheeks flushing as I removed the black netting from around my face.
“Yes,” he said. “Men are very hard to please.”
“Well, then, whatdothey want?” I asked before reflecting on if this was prudent.
Well, surely it was prudent. Who was a more proper person to ask?
Mr. Nightshade looked sternly at me.
“I suppose you’re wanting me to show you how to please a man.”
“N-no, of course not!”
I felt embarrassed at the misunderstanding.
“That’s not w-what I meant,” I said, stumbling over my words.
“Isn’t it?” he asked coolly, and I felt my skin flush with a heat that wasn’t entirely embarrassment.
WhathadI meant?
“Men don’t like virgins,” Mr. Nightshade snorted. “Virgin cunny is very tight and unpleasant. They want women who know what they are doing. And I suppose you are not one.”
And somehow it seemed like such a ridiculous thing to be, avirgin.
“I’mnota virgin,” I said, taking another gulp of my drink and then trying to change the topic.
