“I don’t recall drinking much of it, but I can already assure you I’d like it more laced with whiskey.”
She waited until he took the cup, then stepped toward the mantel, running her fingers along its length, snaking her hand back behind picture frames and figurines. After finding what she sought, she pulled out a small key and strode to a polished bureau in the corner.
“Aunt Cassandra keeps the spirits here,” she said quietly. Then turned to him and lowered her voice even more. “She wrote to me about it in one of her letters. Apparently, Drummond was drinking her dry every time she refilled the decanters.”
James imagined the surly Mr. Drummond on a few drams of Scotch and couldn’t decide it if would make the old man kinder or more ill-tempered.
“I think this one’s whiskey.” She held up a decanterand the contents glowed like molten amber in the firelight.
“You’ve never tasted whiskey?”
“Not yet.” She eyed the bottle as she approached, then took a seat and bit into a biscuit.
James followed suit, shocked to find the buttery, iced confection tasted liked cinnamon. Sugar. Spice. A bit like the lady whose nearness he’d come to crave. He busied himself taking up his teacup, if only to keep her from noticing the rebellious turn of his thoughts.
“Oh my goodness.” She giggled, then broke into outright laughter.
When he looked at her questioningly, she sat her teacup and plate down and rose from her chair. She reached a hand toward him, and he found himself leaning in for her touch.
“Just there. You have a bit of icing.”
He sensed it instantly but hesitated. Then he swiped at the wrong side of his mouth.
Lucy moved closer. “Other side.”
“Here?” He pointed in the general direction where he could feel something at the edge of his mouth. From the moment she’d walked into the room, he’d wanted to touch her. But even better if she touched him.
Clever woman that she was, she narrowed her gaze, hesitated, and then leaned in with a knowing smile. She ran her finger across the edge of his mouth, collecting the icing on the tip.
“Here. You see?” Drawing her finger back, Lucy seemed to be on the verge of licking at the sweetness herself. Then she noticed his rapt attention and lifted her icing-tipped finger out to him.
“Would you like it?”
He would have taken anything she offered in that moment. But he could see the flash of doubt in her eyes. As if she yearned to be comfortable with flirtation but wasn’t. At least not yet.
James leaned forward and took the tip of her finger between his lips. Her own lips parted. Lush and full. They’d flushed a rosy shade that made him long to run his tongue along the seam.
He pulled her finger in a little further with his tongue, sucking on it gently.
Lucy licked her lips and withdrew her finger slowly. She pressed her hand into her lap and lowered her eyes.
“Delicious,” he told her quietly.
She looked up at him wide-eyed, breathless, as overcome by the power of what was between them as he was.
“Shall we read?” she whispered shakily. “That is, shall I read to you? Aloud. To both of us. Or I could just tell you a bit about the book I’m reading.”
“I’d like that.” It was either settle for listening to her talk about her book, or haul her over his shoulder and take her upstairs. Though he doubted he’d make it two steps before alerting the ever-watchful Mrs. Fox.
She turned back to the hefty tome she’d discarded.
“Would you like some whiskey?” he asked once she’d gotten settled in the chair by the fire again. “You mentioned that you’ve never had any.”
His hand shook slightly as he lifted the decanter and filled his tumbler. Resisting what she sparked in him was challenging his self-control.
“I don’t think I should.” She eyed his glass, flicked her gaze to his lips and then down at her book again.
James smiled and settled back in his chair. “You never told me the title.”
