Nick arched a mocking brow. “I did put that very suggestion to her, as it happens, and was informed that doctors are charlatans and quacks, and if I call one she will write me out of her will. Not that I would find that event such a tragedy, but it is the sentiment that counts, I suppose. She seemed to rally well enough to offer a few other choice words about impertinent young relations before she kicked me out.”
“So she isn’t really ill?”
Nick gave an ironic shrug. “No more than usual. Mostly I suspect she doesn’t want to be put to the bother of dressing for dinner.”
He watched Emma’s pretty pink lips part on a relieved laugh, the vivid blue of her eyes sparkling like sunlight over a lake. He gazed into them for a long moment before forcing himself to turn away and walk toward the liquor cabinet.
“A glass of wine before we go in?” he offered. “Symms decanted a rather excellent Madeira this afternoon.”
Her smile widened in a way that made him wonder if wine was something she wasn’t offered very often. He supposed given her age and former occupation that she didn’t have much occasion to drink.
“Yes, please,” she said enthusiastically, bouncing on the toes of her slippers.
He nearly laughed at her obvious delight, struck by how beautiful she looked this evening. She wore a simple yet elegant gown of ecru satin, her golden tresses pinned neatly at her nape, a single pearl hanging from a gold chain around her throat.
He couldn’t help but be glad he would have her all to himself tonight. So far she had proven to be amazingly enjoyable company. More than enjoyable, he realized, remembering their lively and unexpected game of darts that afternoon. He didn’t even mind that he had lost his bet.
Pouring drafts for them both, he returned to her side and handed her a glass.
The wine was a deep shade of ruby, one that complemented the rosy pink of her mouth as she took an eager swallow. His gaze lingered, watching as the tip of her tongue darted out to catch an errant drop. Her lips glistened and he wondered how they would taste, wet with wine.
“Careful there,” he murmured. “You haven’t had any dinner. That will go straight to your head.”
She arched a pale eyebrow and met his gaze. “Considering the hearty fare I consumed at the public house, I don’t believe there is much cause for worry.”
He shrugged. “Even so, I would advise taking that in slow sips.”
With an almost minxish defiance, she took another enthusiastic swallow.
“Don’t blame me if you turn up foxed,” he warned with a wry smile.
She paused, cocking her head as if the term was not familiar. “Do you mean inebriated?”
“I do, yes,” he said, even more amused than before.
“Well, I won’t,” she promised gamely. “Get foxed, that is. As for the blame…”
The words trailed off between them. As they did, blood began to warm his veins, the luscious fragrance of lilacs and honey teasing his nose. Her scent reminded him of spring sunshine and garden breezes, light and effervescent and so intoxicating he imagined her slightest touch would leave him feeling drunk.
How easy it would be to lean closer, he thought. How simple to press my mouth to hers and sample what is sure to be pure delight.
Instead, he resisted, reminding himself that she was a guest under his protection—an innocent who wasn’t wise to the intimate and deeply pleasurable games of desire.
He took a measured drink from his glass.
A light tap came at the door and he looked across to find the butler standing in the doorway. “Dinner is ready, my lord.”
“Thank you, Symms. Shall we?” he said, offering his arm to Emma.
Companionably, the two of them strolled to the dining room.
Rather than be seated at opposite ends of the long mahogany table, Nick had asked for places to be laid next to each other. Emma sat on his right, the Madeira removed and replaced by a fresh vintage that paired better with the first course—a creamy oyster bisque.
He watched as she sampled the new wine. “Good?”
“Oh yes. This one is even better than the first.”
“Eat,” he urged, dipping his spoon into the bowl of gently steaming soup that had been laid before him.
She did as commanded with her own bowl, her expression clearly conveying her approval of his cook’s effort. “Oyster bisque. One of my favorites. How did you know I love oysters?”
“A lucky happenstance. They are one of my favorites as well.” He ate a mouthful of the succulent broth and decided not to mention the shellfish’s reputation as an aphrodisiac. “So what else is a favorite of yours?” he asked instead.
“Oh, any number of things.”