Gentle readers, could someone please explain why the Scots can’t spell?
It is whiskey not whisky.
Egad! Even the Americans know how to spell it correctly,
though the sad sops make it out of corn,
then call it bourbon.
Fair and honest reporting as always,
The Midnight Cryer
Will escorted Thea from the park into a side entrance of Langham Hall, then through a corridor she’d never seen. When they entered a dark stairwell going down, he preceded her, but took her hand in his.
“Where are you taking me?” Her heart pounded in excitement. There was something forbidden and exhilarating in the adventure, and she was impatient to follow him.
“A secret place that hardly anyone ever visits. Pitts comes down here on occasion. He and I are the only ones who know the location of the key.” He led her down a hallway lit by two wall sconces. He stretched and reached to the top of a doorjamb where he retrieved an iron key. Will made quick work of opening the door, then swept his hand in front of him, inviting her to proceed.
When she walked into the room, darkness surrounded her. She turned and bumped into Will.
“Careful.” His hands brushed down the sides of her arms to steady her, and she shivered at his sinfully dark voice. When she moved to step away, he pulled her near. “Stay close for a minute. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Pitts has been known to leave things on the floor.”
In seconds, the soft glow from a candle lit the room. She found herself in a small area much like an alcove. Two comfy-looking wingchairs stood guard beside a small table. Behind the cozy sitting area was a massive table where bottles of what appeared to be liquor stood in an orderly fashion. Behind the table stood barrels stacked one on top of another, forming a wall of wooden casks.
“What is this place?” she whispered.
He chuckled. “It’s the whisky room. My father stores his vast collection of Scottish whisky, Irish whiskey, and French brandies here. It’s his one true indulgence. My great-grandfather started this collection, and my father has kept up the tradition.”
“It’s impressive. How do you know where to find the key?”
He leaned close as if divulging a great secret. “Besides Aunt Stella, I’m one of Pitts’s favorites too.”
That he was a favorite of those two didn’t surprise her in the least. He was easily one of the most captivating men she’d ever met. A smile tugged at her lips. Of course, she hadn’t met many men, but she had a hard time believing that anyone could outshine his brightness. Even Lord Grayson, Mr. Farris, or Lord Honeycutt couldn’t hold a candle to Will.
Seemingly nonplussed with her smile, he continued, “Claire’s mother’s family was known for producing some of the finest Scottish whisky to ever come out of the lowlands of Scotland. We have two casks.”
He took her hand and led her to the large table behind the seating area. He picked a bottle and poured some of the amber liquid into an elegant but short and stocky leaded crystal glass. “Do you have a distillery on your land in Scotland?”
He propped his hip against the edge, the stance casual and confident. Below the main floor of the house, all sound was absent. Only their voices and breaths broke the silence.
“No. The excise duties were too high for my grandfather’s taste. When he was active in the House of Lords, he regularly argued that Parliament should eliminate such unfair taxes. But it was always to deaf ears.” For emphasis, she leaned closer to whisper, though they were the only ones down there. “There are two large copper stills on my property. Completely illegal. I refuse to have them torn down. I think one of these days Parliament will see the errors of its way.”
A roguish smile beamed across his face. “I’ve never drunk whisky with an outlaw before.”
“There’s a first time for everyone.” She scooted closer and mimicked Will’s lean. Only a hand’s width was between them. With deliberate slowness, she placed her hand over his and moved his hand with the glass to her lips.
His smile changed into a deep and rich rumble of laughter. She wrinkled her nose both from the sound and the medicinal smell of the alcohol. She sipped a small amount of the amber liquid and swished it around in her mouth, savoring the unique taste of peat and malted barley and water. When combined correctly, those three simple ingredients turned into magic.
Thea carefully swallowed and closed her eyes. The liquid warmed her throat all the way down to her stomach. She’d seen grown men take a sip without understanding how to enjoy the drink, then cough their lungs up for not paying proper respect to its potency.
When she opened her eyes, Will stared intently at her.
With an equally deliberate movement, he brought the same glass to his mouth and took a drink.
Thea’s gaze never left his, and her hand still covered his. Her breathing had deepened, and the warmth from the Scotch that had filled her stomach moved lower. Her whole body seemed to thrum with each loud beat of her heart. “Sharing a glass of whisky is akin to a kiss.”
“How so?” He moved just a tad nearer to her.
But it was close enough that the whisky on his breath and his bergamot fragrance combined into a potion she wanted to lose herself in. “Our lips touched the exact same spot on the glass, and our mouths tasted the same whisky.”
“God, Thea, what did my family teach you yesterday? Perhaps I need lessons.” He groaned, and without taking his eyes from hers, he took another swallow.
“Let’s try to share the whisky in another way.” She raked her fingers through his silky hair. The throbbing between her legs grew in strength. She searched his eyes for any hesitation and found none. The intensity of his gaze matched her own yearning for more.
To prolong the moment, she slowly moved her lips to his. In concert, he wrapped his arms around her. The weight of his fingers on the small of her back grounded her, and it felt heavenly. She brushed her lips against his, and she could taste the rich sharp taste of the whisky. Without warning, she licked his lips, delighting in the taste again.
“Where did you learn to do that?” he whispered.
“It’s a requisite part of the whisky lesson,” she crooned against his lips.
“Who exactly is the teacher here?” he asked.
“You’re teaching me how to kiss, and I’m teaching you how to appreciate Scotch whisky.” With her whisper against his lips, she pushed a little harder. In response, he pressed his lips against hers, then parted his mouth slightly. She did the same in return. The tart taste of whisky swirled between them as he gently caressed his tongue with hers. He groaned and pulled her tighter.
She gripped his hair, as the room seemed to spin around them. He released another moan, and the sound vibrated through her chest. In response, her heart knocked against her ribs, desperate to break free.
She sighed in answer, and her kiss grew more frantic. In that moment, she realized she’d never grow tired of his kisses. She’d never grow tired of him. This was what men and women were created for—to share moments like this that threatened to consume them.
“Will.” She gasped for breath and broke away. The smoldering heat in his eyes burned through her. Gently, she kissed him again. “I want more.”
“Whisky?” he grunted.
“You,” she answered.
Without taking his eyes from hers, he put his hands around her waist and sat her on the table. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again. As he returned her kiss, he gently caressed her ribs.
“Touch me,” she begged. She brought his hands to the undersides of her breasts. She arched against him.
With a light and soothing caress, he cupped her gently then gradually increased the pressure of his hands. When she lifted her head, his hot mouth kissed and licked the base of her neck. All the while, he kneaded her breasts through her silk gown and stays, learning what excited her, driving her mad. She cursed that there were so many barriers between them.
She pulled him closer between her legs. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his lean, fit body. When her skirt restricted her movement, she softly growled in frustration. With infinite slowness, Will raised her skirts while never ceasing to kiss her neck, the dip of her shoulder, or her jaw. He drew his mouth across her cheek until he reached the tender spot beneath her ear. He tasted her skin with his tongue then soothed his lips over the same spot.
Finally, with her skirts out of the way, his erection nestled in between the valley of her legs. But it still wasn’t enough. She moaned his name and tilted her hips, desperate to find relief.
When he drew back, they were both panting. She knew something incredible was waiting for her, but she had no idea what it was or how to ask for it. “Please?”
Their gazes caught and the passion they’d created surrounded them, pulling them together. After a long moment, when she thought he might refuse her, he kissed her like he’d never let her go.
“I’ll need to touch here,” he murmured as he ran one hand lightly up her thigh to her nether curls.
Without hesitation and too stunned to say a word aloud, she nodded.
His fingers combed through her curls then drifted down. When his finger touched her there, she mewled a soft approval and leaned into his touch.
“You’re warm. Wet. Soft,” he whispered. The words vibrated between them, and the ache between her legs intensified, demanding attention.
He kissed her again, his tongue possessing hers. She was lost in his touch as his fingers caressed and coaxed more from her. She closed her eyes and curled her toes in her slippers seeking purchase. With a soft moan, she pushed against his fingers, desperate to climb to relief.
“You’re close, Thea. Let go. I won’t let you fall,” he whispered.
Slowly he pushed two fingers inside her while he continued to caress her with his thumb. She sobbed a breath. Wanting relief from this ache, her head fell against his chest. A surge of ice and fire combined, then flew apart inside her. Pleasure rolled in waves through her as she held on to his powerful body, desperate not to shatter into a thousand pieces.
His arms surrounded her. With his mouth against her ear, he repeated her name over and over like a solemn prayer. Never before had she felt so cherished by another.
When her breath came under control, she leaned back and looked into his eyes. He was taking deep breaths as if he’d run an uphill race.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he exhaled. “I’m just trying … trying to calm this tempest we’ve created.”
She searched his face, desperate to understand. “What can I do?”
“You’ve done enough for now.” He closed his eyes and grinned.
Then she understood. “You pleasured me, but I haven’t done the same for you?”
He trailed one finger down her cheek. “Oh, you’ve given me pleasure. The memory of you climaxing in my arms will always give me pleasure.”
“Really? Did you enjoy it?”
He drew nearer and kissed the side of her mouth. “Immensely, Thea.” The sound of her name in his low, gravelly voice sent a thrill through her. “Tomorrow, we stand side by side. I’ll not let the Cryer defeat you.”
Gently, she returned his kiss with one of her own. “I can still taste the whisky.”
“So can I.” He kissed her lips.
She sighed and nuzzled closer to him. “I think I’m going to enjoy being betrothed to you.”
He laughed, and his brilliant blue eyes flashed. “And I with you.”
“Which leads me to one conclusion,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“You’re not to taste whisky with any other woman except me.”
After Will escorted Thea to her room with the excuse she needed to rest before tonight’s soirée, she couldn’t stop thinking about their whisky tasting. Was it always like that with a man?
When they kissed, she felt wonderfully free yet at the same time possessed. She closed her eyes, then ran her hands lightly over her breasts that still tingled from his touch. Her breath hitched when she imagined Will kissing her there, suckling her nipples. She continued the caress down her middle over the soft satin of her dress, slowly trailing her fingers over her hips and thighs, careful not to touch her mound that still throbbed from their passion.
She released a deep sigh, willing her body to behave. She could easily see herself always craving Will’s touch. But it was best to remember that their intimate moment was a mere speck in time that they’d shared when they both needed comfort and let their guard down. It had been lovely that he’d been worried that his friends had upset her. Though neither of them had changed their minds about marriage, his marvelous solution that they pretend to be engaged would solve some of her problems. Instead of focusing on finding a husband, she could concentrate on Ladykyrk and her interview in front of the committee.
Fortune had smiled on her when she met Will. There was no truer friend than he.
A vision of Lord Grayson pushed into her thoughts. Though tall, dark, and if he smiled, handsome, Grayson didn’t have the physical presence Will had. When Will walked into a room, it was as if her body recognized him immediately and practically hummed in appreciation.
But their kissing lesson wasn’t the only thing to capture Thea’s attention this afternoon. To her utter delight, a box that she hadn’t ordered had arrived from Mademoiselle Mignon’s this afternoon with the most exquisite gown and matching slippers she’d ever seen. Consisting of a flowing iridescent silk best described as a subtle coral color, the dress was trimmed with seed pearls. Inside one of the matching slippers was a handwritten note from Stella:
Wear this and you’ll have Lord Howton magically eating out of your hand.
The rest of the day flew by until a knock sounded on her door. When Thea answered, it was Nancy, Stella’s intrepid lady’s maid, who stood ready to help Thea dress for the evening.
Within a half hour, Nancy had transformed Thea once again. Adjusting a few loose curls, Nancy sighed. “This dress makes you glow, my lady.”
The scooped décolletage was low enough to make Thea feel feminine but didn’t overly expose her chest. The capped sleeves perfectly matched the neckline design. With her mother’s diamond ear-drops and pearl necklace, she felt like a countess and a fairy princess all rolled into one.
She checked her appearance in the mirror once more, then swallowed, hoping to tame the butterfly flutters that were currently holding court her stomach. They reminded her that tonight she’d meet several members of the House of Lords and other dignitaries that the Duke and Duchess of Langham had invited on her behalf. A successful evening of swaying opinion to her side held the promise that she’d be victorious in front of the privileges committee.
The guests for tonight’s soirée would start arriving within an hour, and Stella and Lady Edith had commanded she meet them in the family sitting room for a sherry. Thankfully, Thea had quickly learned to maneuver the labyrinth that consisted of Langham Hall, and entered the sitting room where the two grand dames sat chirping like birds over each other’s dresses. When they realized Thea had arrived, they both drew silent.
Lady Edith was the first to stand. “Come here, Thea, and let me see you in the light,” she commanded.
As she approached, Stella rose and stood beside Lady Edith. Both ladies looked Thea up and down.
Stella was the first to break the silence. “You’re lovely, Thea. I knew that color would suit you when we picked it out, but it’s even better than I imagined.”
Lady Edith nodded vigorously. Somehow, her red turban set at a jaunty angle stayed put on her head. “You look like a queen.”
Stella smiled. “How do you feel?”
“Like a countess.” She dipped a deep curtsey, showing her respect. “I have something to tell you.” She’d share what had occurred before she and Will came to an arrangement. Instantly, heat flooded her cheeks as she recalled his tender touch and kisses. “I received a marriage proposal today from one of Will’s friends.”
Edith’s thin white eyebrows shot skyward. “Oh, my. That’s excellent news, isn’t it, Stella?”
“Well done, Thea,” Stella offered. “There’s always more than one way to reel in a fish. Very creative. Who’s the bait?”
“Bait?” This was not the reaction she’d expected. She thought the ladies would have been shocked rather than pleased.
“The one you’re using to reel in William,” Edith answered.
“The Marquess of Grayson,” she said.
“Come, Thea, take this.” Stella held out a glass of sherry. “This is to take the edge off the evening.” Without a hint of consternation, she continued, “Grayson, you say?”
“Grayson is a good man, but poor as a church mouse,” Lady Edith piped up. When she sat down with her glass of sherry, her knees cracked louder than a bolt of thunder. “Must be a storm brewing.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Edith.” Stella winged an eyebrow, then turned her attention to Thea.
Thea took the glass of sherry but didn’t take a sip. She wanted all of her wits about her this evening. She took the chair next to Edith, who sat on the sofa.
Lord Fluff entered the sitting room with his nose held high. He glanced at Edith, then Stella before sauntering over to Thea. He gracefully jumped on the arm of her chair, then sat as if taking his rightful place on his throne.
“Thea, dearest.” Stella strolled over to stand before her. “Good title, but I’m not certain Grayson is the right one for you.”
The hesitation in the grand dame’s voice gave Thea pause. She wasn’t certain either, but the more she thought about it, the clearer it became that she’d made the right choice. Gently, she placed her glass on the side table beside Lord Fluff whose tail had started to flicker in displeasure. Stella reached for her hands, and in response, Thea stood and faced the older woman.
The love and concern in Stella’s eyes touched something deep in Thea’s heart. She squeezed their hands together. She could easily grow to love this woman as if she were her own great-aunt.
“I’m so sorry about the Cryer’s article today”—Stella took a deep breath and shook her head—“but you can’t allow it to bother you this evening. You need to push such drivel aside and concentrate on what is important. And that is Lord Howton. However, don’t make a rash decision about marriage. No good would come from marrying the first man who proposes.”
“I agree,” she said softly. “Will came up with an idea to help me. I won’t be forced into marriage just to appease the committee.” She tightened her stomach in preparation of the barrage of questions soon to erupt.
“Oh?” Edith took a sip of sherry.
Stella sat frozen in anticipation.
“We’re going to announce our betrothal.” Thea raised her hand as sly smiles graced the grand dames’ faces.
Stella and Edith leaned forward in their seats in anticipation of Thea’s next words. Even Lord Fluff halted his meticulous ablutions and gave Thea his undivided attention.
“It’s not what you think. We’re only pretending to be engaged.”
The ladies’ eyes grew round like full moons.
“After the committee reaches a decision, we’ll announce we don’t suit,” Thea added.
“Oh.” Edith’s disappointment was clear in her voice. “Of course, dear,” she reluctantly agreed, then a hopeful grin tugged at her lips. “But maybe you both will see things differently … after the committee decides.”
Thea shook her head slightly to thwart the ladies’ thinking that a true betrothal was in Thea and Will’s future. “Will and I think it’ll work beautifully, particularly after what The Midnight Cryer printed about us.” She turned to Stella. “You’ve been such a dear friend to me. I’ll try my best with Howton.” Thea stepped closer and placed a kiss on the woman’s warm cheek. “Whatever happens, we need to accept it.”
“You can’t fault us for hoping,” Lady Edith murmured under her breath.
Stella clasped Thea’s hands in hers. “It’s going to be quite a night. Mark my words. Marvelous things are going to happen to you this evening.”
Thea nodded, but she couldn’t help but hope that some of those marvelous things included the attention of a certain fiancé named Will.