Surely the long day or the vineyard air was to blame for her reckless actions.What am I doing here?Complying withhis summons was one thing, but to meet him here, alone, was entirely another. Was she truly more concerned about passing his challenge than preserving her virtue? Why couldn’t this be a drawing-room courtship, with clear rules of engagement, where poise and restraint were her allies?
“Close the door, Miss Croft.”
His voice made her gasp. Beth jumped, fumbling with the latch, and did as he bade. Perhaps she could convince him these night challenges were simply not done. But how could one instruct a man on propriety when he recited obscene limericks in mixed company?Beth Croft, you are not reasoning.
The tingle in her stomach hadn’t left, even after an entire day in his company. If anything, it had grown, pulling her further off balance.
Her eyes flickered to a heavy crystal decanter on the side table beside him, filled halfway with a deep, garnet-colored scotch that seemed to absorb the room’s low light, turning it into something dark and dangerous. Had he been drinking?
“Mr. Sandeman, if I may... a few words. I don’t think this is quite necessary. In fact, I believe I should—”
“Are you going to give up so easily, Miss Croft? Perhaps the backbone I felt in you this afternoon was merely the steel of your corset.”
Her spine snapped straight. She gave him a look that she hoped conveyed precisely how much she liked him at that moment. “What will be my challenge, Mr. Sandeman?”
“Come closer. I’m not about to eat you. Not while you are lurking in the doorway, anyway.”
His tone had shifted back into the polished tycoon’s, but the way he sprawled in the chair—knees apart, cravat loose—made a shiver race up her spine.
She crossed the Persian rug, stopping a few paces from him. Again, he was sitting while she was standing. He could pretendgood manners at the dinner table, wielding cutlery and wine glasses with ease, but no man could feign certain traits.
He glanced at the distance between them and raised an eyebrow.
Her legs moved of their own accord, bringing her closer until she stood just shy of his knees.
“Kiss me, Miss Croft.”
She gasped. Her fingers twitched at her sides, and she clenched them tightly, willing her hands to hold on to some semblance of composure.
His brow shot up, and his lips lifted in a sardonic smile. “A proper winemaker’s wife knows how to kiss.”
Beth stared at him.
“I’m waiting, Miss Croft.”
Should she give up? Hurl the decanter at his head and leave? But what of her father? Her family’s desperate situation?
Clenching and unclenching her hands, she shuffled to his side. She didn’t have a butterfly in her stomach—she had a whole swarm of them. With all those wings flapping wildly inside her, she pressed a kiss to his forehead.
Feeling quite pleased with herself, Beth straightened—until his hand shot up to catch her chin. He tilted her face, his gaze locking on hers.
“On the mouth, Miss Croft.”
On the mouth? A lady’s lips were a promise she held dear, saving her first kiss for the sanctity of marriage. Beth exhaled all the air in her lungs. This was just one more test.
Shutting her eyes tightly, she pecked his lips.
“This is all you got, Miss Croft?”
Remembering when she spotted a maid with a footman in the servant’s quarters, she glued her lips to his. Her heart sped out of control. Panting, she opened her eyes.
“That’s better. If you want to marry a priest.” His judgmental brows lifted.
The tone of his voice, the glacier in his gaze, her exhaustion... It was too much. Beth sighed, her chin trembling, and she was again, for the second time of the day, on the verge of tears. Which was ridiculous. Before Mr. Sandeman’s challenges, she had seldom cried. “I don’t know how.”
Silence. A heavy exhale. Now he would send her away, and she would have to—“Use your hands, Miss Croft.”
Beth hesitated for a full five seconds before cupping his face. He caught her hand in his and removed her gloves.
