He reached for a tapestry, shaking it out before tossing it into the center of the room. Their very own picnic blanket.
“It seems the furniture industry conspired against us, and you’ll have to experience your first tasting on the floor.”
Beth stepped closer, smiling. “I’m certain the wine will taste the same on the floor as it would on your polished table.”
He looked at her then, surprised, a boyish smile tugging at his lips. Lifting his arm, he extended it to her as though inviting her to a minuet rather than a wine tasting on a dusty floor. His warm hand steadied her as she lowered herself, arranging her velvet skirts to cover her legs. She shifted slightly, adjusting for the bustle pressing into her sides. Clearing her throat,Beth mimicked Boyd’s relaxed posture, trying to summon the camaraderie of men over port. What better way to share secrets than over a drink?
His fingers wrapped around a bottle, the curl of his wrist and the flex of his forearm exuding effortless strength. As he twisted the cork free, his gaze flickered to her.
The pop was soft but sharp, and she jumped, chiding herself for her nerves. When he opened a third bottle, then a fourth, she gulped.
“How much do you expect me to drink?” she asked. “A lady may partake in wine, but only in modest sips. Never more than a glass.”
He grinned. “Lucky for you, we’ll be drinking from the bottle. Here, let’s try this first. Château Montclair.”
He held the bottle close to her lips, and Beth’s heart sped up. How on earth would she pass this test?
She raised her palms. “Will you really buy a vineyard in France?” She tried to keep her tone light, but her eyes searched his, hoping to glimpse the man beyond the business.
“More like two or three. The scale of the investment must be worthy.”
“Do you need to expand so much? Won’t it mean more work?”
He lifted a brow. “Are you stalling, lass?”
No, I’m trying to get to know you. Who are you, Boyd Sandeman?
“What should I do?” she asked. “Are there any criteria I should be aware of? Wouldn’t it be best if we had a notebook to annotate our findings?”
“A fine wine isn’t meant to be tasted with the mind.”
He offered the bottle to her again, daring her with a mischievous glint in his eye.
Well, then. Gentlemen friends shared wine from the bottle... from time to time. The finish was smooth against her lips as shedrank. The quantity was far more than her usual dainty sips, and she had to swallow quickly to keep from choking. A rich taste coated her tongue with layers she couldn’t quite place but sensed were important.
“Well?”
She straightened, lifting her chin, and forced a thoughtful expression. “It’s well-balanced. The aroma is compelling, with, um... notes of dark cherry and leather.”
As if aware of her pretense, he removed the bottle from her. “You must taste the wine with your nose and mouth, not your bloody corset and fichu.”
The skin beneath her corset tingled as if in agreement. “Mr. Sandeman! I hope you’re not suggesting I should drink in the nude, because some lines—”
He laughed, the sound startling and new. It rolled off him in waves, his chest shaking with it. This was going well. Gentlemen shared moments of humor, didn’t they? Beth didn’t mind being the cause of his mirth if it made him laugh more often.
“Not bare-assed, lass. But you’ll have to wear something else.”
He reached for his cravat, his rugged fingers pulling it free with practiced ease.
Beth gasped, her gaze caught on the exposed skin of his neck. So that’s what a man’s throat looks like... unbuttoned, vulnerable. She quickly glanced away, her cheeks warming. Her goal was to understand his thoughts, not ogle his... assets. But curiosity won out, and her eyes flicked back to him. After all, the more she knew about the man, the better. Right?
He let out a low, rumbling chuckle, as if fully aware of the effect he had on her.
“Is it necessary for you to get so familiar?”
“I swear tae ye, this is the only bit of clothing comin’ off today. Unless ye find yerself curious, then I might consider indulgin’ye. But that’s for later, mind. If ye caught sight o’ me in all my splendor, ye wouldn’t pass yer challenge.”
The brogue, the wine, and indeed, the cravat made her shiver under her stays. He moved closer, inexorably so.
