Page 6 of A Taste for the Peculiar

Pye winds the fabric around their hand before they realize the way Avirin’s eyes cling to it. Her brown eyes are inquisitive, sensing a challenge that she intends to meet. “What does ‘it’ entail, exactly?”

Pye tastes salt when they run their tongue along their lips. It’s hotter in this alcove than expected. He dabs at his jaw and tucks the cravat into his pocket. “We begin with flirtation,” they redirect. “But before that —”

Avirin’s eyes roll. Very unladylike. Very adorable.

“Before that,” he admonishes, “we determine a word to be used between us. A code. If ever you wish to pause our lessons, if ever you’re uncomfortable, you use the word, and we will stop.”

Her mouth twitches into a skeptical smile. “Will our lessons be so impassioned, Lord Riften?”

He does not look away from her. “They will be thorough, Lady Avirin.”

Her throat bobs. Pye forces his gaze not to cling to the shape of her neck, flitting instead to her mouth when her voice cracks, “Honey.” She clears her throat, staring at the jar peeking out of the basket on the ground. “‘Honey’ will be the word.”

Pye smiles when the jar appears between two of his fingers held up between them. “Then ‘honey’ it shall be.”

Avirin glances incredulously between the basket and his hand. “Magic?”

“Only a little,” Pye winks. “Just enough for party tricks.” They gesture again, and an apple appears in their hand instead. “Would you like to try it?”

Avirin inspects the fruit before she reaches for it. Her teeth sink into the flesh, her eyes widening as she chews. “It’s delicious.”

“It’s a new strain I’ve been trying to grow. What flavors do you get from it?”

She mulls the bite over in her mouth. “Tart. Sweet. A perfect mixture…with an aftertaste like fresh lemon.”

Pye takes the apple from her hand. He presses his mouth to the pale interior, exactly where hers had been. Avirin follows his motions, but when she sees him looking, she tears her eyes away.

He chews her bite slowly. He’s not sure what he meant by it. Perhaps to bother her. Perhaps to see how she reacts. Pye deposits the apple back into the basket and lowers themself onto the cracked bench. “Now, for the most important question.” They gesture for Avirin to join them. “Are these lessons meant to attract a husband or your husband?”

Avirin sinks down beside them, worrying the hole in her glove. “I don’t know. Is there a difference?”

Pye’s brow knits. Avirin comes from the world of high society that Pye has long renounced. She follows their expectations. She seeks to fit their molds. She answered exactly as expected, so why does Pye feel a twinge of disappointment? “There is a difference,” they murmur. “Are these lessons meant to find love, or to find anyone?”

Avirin chuckles, avoidant. “For a bachelor, you certainly know your way around matters of the heart.”

“One needn’t be married to understand love. In fact, matrimony may be the thing that obscures love most.” Gods, he doesn’t mean to sound so gloomy. The thought of marriage does entice him, but discussing Avirin’s dreary, hypothetical future makes Pye itch. “In any case, my lifestyle is simply not suited for wedded bliss. I can’t imagine a union that would not feel more like shackles than an embrace.”

A melancholy smile graces Avirin’s lips. “Unfortunately, I do not have the privilege of squandering any opportunity that presents itself, shackles or no.”

“You could.”

“I cannot.”

Her voice brooks no argument, so Pye bites their tongue. There is no use explaining that there is a life outside the ton. A more difficult life, yes, but one made that way by the society that governs them. It is clear that Avirin has more trouble than not with the beau monde, but if she is intent on following the rules set out for her, then Pye can help her play the game.

His posture straightens. “Then for your purposes, flirtation is rather simple. If your intention is to cast a wide net and see what you catch, all you need to do is appear entertained. Stroke his ego. Let your man do most of the talking. Men love to speak about themselves.”

“Is it the same with women?”

Curiously, Pye’s eyes narrow. “You want to know about flirting with women?”

Avirin’s entire face goes red. “No, I meant — I don’t enjoy speaking about myself.”

Pye’s mouth tugs up at the corners. “The most interesting people never seem to.” He leans on one palm, trolling through his memories for instructions that will serve her among the upper class. “If the man you’re speaking to makes a joke, laugh at it. If he tells a riveting story, gasp and cover your mouth. The quickest way to endear a man like that is to give him the reaction he’s seeking.”

Avirin’s nose wrinkles. “So flirtation is acting? It’s lying?”

“Only when you can’t be particular about whose eye you capture.”