“Your servant? Where is he?”
“At home.” He shot her a worried glance. “We are currently pulled up three houses before yours. Drink up and I’ll escort you to your chamber.”
In her current state, Phaedra found that immensely funny. Also a bit thrilling. “You’llbe escorting me?”
A grim look passed across his features. “You’re in no condition to make it to your chamber without waking the entire household.”
“We cannot letthathappen.” Her mother would have her head. She was also still a bit dizzy. Anyone could take one look at her and know she’d indulged in liquor.
“No, we cannot,” the earl agreed.
“Will this help?” Phaedra motioned to the drink.
“Wilson swears by it.”
Phaedra blew on the contents. She could not drink it in one smooth motion at this temperature. She’d already scorched her tongue once.
She stared at Deerhurst, who had tried his best to provide an exciting night away from all the drama only for them to find themselves in another hot pan. He watched her like a hawk, his lips pursed and tired lines forming around his eyes.
Her heart melted.
“How many moons have you lived, Deerhurst?”
He shook his head. If Phaedra did not know any better, she’d thought he was exasperated with her. She grinned at him. All she wanted to do was wipe the worry from his brow and make him smile again.
“More than you can count at the moment.”
Could she even deny that claim? “Then, how old are you this year?”
“Four-and-thirty.”
“Do you plan to be one of those men who wait until they’ve all but turned grey before taking a wife?”
He arched a brow. “And what sort of man would that be?”
“My aunt says men who do not marry enjoy the freedom to cavort. I have gathered there are three sorts of man in the world. The eager man that marries young, the reluctant man that marries later when they’re old and grey, and the carefree man that never marries.”
“By that definition, there are three sorts of woman in the world as well.”
Phaedra paused before she laughed. “Right you are. But where lack of marriage hoods us in bronze and copper, it colors you in gold.”
He chuckled. “Does that even make sense? You have an interesting imagination, love.”
“The point is merely that men don’t lose their appeal when they don’t marry, Deerhurst. Women do.”
“I can’t help but argue that point,” Deerhurst remarked.
“And why is that?”
“You won’t ever lose your appeal.”
Her pulse quickened. “So, in which category doyoufall? Two or three?”
“Why not one?” He grinned at her. “I am still young, and I believe I’m still eager, am I not?”
Phaedra bit back a laugh. “Eager you may be, but four-and-thirty is close to five-and-thirty which is closer to forty which—”
“Good Christ, woman, I’m a long way from forty!”
