Henry unpacked a large basket he’d brought in from the coach. “Mrs. Edson insisted on packing a cloth for the table. Says it’s only civilized.”
“How very nice,” Rebecca said, and for a moment, Sophie wasn’t sure if she referred to the cheerful linen Henry spread over the table or the man himself.
Sophie blinked. Truth be told, Rebecca’s interest should not have surprised her. Henry might’ve been Sophie’s age, perhaps a year or so older. Tall and broad-shouldered, his thick, dark hair barely brushing his collar, he was a fine specimen of masculinity. His dark eyes met Rebecca’s, and he smiled, a slight, genuinely pleasant curve of his full mouth.
But in Sophie’s eyes, he could not compare to Gavin. His gaze did not possess the subtle wit that lent character to Stanwyck’s eyes. The younger man’s face seemed somehow less defined, his features less chiseled. Years from now, she might well forget the look of the assistant.
She could never say that about Gavin. When she was an old woman rocking on a porch, conjuring sweet memories of the passion of her life, she’d see Gavin’s eyes. She’d dream of kissing his mouth. She’d close her eyes and savor the thought of his touch.
Gavin washed his hands in a porcelain basin, then turned to them. “I anticipate having the kitchen functional tomorrow morning. For tonight’s meal, Mrs. Edson prepared provisions that do not require cooking. I trust you will find them to your liking.”
“Rather like a picnic.” Rebecca flashed Henry another smile.
A comment rose to Sophie’s tongue, but she thought better of it. She’d never seen Rebecca Beddingham so animated, so enthusiastic. The departure from her typically serious, somewhat tense manner seemed a bit abrupt. Had she become enamored of the young Scot so quickly?
Supper provided an opportunity for their spirits to be lifted. All in all, the meal of sliced roast beef, cheese, bread, and apple tarts provided a jovial experience. Bertram and Fitzhugh imbibed in a bit of whiskey and traded humorous, brotherly barbs, while Henry’s shy looks proved Rebecca’s attraction was not a one-sided affair.
After the meal, Gavin led Sophie into a smaller, cozier room. A blazing fire had been stoked in the fireplace. Leather wing chairs faced the crackling flames.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said.
Sophie positioned herself on the edge of the cushion, soaking up the fire’s warmth.
Gavin selected a crystal wine goblet from the sideboard. He poured fine Chardonnay into the glass and extended it to Sophie. “I understand the need to keep our wits about us, but this may take the edge off.”
“Thank you.” She accepted the glass, tasting the crisp flavor against her tongue.
For his part, Gavin poured two fingers of Scotch into a tumbler, then took a seat in the opposite chair. He stared down at the crystal before raising his gaze to take in her face. “So, Miss Devereaux…if that is indeed your name…I do intend to learn your secrets. Shall we begin tonight?”
A heated flush crept over her cheeks. “I fear you will be disappointed. I intend to sleep well tonight in a plush feather bed…alone.”
“That is indeed disappointing news, though I wager I could change your mind.” He took a drink. “In any case, that’s not what I had in mind. Not now, at least.”
“Really? You’ve given up on convincing me of your rakehell ways?”
“Now, where would the fun be in that?”
How very unfair that his eyes should twinkle like that, blue as the most precious sapphires. When he smiled that wicked smile, it seemed her own heart conspired against her.
“Need I remind you we are not here forfun,” she said, summoning her primmest tone.
“I’ve always been an advocate of mixing business with pleasure. It makes life so much more interesting, wouldn’t you say?”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Given I am anticipating a rather tedious series of days ahead, I am willing to adopt your philosophy…at least, for the moment.”
“Good enough. In the interest of fairness, I will share one secret. Challenge me, dear Sophie.”
“Very well. If you insist.” She took a sip of wine, considering her question. What did she wish to learn about him—aside from the feel of his skin against hers, that is? She pulled in a breath, banishing the utterly wanton thought. “A deep, dark secret…hmmm…what might I ask? I know… What is your greatest fear?”
His expression shifted, so very serious. “The beastie that lurks under the bed in your chamber.”
She smiled despite her best efforts. “Am I supposed to believe that isnota ploy to frighten me into spending the night with you?”
“Of course not.” He swirled the liquid in the tumbler. “Now that you mention it, would that tactic work? If so, I will tell you all about the beast of Hunter’s Folly.”
“Absolutely not. Now, that’s not fair. You need to tell me a secret, a genuine truth. What do you fear the most?”
“Heights.” The word came out blunt and unvarnished.
