Heavenly.
She sat up straight, her heart pounding at her brazenness, confident she had made her point and that he would not start singing again.
A slow smile spread across his face, lighting up his hazel eyes. He cupped her cheeks and drew her in. “Oh, yes,” he murmured. “I knew it’d be like this.” He kissed her thoroughly, deeply.
Heedless of potential damage to her reputation, she threaded her fingers through his hair and returned his kiss with reckless abandon, savoring every moment. She might never again kiss a man. Kissthisman. He hummed in delight and swept his thumbs across her cheeks as his fingers teased the edge of her hair. Shivers of pleasure followed his touch. She swayed closer, shamelessly wanting more.
He tasted of warm, smoky whiskey and something earthy, probably the willow bark tea. His lips were soft and smooth, meeting hers in an age-old dance. He caressed her neck and stroked the hollow of her throat before trailing callused fingertips along her collarbone. How had she lived this long without this man’s touch, this tender attention? Her stomach swirled wildly and she held her breath as his fingers dipped lower, down her décolletage, lower still.
His lips left her.
Disappointed the kiss had ended so soon, she opened her eyes.
In time to see his eyes roll back in his head. He toppled backwards, flopping onto the pillows.
She froze, her mouth agape.
She blinked.
He snored.
In disbelief, she plowed her fingers through her hair, heedless of the hair pins she dislodged.
Her first passionate kiss, ever. And he passed out. In the middle of it.
She leaned forward. “David?” she whispered.
The left side of his mouth curved slightly, as though he was having a pleasant dream, but he did not stir.
Now she realized he didn’t just taste of whiskey, she could smell it on his breath.
She grabbed the paper off the bedside table. No one had given him more whiskey since her dose before she went down to breakfast. Actually, now that she studied it more closely, no one else had written on the paper. All of the entries were in her own hand.
She opened the door and gestured for Sally and Maggie to enter.
“How did you get him to be quiet, miss?”
Ashley waved her hand holding the sheet of paper. “Neither of you have marked this. Did you give him any whiskey today?”
“I gave him a cup when he ate the eggs this morning,” Sally said.
“But you didn’t note it on the paper?”
Sally looked down at her shoes. “No, miss.”
“And you, Maggie? Have you given him any whiskey today?”
Maggie also found the toes of her shoes fascinating. “Yes, miss.” Her words were so quiet, Ashley had to strain to hear her. “When he was shaving. He wouldn’t let me help him ‘cuz he sat at the dressing table to see in the mirror, but he let me give him a cup.”
“And you also did not note it on this paper. Why?”
Maggie’s apron was getting horribly wrinkled with all the twisting in her hands. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I don’t know how.”
“And you?”
Sally shook her head. “I can read and write my name, but not much else.”
Ashley felt her knees ready to buckle. She sat down hard on the foot of the bed, one arm wrapped around the bedpost for support. “How foolish of me,” she muttered to herself. She was about to wad up the useless piece of paper and throw it on the fire, but reconsidered and placed it back on the bedside table. “I owe you both an apology,” she said, looking at both maids. “I am accustomed to being at a school for young ladies where we can take it for granted that everyone has already been taught to read and write.” She determined to teach Maggie and Sally to read, if they wanted to learn. Then she thought back to the previous few days. “But if you can’t read my shopping lists, how did you collect everything?”
