Page 74 of All Scot and Bothered
“I shouldna want yer exile here to be entirely contemptible,” he said by way of flippant explanation.
“Chocolate and wine could make a heaven of hell,” Cecelia claimed before she sank her teeth into the dark, delectable dessert and moaned her approval, massaging the truffle against her palate with her tongue. “Youmusttry one, or perhaps five. They’re delicious.”
The cork came free of the bottle with a louder pop than usual, causing her to jump a little.
Abashed, she held her fingers up to her lips as she laughed at her own startle, in case her teeth were stained with chocolate.
Instead of returning her smile, he frowned, his grip tight on the neck as he stared at her. “I just realized I doona have wineglasses, not even ale tankards.” He gestured to the meager shelves, empty now that they’d used the few bowls and the one plate for supper, apparently. “Ye’ll have to drink from the bottle.”
“How scandalous of me. How will you ever abide?” She swiped the proffered wine from him and inhaled deeply at the vintage. Sweet berries and cassis. Perhaps a bit young, and not aerated, but what did she care?
“Tonight we will drink like the common folk we were born to be,” she said, adopting an admittedly horrific lowbrow accent. She saluted Ramsay, and then sealed her lips over the bottle and tipped it back.
Smooth liquid poured into her mouth, sharp at first, before thickening to sweet, mingling with the chocolate until a dry velvet finish left her wanting more. She corked the rim with her tongue to enjoy the flavor of the first swallow before allowing a second flood of the lovely vintage.
Her appetite whetted, she unsealed her mouth. The bottle made a hollow audible sound, and she pressed her knuckles to the corner of her lip where a small rivulet of wine escaped with a vampiric drip down her chin.
Unsure of what to do next, she extended the bottle to Ramsay.
He made no move to take it. In fact, he stood before her, his gaze affixed to where the drop of wine had disappeared behind her knuckle. His features frozen into an expression she might have recognized as hunger.
“Would you like a taste?” she asked.
“Ye tempt me, woman.” His growl held a note of accusation.
Did she? Could she? A thrill lanced through her at the thought. Why ever did temptation have to be negative? Eve tempted Adam first, and women forever paid for it. But, according to the canonical texts, if she hadn’t have tempted Adam with the forbidden fruit, then mankind wouldn’t exist. And so, might Mother Eve have done Adam, and therefore mankind, a favor?
“I had to eat alone,” she prodded. “Must I drink alone as well?”
Two distinct wrinkles of consternation appeared on his forehead. “I’ve already told ye—”
“I know, I know.Ye doona indulge.” She imitated him terribly, but was pleased to see his forehead smooth a little as his consternation relaxed into amusement. “But I ask you, who is here to judge you? Who must you be perfect for now?” She turned in her seat, making a show of checking the empty room for interlopers before lifting a challenging brow.
“CertainlyI, the Scarlet Lady, queen of iniquity, and so forth, am so far beneath your lofty lordship that a few swills of wine won’t sink you to my lowly, contemptible state.” She grinned and rocked the bottle from side to side before his nose. “Come now. It’s been a long day.”
She’d meant to disarm him. However, her tease seemed to do more than that. He looked not disarmed, but defeated.
He took the bottle and sank to the chair across from her, releasing a weighty breath. “Ye might not believe this, but I wasna always such a bore.” He sealed his mouth to the same lip of the bottle and drank long and deep.
Unable to form a reply, Cecelia found herself captivated by the crest and sinew of his neck as he swallowed.How did one build such prodigious strength to even apply to the muscles in one’s throat?
His lips lingered on the rim longer than they ought, as though he wasn’t finished savoring the taste he found there.
Finally, he returned the bottle to her.
She was more judicious with her subsequent sips of wine. They seemed spiced with a richer, more complex flavor.
Was she tasting the wine? Or the man who’d only just sampled it?
She set the bottle on the table in between them, thinking things she should not. Wanting what could not be. Wondering what might have been had she met Lord Ramsay before she’d known to which family she belonged.
“Lass, I’ve treated ye unfairly,” he rumbled.
Cecelia tried to swallow. Failed. And tried again. She stared at the amber bottle between them, bringing the width and breath of him out of focus.
His statement seemed more than fortuitous considering the direction of her thoughts. Momentous, perhaps. She was ill prepared to meet his eyes. For him to see the earnest pleasure his words brought her.
“Is this another of your non-apologies?” She’d meant to sound lighthearted but feared she failed, utterly.
