Page 58 of Impassioned
Sabrina brought the second glass to her lips and took another tiny sip. Her brows flew up, and she sampled more. “Oh dear.” Picking up the card, she set it neatly atop the growing stack to her left. “That really is splendid. I’d like to drink the rest of it, but I shan’t. Perhaps I won’t like the remaining wines and then I can come back to it.”
Constantine suspected she was going to like all the fortified wines. It was hard not to. But like her, he was careful not to overindulge. This was yet another trait he owed to his father. Except sometimes he did like to indulge, as he’d told her earlier. Suddenly, he wanted to drink all the fortified wine and pour additional glasses of their favorites. He and Sabrina could become quite drunk, and he imagined their conversation—and perhaps their inhibitions—would become loose and open.
“I knew I liked madeira, but I haven’t had it often,” she said. “It’s good to taste these like this. I’m able to differentiate between all of them, which will help me decide what to drink in the future. Everyone should do this before they enter Society.”
Constantine tasted the first sherry, and she joined him. Her lips twisted briefly as she seemed to contemplate the taste.
“You don’t like it?” he asked.
“I do, but not as much as the madeira.” Her features relaxed into an easy smile. He realized he was becoming more used to this version of her, where smiles and conversation didn’t seem laborious. “Thankfully.”
“Onto the next then.” He lifted the second sherry in a toast. “Sack was once considered the finest wine in the world.”
Sabrina held up her glass and squinted at the amber liquid. “I wonder where the name sack came from.” She tasted the wine and immediately took a longer sip. “Oh dear, that’s quite lovely too.”
“It derives from a Spanish word, I believe.” Constantine took another sip because she was right. It was delicious. “Drake brought a great supply of it to Queen Elizabeth, and we’ve been in love with it ever since.”
“Understandably.” She moved the second sherry’s card to the pile. “It seems I prefer the fortified wine to the regular.” Her features had creased as if this were a problem.
“Does that trouble you?”
“Apparently, I prefer the higher alcohol content. Does that mean I wish to get drunk?”
Constantine laughed. “I think it’s because it’s sweeter overall. Most people prefer it. But yes, it also gives you a nice, warm feeling rather quickly, don’t you think?”
She’d frozen, her hand hovering above the glass of port. “You’ve never done that before,” she whispered.
He frowned, slightly alarmed by her expression and tone. “What?”
“Laughed.”
“Of course I’ve laughed.”
She shook her head gently. “Not with me.” She lifted the glass of port and took the longest drink yet, as if she’d forgotten they were supposed to be tasting and not just drinking.
Constantine snatched up his port and downed the entire thing. It was his favorite port, and frankly, he needed a bit of fortification in that moment.
He’d never laughed with her. That should surprise him, disappoint him—and it did. But mostly it made him sad and angry at himself for being so damned uptight. For the first time, he understood why his brother harassed him about having a stick up his arse.
“What do you think of the port?” His voice sounded as if it had collected dust in an attic the past fifty years.
“I like it a great deal.” Her gaze was fixed on his, and for a moment, he thought she meant him.
“It’s my favorite,” he murmured, wondering if he was referring to the wine or the incomparable woman before him. He may have married the woman his father chose, but he began to wonder if he might have selected her himself if they’d been given the chance to properly court.
That’s what he was doing. This was courtship, not seduction. The latter would come, but the former was more important. It was why he didn’t reach for her now.
“Is the port going into your pile then?”
She blinked and the spell, or whatever it was between them, faded. “Most definitely.” She transferred the card. “Down to the last one, I suppose. Which is for the best, because I am feeling rather…warm, as you said. And tingly.” She shook her shoulders and arms as if a great shiver had passed over her. Then she smiled, and he was utterly convinced the sun was not just in her pocket but at her command.
“Shall we finish then?” he asked, lifting his glass of marsala. “This is somewhat like a white grape version of port. Let’s see which you prefer.”
“This is the one wine on the table I have never had.” She brought the glass to her mouth and took a very small amount. Perhaps just enough to wet her lips, as she’d indicated, because her tongue licked along them, capturing the wine and drawing it into her mouth. Constantine couldn’t have looked away from her if his life depended on it. Rather, it felt as if his life, his livelihood, his very breath relied upon her lush pink lips.
He wanted nothing more than to put his mouth on hers and lose himself in her velvety softness. Instead, he drank the entire glass of marsala and looked to the sideboard where all the bottles and decanters stood. When he turned his head back toward Sabrina, it was to see her finishing the glass.
She moved the marsala card to the favorites pile and declared, “The best of the lot. I fear I’m ruined for other wines.”
