Chapter 8 #2
He retrieved the bottle of wine and popped the cork, filled their glasses, and then took a seat. He reached over and clinked his glass with hers and took a sip while pulling the cloche off his platter.
He watched as she set the rim to her lips and sipped, the tendons in her throat dipping as she drank. When she pulled away, the dark liquid stained her lips, and he felt the pressing urge to wipe the droplets away—with his tongue.
It was a mesmerizing sight from which he could scarcely look away. And yet he did precisely that before she became aware of his perusal for a change. He would have to get his growing desire for her under control somehow.
“Tell me something,” he said. “Your sisters. What are their names?”
She set her wine aside, “I am the firstborn, the second is Celestine, the third born is Marigold, and she is the one with spectacles, and she prefers books over people. And my last sister is Isolde. She is a—” her nose wrinkled.
“—I despised saying this word, but she is a hoyden. She loves male activities, riding astride, fencing, and racing.”
“And you were named the daughter of King Minos of Crete, who helped Theseus defeat the Minotaur and then was—”
“Abandoned, I know,” she sighed while cutting into her pheasant. “It’s all too relatable.”
His brows cocked up. “Are you casting me in the role of Bacchus?”
“Do you have an affinity for wine and revelry?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then you are not Bacchus.” She briefly looked up.
Cedric wondered what kept her from looking him in the eye as she had many a time before. “But like the Princess of Crete, you too were duped by a man, and I did rescue you.”
She pinked, “Touché. Would you tell me about your daughter?”
His eyes narrowed, “Why?”
“Well… I am going to be her stepmother, for as short a time as we do have,” Ariadne replied. “I will not usurp her birth mother if that is what you are worried about.”
“She had never known her mother,” he said. “The only women she knows are those who make up the army of her nursemaids, governesses, and nannies at her disposal.”
After finishing his meal, he asked, “You’re a gently-bred woman who has no child. How would you parent a child at all?”
“I agree, I was not forced to bear the responsibility of bearing a child, but I was right there with my mother when I raised my siblings since the age of fourteen,” Ariadne replied. “I am resourceful.”
He inclined his head. “Do you have a passion in life, Ariadne?”
The sudden shift in subject matter made her confused for a moment, but she took it as if he did not want to speak about his child anymore. “Did you ever dream of something when you were younger?”
A soft smile teased her lips in a way that lent a nostalgic element to her expression. “I love gardening and herbs, as I was inspired by healers of the old world. I dreamt of working with plants, writing a book, and getting it published on the healing attributes of plants.
“When I am not busy at home, you could find me at my garden patch that I worked on for years,” she said. “One of the most crowning moments of my life was when I made a salve for an elderly man at my church who was bothered by stiff knees in the wintertime.”
“You do know botany is one of the few occupations a lady can have in the ton,” he added.
“I do,” she replied. “But it is something my mother thought was vulgar and never allowed me to pursue.”
The way she studiously avoided looking at him bothered him more than he wanted to admit. “Why are you not looking at me, Ariadne?’
She kept her head down, the utensils in her hands, trembling. Finally, she set them to the side, “Because I am utterly terrified of what will happen when we get into bed together. I have never slept with a male and I—I am deathly nervous.”
Cedric burst out laughing and continued chortling even while she gave him a narrowed-eyed glare. Finally, she sobered, “Don’t worry, little mouse, your virtue is not in danger with me. I have no intention of seducing you and debauching you.”
She notched her head up. “Do I have your word on that?”
“You do,” he said. “And if I had some paper here, I would write it out and sign it with a blood seal.”
Ariadne’s lips pushed up. “You’re mocking me.”
“I am,” he replied. “I have no desire to make us man and wife, mouse. If you want, I can fashion one of the blankets on the bed into a wall down the middle. Consider it the border between England and Scotland, a barrier between two sovereign countries.”
“Scotland isn’t sovereign,” she said.
“Oh, it is, England just has not noticed it yet,” he shrugged, while pushing away from the table and tugging the blanket off the bed and finding the second one, folded it in two before rolling it into a long tube.
He rested it in the middle of the bed and stepped away, “Satisfied?”
She gave him an unsure look but nodded, “I suppose it is fine.”
“Good,” he covered his plate, stroked the fire higher, and went to a side, “I am going to retire.”
As he rested his head on a pillow, he waited, counted for Ariadne to join him. He realized his action was a dare for her to brush her girlish naivety away and embrace her womanhood.
When he felt the bed dip, a small, satisfied smile curled his lips. He would bet his last shilling that she did not know what to do in a bed with a man.
He heard her shallow breathing and felt how she nervously pulled the blanket atop her. Cedric did not think she’d fall asleep quickly… but neither had he expected that it would take her half the night to settle down. She tossed and turned in the soft feather mattress as if it were a bed of nails.
Muttering a curse, utterly annoyed and sleep-deprived, Cedric had no choice but to shuck the blanket wall and haul the restless girl against him.
“Settle down,” he growled. “You’re driving me mad.”
Fully expecting her to protest, he was surprised when she leaned into him like a needy kitten.
The rounded curves of her bottom rocked against his groin, forcing him to pull away.
There was no way she understood what she was doing, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to think it over. All he wanted was to sleep.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered.