Page 9 of The Duke's Christmas Scandal
“You’re teasing me,” she grumbled.
“I haven’t begun teasing you, Mrs. Dawson.”
“It’s Tavi. My given name is Octavia, but everyone calls me Tavi. Please, Mr. Harkness, I’d appreciate it if you did the same.”
“My name is Ian. I prefer it to Mr. Harkness, which makes me sound like I’m a clerk or a barrister or something terribly stuffy like that.” He laid out the blanket on the stone before the fire and placed the bundle where his head would go. “Now lay down. I won’t allow a lady to sleep on the floor.”
Obediently, Tavi crawled beneath the coverlet. Mr. Harkness—Ian, rather—took his turn in the makeshift privy and returned to the foot of the bed, where he sat.
“How late do you think it is?”
“Not very. Seven-thirty, perhaps eight.”
“No wonder I’m not tired.”
She was, in a physical sense. Riding on horseback for hours had her muscles stiff and sore. Tomorrow would be worse.
“I’m not either.” He leaned against the foot of the bed. Wood creaked. “Tell me, what takes you to your sister’s two days before Christmas, Tavi?”
“She’s just had a baby.”
“How recently?”
“Yesterday. I would have gone sooner, but the baby came a bit earlier than we expected.”
Tired of speaking to the back of his head, Tavi turned herself around so her feet were by the pillows and her arms crossed at the foot of the bed.
“As often happens. Do you like babies, Mrs. Dawson?”
“I love them. They’re so adorable and helpless. How can anyone not enjoy babies?”
“They’re smelly and they fuss, and they keep godawful hours. The cute stage only lasts for a short while before they become proper children, and then it’s pure mayhem.”
“Do you speak from experience, Ian?” she asked with bated breath. Perhaps he was married. Deflating thought.
“Lord, no. I can’t be trusted with a child.” He chuckled. “I have no siblings, but I have several friends who insist upon producing as many children with their wives as the ladies will allow. Absolutely ruins them as drinking partners.”
Tavi swatted his shoulder, laughing. His response caused a knot inside her to loosen.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had fun with a man this way. At one of the festivals held in town, although a spinster being too familiar with men made tongues wag, so she usually danced a few reels before going home to her ailing mother. Ordinarily, she was wary of the opposite sex, but Ian had moved right past her defenses.
Or, perhaps, she was keen to capitalize upon an opportunity to spend time with a charming man without anyone knowing.
Admitting it to herself cost her pride nothing.
“Can I interest you in a warming taste of whisky?” he asked.
Tavi hesitated. “I have no head for the stuff.”
She hadn’t ever tried a drink stronger than cider. Her face was warm from proximity to the fire. She sat up, dangling her stockinged toes over the foot of the bed. The pillows were too far away for the heat to penetrate.
“I’m afraid I’ve only the one glass. We’ll have to share.”
He poured two fingers of amber liquid, followed by a generous splash of water.
“Doesn’t that ruin it?” she asked.
Ian shook his head. “It opens up the flavor. Try it.”
