Page 21 of In a Rake's Embrace
“Yes.”
There was an almost fragile quality in how she turned away as if hiding her far-too-expressive face. Yet, in the proud jut of her chin, a determination shone that belied her vulnerability.
“Do you want to give this up, then?” he asked, studying her closely. “They will push, but this can be established as one of your boundaries.”
Agatha’s chin lifted a fraction higher.
“No,” she said firmly. “I want to try and see how it makes me feel. My mother always said, ‘Fortune favors the daring.’ How can anyone get what they want without venturing into the unknown and taking risks? I know what I want, and I will get it.”
He suspected the woman she lost had sparked that fierce resolve in her gaze. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s drink.”
Agatha reached for one of the glasses on the table, her hand trembling slightly. She lifted it to her lips and took a tentativesip. Thomas watched her closely, admiring her resilience. She was an enigma—a woman who blushed at his crudeness but steeled herself against challenges. As she set the glass back down, he wondered what had driven her to take such a drastic path. What fueled her determination to push through her discomfort and continue down this road?
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice low but sharp with curiosity. “What’s driving you to go so far?”
Startled eyes lifted to Thomas’s, her emerald gaze dark with something he couldn’t quite place. Her fingers curled around the stem of the glass as she searched for an answer.
“I have my reasons. I don’t expect a man of your consequences to understand.”
Thomas studied her, his curiosity deepening. For the first time in a long while, he found himself intrigued by more than just a woman’s body. Something beyond the typical ambition of a courtesan-to-be drove her onward—something rooted in family. And that, he understood: love, duty, and loyalty to those who mattered most. He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers.
“Your reasons are your own; I am no one to unearth them,” he said quietly.
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, he saw something—perhaps longing—flicker in her eyes before she quickly masked it, lifting her chin in that defiant way she favored. He moved to the mantel, picking up a tightly sealed decanter with a light golden liquid.
“This is champagne,” he said, opening the decanter and pouring some in a delicate flute. “Ladies tend to prefer it, along with sherry.”
She accepted the glass and brought it to her lips. Thomas watched as she drank too eagerly, draining the glass in one swift motion.
His lips quirked into a smirk. “Too quickly, Agatha.”
She blinked in surprise before breaking into a soft laugh. It was unexpected and genuine, and he was caught off guard at its sweetness.
“I feel as if bubbles are tickling my nose, my mouth, all the way to my stomach,” she confessed, pressing a hand lightly to her belly.
Thomas chuckled. “You might find it grows on you.”
She met his gaze, and he noted the wonder in her expression. “I ... I rather like it.”
He handed her the decanter. “Practice sipping throughout the day. The more comfortable you become with tasting champagne, the more natural it will feel when you drink in a man’s company. It will also build your resistance, and you will not become intoxicated so quickly.”
Agatha hesitated briefly before wrapping her fingers around the decanter’s cool glass. “I will,” she said softly, accepting the task.
“Now,” he said, stepping back, “let’s try the others.”
He handed the glass of whisky to her. She took a cautious sip, her face immediately scrunching up in distaste.
“It’s an acquired taste,” he said. “Not for everyone.”
“I can see why,” she muttered, pushing the glass away.
Next came the brandy. She took a sip, and while her reaction was less severe, she still grimaced. “Better, but still too strong.”
“Fair enough,” he replied. “Now, try the sherry.”
Her eyes brightened slightly as she brought the glass of sherry to her lips. After taking a sip, she nodded slowly. “This one is ... sweeter. I don’t hate it.”
He poured a glass of port next. She took a small sip, her brow furrowing. “It’s heavy,” she said thoughtfully, “but I could grow to appreciate it.”
