She walked briskly to the green door, rapped twice, and placed a hand over her chest. Dash it all, if her heart didn’t slow its beating, she was going to need valerian root herself.
Reese yanked open the door almost immediately—as if he’d been pacing the room, waiting for her. “You knocked,” he said with a wry, disarming grin. “How refreshing.” He waved her in, to the center of the room, toward the pair of leather chairs.
She faced him and prepared to launch into the speech she’d rehearsed earlier. The one where she explained in no uncertain terms that she would be dictating the rules of their deal and that she was prepared to walk out the door if he balked at a single one of her demands.
But the moment she saw him in the light of the lantern, the words died on her lips. His hair stood on end, and several days’ worth of stubble covered his jaw. His eyelids were droopy, his cheeks sunken. “Reese,” she said, setting her reticule on the piecrust table between the chairs. “You look awful.”
“I should have made myself presentable.” He touched his chin and winced. “My valet tried, but I can be stubborn.”
“You don’t say.” Sophie crossed her arms. “Have you eaten yet today?”
He stopped to think about this, as if it were a tricky question. “I don’t think so.”
“Then that’s the first order of business,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “There’s a tavern down the block. Go and eat dinner. We’ll talk when you return.”
“You’re not coming with me?” he asked, and Sophie would have sworn she detected a hint of alarm in that deep, rich voice.
She shook her head firmly. “I can’t be seen with you.”
He met her gaze, his eyes wary and wounded. “I’m not hungry,” he countered.
“It’s not open for debate,” she said. “You must eat before we discuss the particulars of our agreement.”
He hesitated. “You’ll wait here?”
She nodded solemnly. “I promise.”
Grudgingly, he grabbed the jacket that was draped over the back of a chair and stuffed his arms into it. “I won’t be long, but lock the door behind me, just to be safe.”
She gave him a placating smile and waved him out the door.
When she was alone, she wandered around the room, eager to have a better look at the shop. Most of the merchandise had been removed from the shelves and counters, but a few pitiful items remained: a single glove, a mismatched pair of socks, a couple of cravats, and a cane.
Behind the counter, she found an assortment of cuff links, buttons, and feathers. But she was more pleased to find an apron and a bottle of dusting oil. Thinking she might as well start cleaning the room prior to next week’s meeting, she slipped the long apron—which she guessed had belonged to Mr. Peabody—over her head and grabbed one of the cravats to use as a rag. She dusted the counter and shelves and even ran her cloth over the leather chairs.
She was so absorbed in the task that Reese startled her when he walked in, carrying a small sack in the crook of his arm. “What’s that smell?” he asked, sniffing the air suspiciously. “And why does it look like a brigade of overzealous maids came through here?”
Sophie brushed off her palms, untied the apron, and lifted it over her head. “It’s lemon oil,” she said with a shrug. “The room was overdue for a cleaning.”
“Thank you,” he said with a frown. “I hope you know that’s not why I asked you here.”
“I know,” she said—although she still wasn’t entirely sure of the real reason. “How was your dinner?”
“I brought it back,” he said, holding the sack aloft. “There’s a sandwich in here for you as well, some cheese, and a couple of apples.” He sat in one of the chairs and gestured at the other. When she didn’t move, he said, “You’re not going to make me eat alone, are you?”
Tentative, she took the sandwich he offered and sat across from him. It seemed strange to be eating dinner alone with a man—and even stranger that they had no napkins, utensils, or table. A little like a picnic, but without the pesky insects.
Feeling Reese’s eyes on her, she nibbled at the sandwich. “Delicious,” she said.
He unwrapped his and bit into it with obvious gusto. “Food was an excellent idea,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
They devoured most everything Reese had brought from the tavern, with the exception of the apples, which they set on the table between them.
The room had no clock on display, but Sophie suspected that the hour was close to midnight. Usually by this time on a Friday evening, she would have made her way from the meeting to Fiona and Gray’s house, where she often stayed up late visiting with her friends before making herself at home in their lovely guest bedchamber. But earlier that day, she’d sent Fiona a note informing her that she wouldn’t be able to spend the night and would arrive early Saturday morning, instead.
Sending the note had felt a bit like crossing into dangerous, uncharted territory. Miss Haywinkle had been fond of saying that the rules of proper behavior were in place to protect young ladies. Sophie had been skeptical, but as she sat across from the scruffy, brooding Earl of Warshire in the quiet, dimly lit room, she began to think that the headmistress may have had a point.
And that was precisely why Sophie intended to set up rules governing their interactions. She needed to establish clear boundaries. Lines that would not—could not—be crossed.
“As I mentioned in Lady Rufflebum’s garden,” she began, “I think it’s important that we spell out the terms of this arrangement.”
“I agree,” Reese said earnestly. “But allow me to pour us some drinks first.” Before she could object, he swept away the remnants of their dinner, disappeared into the back room, and returned with two glasses of brandy. He handed one to her, then clinked his glass against hers before raising it and taking a long swallow.
Sophie set hers down on the table without taking a sip. If there was ever a time she needed to keep her wits about her, tonight was it. “I am under no obligation to you,” she began. “But to ensure there is no misunderstanding going forward, I wish to make a few things clear.”
“Fair enough,” he said smoothly as he settled back into his chair. “I know that my request is highly irregular, but I’m not proposing anything improper. It’s not my intent to seduce you, Sophie.”
Heat crept up her neck. Whether it was from talk of seducing or the velvet sound of her name on his tongue, she couldn’t say. Either way, she was grateful that the lantern was on the counter and she and Reese were mostly in shadows.
“I wasn’t suggesting that you have wicked intentions where I’m concerned,” she said. “I realize that such a thing would be highly unlikely.”
“Why is that?” he asked, incredulous.
Heavens. Now her cheeks were on fire. “Because I don’t usually inspire those sorts of…” Dear God, this was humiliating, but she’d promised herself she’d be forthright in her discussions with Reese. That she wouldn’t dance around difficult subjects. “I only meant that men generally don’t … desire me in that way.”