in her cheeks.
"That's fine—thank you," she somehow managed
to whisper when Jared unfastened the fourth and last frog, certain he couldn't
have heard her for the thunderous voices raised in song. It seemed in the past
moments that Tom's Cellar had grown even rowdier. Patrons slammed their mugs
upon tables to keep time with the bawdy tumble of verses. Women squealed as they
were drawn by drunken gentlemen into the center of the room to dance.
Lindsay barely waited for Jared to move away from her
before she lifted her full mug and drank deeply, hoping the ale might calm her
reeling senses. He seemed to be studying her again, and she noticed he wasn't
touching his fresh mug, while she had nearly emptied hers. Chagrin overwhelmed
her. At once she lowered the mug from her mouth, and so quickly that ale
dribbled down her chin. It made her giggle—how ridiculous she must look—and she
lifted her hand to swipe the stuff away.
"Let me, Lindsay."
His warm fingers were cupping her chin before she could
blink, his thumb caressing away the spill.
He leaned closer. She sucked in her breath, mesmerized
by the indescribable blue of his eyes.
Mesmerized by his angular features, any one of them
enough to call a man handsome . . . broad cheekbones; a straight, almost
hawkish nose; a boldly curved mouth . . . all combined to forge a countenance
of devastating masculinity unlike any she'd seen.
Oh, Lord, mesmerized by the wondrous sensation of his
thumb gliding from her chin to gently trace her lower lip, then the curve of
her cheek. His hand cradling her face, she inclined her head as if fitting
herself to his palm, not a smooth, aristocrat's palm, but one roughened and
callused as a working man's might be.
And he was a
working man after all, a spy who had no doubt risked his life countless times
for his country—the thought suddenly hitting her like a bolt that she really
knew so little about him. And she so desperately wanted to know him, to know
everything about him . . .
"Oh, Jared, tell me—" Her eyes widened, a
most unladylike belch bursting from her throat that shattered the breathless
spell that gripped her. Mortified to her toes she looked away, but Jared's
gentle fingers at her chin drew her gaze back to his face, his eyes, to her
relief, filled with studied humor.
"It's the ale, Lindsay, nothing more. And do you
know the best way to stop it from happening again?"
She shook her head, the crowded room around her still
moving when she grew still and tried to focus upon his face.
"You must drink some more."
"More?" This time a loud hiccup erupted,
Lindsay clapping her hand over her mouth to repeat in a muffled voice, "Truly,
Jared? More?"
"Truly. Finish your ale; then you must have mine."
"Yours, too?"
In answer he placed his brimming mug in Lindsay's hand;
she looked doubtfully at the frothy brew, but another noisy hiccup made her
take a long draught, so long and deep that it was Jared who finally coaxed the
mug away from her.
"I think that should do it."
"Really?" Suddenly feeling quite woozy,
Lindsay gripped the edge of the table, which seemed to be moving as well. She
held very still for a moment, waiting, waiting, a self-satisfied smirk breaking
over her face when no further hiccups were heard. "Ha! You were right! I
feel so much—"
Lindsay gaped at Jared, her second belch so loud that
he broke into a laugh. She giggled, too, shrugging her shoulders and spreading
her hands wide, which proved a grave mistake as she let go of the table.
Suddenly she felt herself falling backward and she
would have tumbled altogether from the bench if Jared hadn't caught her around
the waist. Throwing her arms around his neck as he drew her back up beside him,
Lindsay couldn't seem to stop giggling even as she fought to catch her breath.
"I . . . I guess I'll just have to drink some more
ale—"
"No, I think instead it's time I take you home."
"Home?" She shook her head vigorously, so
vigorously that the cellar spun around
"That's fine—thank you," she somehow managed
to whisper when Jared unfastened the fourth and last frog, certain he couldn't
have heard her for the thunderous voices raised in song. It seemed in the past
moments that Tom's Cellar had grown even rowdier. Patrons slammed their mugs
upon tables to keep time with the bawdy tumble of verses. Women squealed as they
were drawn by drunken gentlemen into the center of the room to dance.
Lindsay barely waited for Jared to move away from her
before she lifted her full mug and drank deeply, hoping the ale might calm her
reeling senses. He seemed to be studying her again, and she noticed he wasn't
touching his fresh mug, while she had nearly emptied hers. Chagrin overwhelmed
her. At once she lowered the mug from her mouth, and so quickly that ale
dribbled down her chin. It made her giggle—how ridiculous she must look—and she
lifted her hand to swipe the stuff away.
"Let me, Lindsay."
His warm fingers were cupping her chin before she could
blink, his thumb caressing away the spill.
He leaned closer. She sucked in her breath, mesmerized
by the indescribable blue of his eyes.
Mesmerized by his angular features, any one of them
enough to call a man handsome . . . broad cheekbones; a straight, almost
hawkish nose; a boldly curved mouth . . . all combined to forge a countenance
of devastating masculinity unlike any she'd seen.
Oh, Lord, mesmerized by the wondrous sensation of his
thumb gliding from her chin to gently trace her lower lip, then the curve of
her cheek. His hand cradling her face, she inclined her head as if fitting
herself to his palm, not a smooth, aristocrat's palm, but one roughened and
callused as a working man's might be.
And he was a
working man after all, a spy who had no doubt risked his life countless times
for his country—the thought suddenly hitting her like a bolt that she really
knew so little about him. And she so desperately wanted to know him, to know
everything about him . . .
"Oh, Jared, tell me—" Her eyes widened, a
most unladylike belch bursting from her throat that shattered the breathless
spell that gripped her. Mortified to her toes she looked away, but Jared's
gentle fingers at her chin drew her gaze back to his face, his eyes, to her
relief, filled with studied humor.
"It's the ale, Lindsay, nothing more. And do you
know the best way to stop it from happening again?"
She shook her head, the crowded room around her still
moving when she grew still and tried to focus upon his face.
"You must drink some more."
"More?" This time a loud hiccup erupted,
Lindsay clapping her hand over her mouth to repeat in a muffled voice, "Truly,
Jared? More?"
"Truly. Finish your ale; then you must have mine."
"Yours, too?"
In answer he placed his brimming mug in Lindsay's hand;
she looked doubtfully at the frothy brew, but another noisy hiccup made her
take a long draught, so long and deep that it was Jared who finally coaxed the
mug away from her.
"I think that should do it."
"Really?" Suddenly feeling quite woozy,
Lindsay gripped the edge of the table, which seemed to be moving as well. She
held very still for a moment, waiting, waiting, a self-satisfied smirk breaking
over her face when no further hiccups were heard. "Ha! You were right! I
feel so much—"
Lindsay gaped at Jared, her second belch so loud that
he broke into a laugh. She giggled, too, shrugging her shoulders and spreading
her hands wide, which proved a grave mistake as she let go of the table.
Suddenly she felt herself falling backward and she
would have tumbled altogether from the bench if Jared hadn't caught her around
the waist. Throwing her arms around his neck as he drew her back up beside him,
Lindsay couldn't seem to stop giggling even as she fought to catch her breath.
"I . . . I guess I'll just have to drink some more
ale—"
"No, I think instead it's time I take you home."
"Home?" She shook her head vigorously, so
vigorously that the cellar spun around
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