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"There are several processes involved in the production. As I said, it is a thin that requires patience. There is the Malting process which takes about ten days. This is where we soak the barley and then dry it afterwards. The resulting product which is the malt is crushed."

"Is that where the machine comes in? In crushing it? Or are they hand crushed?"

His mouth quirked up, "I think if I am not careful, you will milk me of all information and then go on to set up your own factory which would rival even mine."

She blushed, "Nonsense, a woman cannot own and operate a factory."

"You may just be the first."

"I would love to see all the things you have described, they sound so fascinating," Lavinia breathed, "What happens next after the malt is crushed?"

"The malt contains some sugar, not the sugar you are familiar with, mind you," he pointed out when she looked confused, "The sugar needs to be extracted and we do that by mixing the crushed malt with boiling water. It creates something we call a mash. Later we strain the mash, boil it with additives like herbs or sugars, mostly for taste, color and aroma of the brew."

"Adding yeast is the final step and then the entire thing is left to age in barrels. It can take weeks, months or years. I have a brew that has been sitting for about three years now and I plan on letting it age for many, many more."

When he faced her, her jaw had dropped open and he found her gaping at him.

"Is there a problem?"

"You may just be the most fascinating man in the whole of London."

A startled laugh burst out of him and she smiled in response, "I have just realized that I am no better than your cousin's friends who bore you with monologues of their horses."

"Nonsense," she waved him away, "it is far different."

"How so?"

"Well, I enquired about your work and it was enlightening to listen to. I do not know any other lords who own a brewery and are very invested in it. Meanwhile I know a hundred lords who own horses and spend all of their money purchasing even more expensive ones just for the sake of feeling superior to the rest of the gentlemen of theton," she pursed her lips, "I have never in my life been impressed by a man for his stallion's ability to race around London in mere minutes. Impressed by the beast itself, sure, but impressed by the owner, never."

The dog began to tug at his leash and she tugged it back to her side, "Do you think he has seen a friend?"

"A Rodent most likely," he said.

"Andrew is not like that," she declared staunchly, "He would never bully the weaker animals."

The Duke threw his head back, laughter rumbling out of his mouth, "Believe me, Miss Proctor, your Andrew is just about the same size and may be even less vicious than a rodent. He would need to be protected from one as a matter of fact."

Lavinia's grin was sassy, "He may be small but he is fearsome."

He nodded in support, but the twitching of his mouth gave him away and she rolled her eyes. He had to admit that he had never had as much fun with a lady in his life.

Not even those nights of alcohol and depravity with nameless women in his much younger years had been quite as entertaining.

What was it about Lavinia Proctor?

Part of it was her wide eyed innocence, there was nothing scheming or coy about her. Speaking to her was not an elaborate word parry. There was no need to search for hidden context or disguised meanings.

There was also no strained silences or a need to be careful with words to avoid giving any lady false hope.

With Lavinia it was banter and laughter and the magnetic attraction he had been trying so hard to bury.

"Do you like the Opera?" The Duke asked.

"Your sister and the Viscount must be very close," she was staring over at them, wearing a thoughtful expression.

"They are," he replied impatiently, "I was asking if you liked the-"

"Andrew!" Lavinia suddenly cried as the dog leaped forward and tore away from the leash in her hands, "Andrew, no!"