Page 17 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

Sweet temptation.

Stonehaven tried not to fidget. Beaumarsh was a jolly good fellow. The best, actually. Not a fair-weather friend, but true and honourable. Stonehaven still wanted to kill him.

“Of all the warlike inventions that have ever been contrived, antiquity can produce none more dreadful than were used by the people of the Netherlands against Philip V of Spain, and particularly at the siege of Antwerp, which having been besieged for some time by the Prince of Parma, he at length resolved to lay a bridge—”

“Oh, give it a rest,” Stonehaven barked, having reached his limit for historical education for one day.

“Don’t you like it? I thought it fascinating stuff,” Beau said reproachfully.

“Yes, yes. I don’t doubt, but I’ve already done the Trojan War and the Siege of Syracuse, I think that’s all I can take for one day.”

“You make it sound like I’ve been droning on for hours. You’ve had a meal and several naps between those wars.”

“I know it but keep the history of the Infernal Machine for tomorrow, there’s a good fellow, else the excitement might finish me off.”

Beau snorted. “Bored, are you? Can’t blame you. You’ve never been the sort to sit idle. Look, it’s a fine evening. Why not come downstairs and sit outside? Get some air. I’ll even sneak you a glass of brandy, though that doctor chap of yours will skin me alive if he discovers it.”

“I’m not exactly dressed for socialising,” Stonehaven remarked dryly.

“George shaved me this morning. At first, I thought the Honeywells had decided to get the fellow to cut my throat and save themselves a deal of trouble. I dared not breathe, I can tell you, but I think it wasn’t too bad,” he remarked, stroking a thoughtful hand over his chin, which was prickly again now but had been surprisingly smooth after George’s intervention.

“Not in the least. I remarked as much myself. You should let Kirby do for you while I’m here, though. He’s begged me to persuade you into it.”

Stonehaven shook his head. “And violate the sacred bond between a man and his valet? I should think not. Like bedding a man’s wife.”

“It certainly isn’t,” Beaumarsh objected. “And what about your bond with your valet? You showed him the door quickly enough.”

“Never liked him,” Stonehaven said with a shrug. “Just too idle to say so.”

Beau laughed. “Fair enough. Well, do you want to put on that garish banyan of yours and make the effort? I promise not to pitch you down the stairs, no matter how tempted I am.”

Stonehaven was about to refuse when he remembered Sally telling him about the covered terrace, and how pleasant it was.

He had thought of her often, about her frank manner and her kindness.

Perhaps if he went downstairs, he’d have the chance to thank her for helping him that day.

Not that he hadn’t already done so, but… well, he’d like to, anyway.

“If you insist,” he said sullenly, not wanting to look as if he wished to go, for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

“Excellent. You know there is one good thing about being blind,” Beau said irreverently as Stonehaven swung his legs out of bed.

“Oh?” Stonehaven replied, a dangerous note to his voice.

“Yes, you can’t see this appalling banyan. It’s hideous. Truly, man, what were you thinking?” he demanded as he settled it around Stonehaven’s shoulder.

“Arsehole,” Stonehaven remarked gruffly, but his lips twitched all the same.

Bea hummed softly as she walked back down the garden path, hefting the basket of ripe tomatoes in front of her.

It was a marvellous harvest this year, and there were still plenty to pick, but most of these were destined for chutney, and some for soup, which was one of her favourite things.

She thought the tangy tomatoes cooked with herbs to be the taste of sunshine instilled in one dish.

Though Mrs Adie was most territorial about her kitchen, she occasionally allowed the girls to make something, and tomato soup was Bea’s best recipe, and one people often asked for once they’d tasted it.

As she approached the house, intending to enter through the scullery door, Bea paused as she saw a man sitting at the terrace.

Her heart gave an agitated thud as she realised it was Stonehaven.

He was alone, cradling a glass of brandy in his hands.

She smiled, wondering who he had persuaded to give it to him.

Beaumarsh, most likely. The doctor had insisted he stay away from strong spirits until he was more used to his new sightless world, fearing it would addle his senses and cause further accidents. Stonehaven had not taken the news well.

Telling her erratic heart to stop working itself into such a lather, for she was only going to bid him a good evening, Bea climbed the steps to the terrace, ensuring she made enough noise to alert him to her presence.

“Good evening, my lord.”

His head turned towards her, his dark brows snapping together and just as suddenly his expression cleared and he smiled at her. The sight made her breath catch.

“Sally! How are you? What are you doing out here?”

Bea hesitated, knowing she ought to explain herself.

It had been wicked of her to deceive him once, though she had done it out of kindness, but to do so again was dreadful.

Yet that smile had been for Sally, and not for her, and she was tired of seeing him turn his attention to her with his charming but disinterested smiles and well-rehearsed flirtation.

“I am well, my lord. I have been picking tomatoes.”

“You have? Isn’t that George’s job?”

“Oh, there are too many jobs at this time of year. We all pitch in.”

Bea reached into her basket and selected a small, bright red tomato. “Here, take one. Are you brave enough to try it, my lord? Some people believe they’re poisonous, you know?”

“Are you trying to finish me off, Sally?” he asked gravely, holding out his hand to accept the fruit.

“No, my lord,” she replied, watching as he turned it in his large hand, lifting it to his nose and inhaling.

“Well, it certainly smells good, but how can I be certain? I have only your word for it. Perhaps you should take a bite first, just to reassure me?”

Bea stared, shocked, as he held the tomato out to her and she considered sinking her teeth into the soft, red flesh, so close to his hand.

“I-I—” she stammered.

“Are you brave enough, Sally?” he teased, throwing her words back at her.

“Certainly,” she said, remembering that Sally was a pert creature and would not back down from such a challenge.

Feeling brazen and utterly unlike herself, Bea glanced around to be certain no one was watching before kneeling down beside Stonehaven’s chair.

She lifted her hands to his, guiding him to place the tomato against her lips.

She watched his face, watched his expression still as her breath fluttered against his hand and she sank her teeth into the tomato. She took a bite, her lips brushing his fingers, juice running down her chin as she pushed quickly to her feet and stepped away again.

“There,” she said, wiping her chin with the back of her hand, unable to hide how breathless she was.

The tomato was sweet and tart and tangy, and the flavour filled her mouth and the knowledge that the same sensation would find itself upon his tongue made her insides fizz with a strange feeling of intimacy, of sharing a forbidden secret.

She watched, heart thudding erratically, as he lifted the remaining tomato and ate it in one bite.

Closing his eyes, he seemed to savour the intensity of it with his entire being, and she pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, wanting to recapture it and taste it as he did.

Stonehaven lifted his hand, his tongue chasing the juice that had run down his thumb, gliding over the place where her lips had touched his skin, and a bolt of something dark and liquid and exquisite made Bea flush with pleasure at the sight.

He let out a breath that seemed to her not entirely steady, and then his expression changed, the concentration she had seen invigorate his expression smoothing out and then vanishing completely.

“Quite good,” he said, his voice surprisingly flat.

Bea frowned, wondering how he could dismiss something so exquisite as quite good.

Could losing his sight have diminished his other senses?

No, he had looked transported in the moment the flavour had burst upon his tongue.

Yet clearly, he had felt none of the wicked excitement that she had at being so close to him.

Disappointment coursed through her, and she scolded herself for being a fool.

If she could not spark interest as him as Beatrice Honeywell, she would not manage it as plain old Sally.

Still, regret flooded her, leaving her bereft she had been unable to reach him with such a simple pleasure, and her own voice was heavy as she spoke again.

“Forgive me for interrupting you. I’ll leave you to your brandy,” she said, her idiotic heart still hopeful that he would delay her, find a reason for her to linger.

He did not. Instead, he nodded, not even deigning to reply, and Bea hurried away.

Stonehaven’s grip on his glass felt too tight. He forced himself to relax, fearing he might shatter it. He listened intently as he heard Sally’s light footsteps, heard with more clarity the disappointment in her voice at his dismissive assessment of the treat she had given him echo in his mind.

“Bastard,” he muttered crossly.

Yet what the hell had he been thinking? Flirting with the staff of all things.

He knew better than that. Damnation, he’d known better than that since he was a spotty youth of fifteen.

Yet the pleasure he’d heard in her voice when she had greeted him, and the easy way she teased him, had made him feel as if perhaps he had not changed so very much.

As if he were still a man to be admired.