Some of the liquid sloshed. She hardly noticed. "Only later, and just my heart. But really, what matters a broken heart when one has lost one's reputation?"
"And that bothers you?"
"No," she answered, her tongue feeling thick. "It doesn't bother me. It annoys me, and sometimes when I see the way people look at me, it hurts. Only 'tis worse when they direct that animosity at my cousin, too. I tell myself to pay it no heed. After all, most of them are a bunch of no account snobs."
"And what do you think of me?"
She peered at her glass. She hadn't drunk much wine, but it certainly felt like it. Yet she was more than lightheaded. She felt odd, her body heavy, her thoughts sluggish. "What kind of wine was this?" she asked, staring into the glass.
"The kind made from grapes," he answered.
She flushed again. "Why, thank you for that edifying bit of information."
"You didn't answer my question."
She looked up at him, having to blink a bit to focus. "Mayhap because I do not want to answer it."
He smiled. She became entranced with that smile for a moment. Heavens, but the man had a heavenly smile.
"Why don't you want to answer it?"
"Because I do not wish to insult you."
The smile spread. "Go ahead. Answer me. What do you think of me. Honestly."
"Very well. I think you're a lying, cheating, traitorous bastard."
His amusement abruptly faded. Not surprisingly. Her words would have had a dampening effect on most people's mood.
"Why do you call me that?"
She almost told him the truth. She almost opened her mouth and let fly the words, "Because you are a spy." But something stopped her at the last moment, some last drop of sanity that floated through her brain. "Because all men are that."
He seemed to buy the words, though his eyes had narrowed. "Not all men."
"No? Name me one man in my life who deserves my admiration."
"Your father."
She snorted. Actually snorted. Gracious, but she felt odd. "My father is the coldest man I've ever met. How he ended up with my mother I shall never know."
"Why do you say that?"
She shrugged, liking how relaxed her shoulders felt. She wiggled them again, almost closing her eyes. "Everyone knows how cold he is. At the Admiralty they call him Block of Ice Bettencourt."
"So he does not speak much? He does not share with you any of the county's secrets?"
Something nagged at the back of her brain, something insistent. "Oh, no. I'm lucky if I hear two words out of him when he deigns to see me. Pity, really. The secret of how he ties his cravat will go with him to the grave." When she focused on him again, she noticed he was smiling. How odd, for she couldn't remember him ever smiling so, so. . .sincerely.
"Has he ever told you what is in that hidden room of his?"
She found herself nodding before she realized what it was she did. A buzzing had begun in her head.
"What is it?"
She shrugged. Something is most odd, Ariel. The voice rang out so clearly in her head, she found herself looking around for the speaker.
"Ariel?"
She had a hard time focusing. An even harder time remembering his question.
"What is in that room?"
She blinked, her eyes narrowing sluggishly. "You drugged me."
"I did," he admitted.
"Why?" she slurred.
"I need information from you. This seemed the most expedient way of getting it."
She sat up, knowing her upper body swayed but helpless to stop it. " Hmph . What a sterling idea. I'm surprised you did not try that earlier. Would that I had thought of it."
"And why would you want to drug me?"
"Because you," she pointed at one of the two Nathan Trevains , "are a spy."
She thought she saw him stiffen, thought he might have risen half out of his chair, but she couldn't be sure. Things had grown rather fuzzy of late.
"How do you know who I am?"
She began to lean to one side. He shot out of his seat before she fell.
"Ariel, answer me. How do you know?"
"Your ring." She smiled triumphantly. "And the way you responded to the note I sent you—Helios."
He released her.
"And that bothers you?"
"No," she answered, her tongue feeling thick. "It doesn't bother me. It annoys me, and sometimes when I see the way people look at me, it hurts. Only 'tis worse when they direct that animosity at my cousin, too. I tell myself to pay it no heed. After all, most of them are a bunch of no account snobs."
"And what do you think of me?"
She peered at her glass. She hadn't drunk much wine, but it certainly felt like it. Yet she was more than lightheaded. She felt odd, her body heavy, her thoughts sluggish. "What kind of wine was this?" she asked, staring into the glass.
"The kind made from grapes," he answered.
She flushed again. "Why, thank you for that edifying bit of information."
"You didn't answer my question."
She looked up at him, having to blink a bit to focus. "Mayhap because I do not want to answer it."
He smiled. She became entranced with that smile for a moment. Heavens, but the man had a heavenly smile.
"Why don't you want to answer it?"
"Because I do not wish to insult you."
The smile spread. "Go ahead. Answer me. What do you think of me. Honestly."
"Very well. I think you're a lying, cheating, traitorous bastard."
His amusement abruptly faded. Not surprisingly. Her words would have had a dampening effect on most people's mood.
"Why do you call me that?"
She almost told him the truth. She almost opened her mouth and let fly the words, "Because you are a spy." But something stopped her at the last moment, some last drop of sanity that floated through her brain. "Because all men are that."
He seemed to buy the words, though his eyes had narrowed. "Not all men."
"No? Name me one man in my life who deserves my admiration."
"Your father."
She snorted. Actually snorted. Gracious, but she felt odd. "My father is the coldest man I've ever met. How he ended up with my mother I shall never know."
"Why do you say that?"
She shrugged, liking how relaxed her shoulders felt. She wiggled them again, almost closing her eyes. "Everyone knows how cold he is. At the Admiralty they call him Block of Ice Bettencourt."
"So he does not speak much? He does not share with you any of the county's secrets?"
Something nagged at the back of her brain, something insistent. "Oh, no. I'm lucky if I hear two words out of him when he deigns to see me. Pity, really. The secret of how he ties his cravat will go with him to the grave." When she focused on him again, she noticed he was smiling. How odd, for she couldn't remember him ever smiling so, so. . .sincerely.
"Has he ever told you what is in that hidden room of his?"
She found herself nodding before she realized what it was she did. A buzzing had begun in her head.
"What is it?"
She shrugged. Something is most odd, Ariel. The voice rang out so clearly in her head, she found herself looking around for the speaker.
"Ariel?"
She had a hard time focusing. An even harder time remembering his question.
"What is in that room?"
She blinked, her eyes narrowing sluggishly. "You drugged me."
"I did," he admitted.
"Why?" she slurred.
"I need information from you. This seemed the most expedient way of getting it."
She sat up, knowing her upper body swayed but helpless to stop it. " Hmph . What a sterling idea. I'm surprised you did not try that earlier. Would that I had thought of it."
"And why would you want to drug me?"
"Because you," she pointed at one of the two Nathan Trevains , "are a spy."
She thought she saw him stiffen, thought he might have risen half out of his chair, but she couldn't be sure. Things had grown rather fuzzy of late.
"How do you know who I am?"
She began to lean to one side. He shot out of his seat before she fell.
"Ariel, answer me. How do you know?"
"Your ring." She smiled triumphantly. "And the way you responded to the note I sent you—Helios."
He released her.
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