She stepped back without taking the food. “I will eat. I’ve enough of the bread and cheese to—”
“Take it, Evie.”
Realizing they were perilously close to another argument, she stepped forward and took the half he offered. “Bit silly, really, for me to choke it down when you haven’t enough. Are you certain—?”
“I’ve plenty.” He jerked his chin at his pile of bread and cheese. “Take more of that, as well.”
“Perhaps,” she evaded. “If I’m still hungry after the sandwich.”
Rather than press the issue, he knelt to light the fire and with a skill clearly born of extensive practice, created a cheerful little blaze in a matter of minutes. Evie settled across from him, polished off the last of her food, and made a point not to glance wistfully at McAlistair’s bread and cheese.
For a long while, the pair of them sat in comfortable silence—the sort that comes less from familiarity and more from both parties being weary to their very bones. Evie stared into the flames, letting her mind wander as darkness fell around them.
“Why would they do it?” McAlistair asked suddenly.
Her gaze shot up. “I beg your pardon?”
“Why would the others conspire to find you a husband?”
“Oh.” She blinked away her stupor and smiled at him. “You believe me, then?”
“No. It’s a hypothetical question.”
She felt herself slump. It was a little disheartening, really, that he should so easily dismiss what she’d told him. “Well, whether you believe it or not, it is a ruse. It has something to do with a deathbed promise Mr. Fletcher made to the late Lord Rockeforte—Alex’s father. Can’t imagine what sort of promise it was that required matchmaking or why he thought to include me. I barely knew the man.”
“Can’t you find a husband on your own?”
“Certainly, I can,” she answered quickly, and hoped he couldn’t see her flush in the dying light. Probably, she could find a husband on her own. She’d never actually received an offer of marriage, but then, she’d been careful not to lead any gentlemen in that direction. “I’ve simply no interest in the endeavor.”
“Why not?”
She picked up a small twig and tossed it into the fire. “One could just as easily ask why one should.”
“Children and a home of your own.”
“Haldon is my home, Mr. McAlistair, for as long as my family resides there. Beyond that, not every woman relishes the idea of planning her life around marriage, birth, and running a house.”
“Many do,” he pointed out. Then he added, “McAlistair.”
She blinked at him. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s McAlistair, not Mr. McAlistair.”
“Oh.” Goodness, the man really was odd. “McAlistair is your first name?”
He shook his head.
“Have you a first name?” she inquired.
“Yes.”
She waited a beat. Then another. Then laughed and rolled her eyes. “La, how you do go on.”
“Mr. McAlistair was my father.”
“Generally, that is how it works.”
“I don’t care for the reminder.”
“I see.” She plucked at a blade of grass, torn between doing what was polite and letting the matter drop, and doing what she wanted, which was to satisfy her insatiable curiosity. “Was he unkind?”
“I don’t know,” McAlistair answered without a hint of emotion. “He left when I was four.”
“I’m very sorry.” She plucked at the grass again. “I suppose you haven’t any siblings, then?”
“I’ve six younger brothers.” He handed her some of the remaining bread.
“Younger?…Ah.” She bobbed her head and, because she was starving, and he was holding it out so insistently, and it was such a small portion, really, and…oh, very well, because she was weak, she accepted the food. “That makes sense.”
It wasn’t until she’d taken a bite that she realized he was staring at her again. She chewed and swallowed. “What?”
“Makes sense?”
She cocked her head at him. “Did you expect me to condemn your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Well.” He certainly was blunt. “I don’t see why. Most members of the demimonde consider extramarital affairs to be fashionable—provided the lady has produced at least one male heir, of course.”
“Are you a member of the demimonde?”
“No, but I’ll not judge an abandoned woman for seeking comfort. She wasn’t left a choice, was she? Pity she couldn’t have obtained a divorce.”
“You approve of divorce?”
Heavens, were they having an actual conversation? “Under certain circumstances, yes. I don’t think people should go about changing spouses willy-nilly, but neither should it be so difficult for a woman to free herself from an injurious union.”
“Like the women you help?”
She took another bite of bread. “Exactly.”
He stared at her, unblinking, for a full five seconds, as if considering her very carefully. “My brothers have different fathers.”
She stopped midchew. “What, all of them?”
He nodded once.
“Well. I see.” She swallowed and thought this new bit of information through. “Perhaps she required a great deal of comfort.”
It was hard to tell in the encroaching darkness and with the way the fire cast light and shadows across his chiseled features, but she rather thought he might have smiled.
Then she was absolutely certain he was scowling. Not at her, mind you, he was staring at something off to her left, but still, he was scowling.
Confused, she followed his line of sight. “What is it?”
“Don’t move.”
“What? What is it?”
She saw it then, the brown snake with black jagged marks along its back, slithering not two feet away from her side. Though it wasn’t the first adder she’d come across, it was certainly the first she’d encountered while sitting on the ground. She felt an involuntary shiver run over her skin.
“Oh, hell.”
“Stay still,” McAlistair repeated sternly. Crouching, he pulled his knife from its sheath. Before she had the chance to even wonder what he meant to do, he lunged forward in a fluid movement, grabbed the snake with his free hand, and neatly sliced off its head.
Even as her heart fluttered at the danger and her mind reeled with the sheer speed at which McAlistair had acted, Evie’s stomach turned over at the woeful sight of the beheaded snake. “Was that really necessary?”
“Yes.” He stood to toss the carcass into the woods. “Or I wouldn’t have done it.”
“It wasn’t hurting anything.”
“Yet.”
“You could have—” She broke off and, for once, was grateful he wasn’t inclined to fill the silence. Her arguments were foolish. There wasn’t anything else he could have done, short of catching the snake, saddling one of the horses, and riding—in almost darkness—deep into the woods to release it far enough from camp that it wouldn’t be inclined to return.
She frowned sadly in the direction of the dead snake. “It’s a great pity.”
He resumed his seat. “You’ve a fondness for snakes?”
“I don’t know if it could be termed a fondness,” she said, thinking of the cold shiver she’d felt. “But I have a respect for them and an aversion to killing a living thing that’s not intended for food.”
Unless she was much mistaken—and she rather thought she must be—a hint of devilish humor crept into his voice. “Should I fetch it back and cook it?”
“I…” Her gaze jumped back to him. “Can one eat an adder?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain? You’ve had them before?”
“Number of times.”
She bit her lip and considered. “What do they taste like?”
“Mild.”
Mild, she thought, could mean a great many things. It c
ould, for all she knew, mean mildly disgusting.
“Wouldn’t you like to soothe your conscience?” McAlistair inquired.
She would, but not at the expense of her stomach. She peered at him over the flames.
“Are you goading me?”
“Challenging you.”
“A dare, is it?” She couldn’t resist a dare any better than she could resist curiosity. “What would the terms of the challenge be?”
“You eat four bites, and you get your choice of blankets for the night.”
She snorted. “You’d have given me that choice, at any rate.”
“Not without the four bites,” he replied, and this time she was quite sure she could hear a bit of the devil in his voice. “Not now.”
“I see.” She laughed. “And what do you get, should I fail? Aside from a more comfortable night’s sleep?”
He said nothing for a long, weighted moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft as velvet. “A kiss.”
Her mouth opened but no sound emerged. A kiss?
A kiss in the woods? Was he mocking her? She narrowed her eyes at him, but found she couldn’t see his face well enough to tell. Surely he would never be so cruel.
“A kiss,” she finally repeated hoarsely. She cleared her throat and attempted to instill a touch of sophistication in her tone. “Just a simple kiss, nothing more?”
“A kiss on my terms.”
A log crackled in the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the air. The reflection of the bright shards danced in his eyes, and briefly illuminated his face. There was no humor to be found in his expression, not a hint of amusement softening his hard features. If anything, he looked rather…determined.
“You said…” She licked lips gone dry. “You said I wasn’t meant for you.”
“You’re not.”
“Then why…?”
He shook his head. “Those are the terms. Do you accept?”
“It…” She cleared her throat again. “It seems a skewed bargain. Winning only gains me something you’ve decided to take away. I want the boon of my choice.”
“Such as?”
She wracked her brain for something, anything, she wanted more than another chance to kiss McAlistair. “I want…I want…” She hit on just the thing. “I want you to take seriously and be open to discussing that this whole business is a matchmaking ruse.”
“I’ll take your concerns seriously,” he countered. “More would be a lie.”
She considered that and decided she appreciated the honesty. “Very well. We have a deal.”
Eight
The sky had lost its last vestiges of gray by the time McAlistair finished skinning, cleaning, and cooking the snake.
It didn’t look altogether terrible, Evie mused after he’d handed her a portion. It didn’t smell altogether terrible either. She broke off a small piece, squared her shoulders, and popped it into her mouth.
“What do you think?”
It was mild. In fact, it was rather bland. Had she not been all too aware of the fact that it was snake, she might have assumed it was some kind of tastelessly prepared fowl. “It’s not altogether terrible.”
“Can you eat the whole of it?”
“Certainly.” And to prove it, she took another bite and chewed around a smug smile.
He was sitting closer to the fire, and to her, than he had been earlier, and the flickering light allowed her to make out the lines and angles of his face. He offered her a half smile as he tore off a chunk of meat and bit in. Her eyes lingered on his mouth.
The memory of how that mouth had felt as it moved over hers—warm, gentle, and with the faintest hint of demand—flashed into her mind, and a nearly overpowering longing swept over her.
She could have that again. All she had to do was lose the dare. Her pride winced at the thought, but she slowed her chewing nonetheless. What could it hurt—aside from the obvious answer of her pride? She could make do with a thinner blanket, and McAlistair struck her as being too sensible to ignore the reality of a matchmaking scheme for very long. And even if he were convinced of the ruse this very moment, it was too late now to turn back and find the others. No matter how it had come to be, they were stuck together for the remainder of the trip.
She slowed her chewing further, and poked a bit at the remainder of the meat.
“Problem?” McAlistair asked.
She made a show of choking down the food in her mouth. “Not at all.”
She picked at the meat, tore off a small piece, and stared at it. Making sure he was watching her, she tore the piece in half, then in half again, then—
“That’s not a bite, Evie.”
“It is.” She put the now miniscule piece in her mouth and made a show of chewing once. “You see? I bit.” She might have swallowed as well; the piece had been too small to say.
“Doesn’t count.” He gestured at the remainders of the piece. “All of it.”
“That’s more than four bites.”
“Can’t you do it?”
“Of course I can.” She really could. Bland or not, her belly would be more than happy to have the meal. The rest of her, however, wanted something else. She pushed the pieces with the tip of her finger. “It’s a bit bland, that’s all.”
“Should make it easy to swallow.”
“You’d think,” she agreed in an absent tone. “But the idea of it…” She poked a bit more.
“Think of something else.”
She shot a glance at him. He was awfully encouraging. Did he want to lose the wager? She wasn’t in a position to judge, mind you, but her losing on purpose meant she would be kissed. His losing on purpose meant he didn’t want to kiss her—bit insulting, that. And odd, as it had been his idea.
“What if I were to eat the remaining two bites at once?” she inquired. “Would that count?”
“I’ll accept it.”
She hid a scowl at his quick agreement. He did want to lose. “Well, how much would that be?”
He reached over and tore off a piece—a gargantuan piece that equaled nearly double her original portion.
Very well, he didn’t want to lose.
“I can’t fit the whole of that in my mouth at once,” she told him with a laugh.
The corner of his mouth hooked up. “Then don’t.”
“That’s not two bites, which is what I owe you. It’s not even four bites. It’s a six-course meal and after-dinner snack.”
He jerked his chin at the tiny bits of meat she’d torn a moment ago. “The penalty for cheating.”
“I don’t cheat.” Some might argue she was cheating right now, but she wasn’t one of them. “I’m simply not hungry.”
“You’ve had little to eat today.”
“I had lunch with Mrs. Summers, or part of a lunch at any rate, and the remainder of it only a few hours ago.”
And she was still hungry, but a few hours’ fast would be more than worth the chance to kiss McAlistair again.
He flicked her a cool glance. “You made the bargain, Evie.”
She certainly had. And she wouldn’t have been arguing except that it would be expected of her, were she trying to win that bargain.
She played with the meat while McAlistair ate.
“I can’t do it,” she lied when he had finished. “I just can’t.”
He was silent and still for a long moment. And then, to her complete astonishment, he said, “You tried. We’ll call it a wash.”
“What?” She wasn’t certain if she should laugh, cry, or throw her food at him. “You can’t do that.”
“You want to lose?”
“That would be silly of me, wouldn’t it?” she asked, by way of avoiding the question. “But you said it yourself. We made a bargain, a wager, and—”
He reached for the watered beer. “I’m releasing you from it,” he said after a long drink.
“That is insulting to both of us.”
His brows rose at her cool tone. “Care to explain?”
She opened her mouth, intent on delivering a scathing lecture, but in the end decided on a simple, “You wouldn’t offer to release me of the wager if I were a man.”
His lips twitched. “Wouldn’t have made the wager if you were a man.”
“That is not the point.” She turned to scowl into the fire. McAlistair’s decision to release her from the bargain disappointed her for more reasons than the lost kiss. “You imply I am not to be held to the same standards. That leniency is required, as if I were incapable of fully understanding the bargain, or that my word is of less value than a man’s. I find that attitude insufferable.” Very well, she was going to lecture. “Furthermore, it shows you to be a small-minded individual who places little worth in—”
“Don’t move.”
“What?” Her heart leapt to her throat and her eyes darted about, searching for another snake. Was she sitting on a bloody nest of them?
“My way,” McAlistair said. With his dark gazed fixed on hers, he closed the distance between them.
“Your—?” Her eyes widened as she realized his intent. The kiss. He was going to kiss her. On his terms.
Her heart, already in her throat, began to beat wildly.
Taking her hands gently, he placed them on the ground and held them there. He leaned forward, close, closer, then stopped, just a breath away. “Don’t move,” he repeated in a rough whisper.
She nodded, or thought she did.
And then he was kissing her, and all thought was lost. She didn’t mean for that to happen—for her mind to go so utterly blank. She’d wanted to concentrate, to remember, to file away every minute, every second, every heartbeat of the kiss. It had seemed vital to do so only a moment ago. But now that his mouth was on hers, sensation pushed aside thought—his smell, his taste, the heat in her belly as he tasted her in return—and it only seemed vital that she kiss him back.
Her hands fisted under his. She wanted to touch, to pull him closer, to insist, but he held her still and moved his mouth over hers gently.
“My way,” he whispered.
He brought his lips back to hers and kissed her with exquisite tenderness, rubbing his mouth across hers in the lightest of brushes before retreating, shifting, and brushing again. He kissed her as if he were testing, as if she were fragile…or dangerous.
Mcalistairs Fortune Page 7
