He hooked his hands under her arms to pluck her from the table and set her on her feet.
“No more dares, Evie,” he snarled, and turned to stride from the room.
With the exception of the hand that reached out to grip the table, Evie didn’t move for several long minutes. She wanted to. She had the almost irresistible urge to chase after McAlistair, but aside from knowing it would do her no good (not while there were others in the house), she also found it impossible to put one foot in front of the other. Her legs, along with her heart, mind, and almost every other part of her, had turned to mush. She rather wondered how she managed to stand at all.
She blew out a long, long breath. So that was what kissing McAlistair—really kissing McAlistair—was like. It wasn’t the soft meeting of lips they’d shared in the past. He hadn’t held her at arm’s length, hadn’t been gentle or careful. She wasn’t entirely certain he’d even been in control.
And wasn’t that just lovely?
Her lips spread into a slow smile. Mr. James McAlistair had lost control. Not completely, she admitted, and apparently not quite so thoroughly as she—he obviously had the full use of his legs—but just enough for her to know that it could happen. And that she wanted it to happen again. And again. There was no reason it shouldn’t, she thought as her smile grew into a grin. After all, he’d said, “no more dares,” not “no more kissing.”
It was only a matter of maneuvering him into an interlude without the use of wagers or challenges. She gave a passing thought to trying her hand at seduction before deciding that, like fainting on cue, it was probably best left to those with a bit of practice. Perhaps on the boat tomorrow, she could—
“Have everything you need, Miss Cole?”
She started at the sound of Mr. Hunter’s voice. Heavens, she’d been so lost in her woolgathering, she hadn’t even heard him enter the room. “I…yes. Yes, I’m fine.”
“Excellent.”
She expected him to leave, content with that reassurance, but he continued to stare at her with an odd look on his face. Suddenly uncomfortable, she lifted a hand to her hair…and found great sections it falling out of her pins.
Oh, dear.
“I…er…” Her lips felt strange as she tried to form an explanation, and she realized they would be red and swollen. Bloody hell, she must look a mess. “I…I was…”
Mr. Hunter smiled pleasantly, as if he saw not a thing amiss. “Looks as if you’re earning your keep.”
She felt her eyes go round. “Earning m-my keep?” Did he mean to imply—?
“Cooking,” he offered helpfully and gestured at the ham. “Dinner.”
“Dinner? Oh! Yes. Right.” She’d quite forgotten.
“It smells…interesting.”
“Ahh…”
“I’ll just leave you to it.”
As she seemed unable to form any comment of value, she kept her mouth closed and offered what she hoped would pass for a friendly smile.
She kept that smile in place until he disappeared through the door, and she kept still and silent until his footsteps disappeared down the hall. Only when she was certain she wouldn’t be seen or overheard did she indulge in a long groan.
Oh, that had been mortifying.
And it was only the start of her humiliations for the evening. There was still the ham and dinner to contend with.
Both would have to wait, however, until she made a quick trip to her room.
Twenty-one
After her righting her appearance, Evie returned to the kitchen with the intent of cutting out the middle, perhaps less seasoned, part of the ham and cooking it in slices. Combined with the carrots and potatoes, she thought she might still be able to cobble out something edible.
Unfortunately, the final product proved more cobbled than edible.
Evie thought it was a testament to her friends’ loyalty that they each took several bites—Mrs. Summers even managed a strained smile during the first mouthful—before admitting defeat.
“I’m sorry, dear, but this meat is something less than appetizing.”
All things considered, Evie felt that statement was exceedingly diplomatic. “I know. I’m sorry. I had a spot of trouble with the seasoning.”
“I’m not finding a thing wrong with it,” Christian announced and polished off his last piece. “If you’re not wanting yours, Mrs. Summers…”
“Here you are,” Mrs. Summers chimed in quickly.