Had he heard her correctly? Had she just calmly, from her position alone at a darkened table in a London tavern at an ungodly hour, ordered a scotch as though it were the most normal thing in the world?
Had the woman taken leave of her senses?
One thing was certain. He had entirely misjudged little Callie Hartwell. She was most definitely not the appropriate sponsor for Juliana. He’d been looking for a woman of impeccable character and, instead, he had found Callie, who calmly ordered whiskey in London taverns.
Except—
Except there was nothing calm about her. His eyes narrowed as he watched her carefully. She was as stiff as a board. Her breathing, which he measured by the rise and fall of her shoulders, was uneven and shallow. She was nervous. Uncomfortable. And, yet, here she was, in a place he could have told her would make her both of those things. Why? He was going to have to ask her. To confront her. And he knew she wasn’t going to enjoy it.
The barmaid returned with the drink, and Callie paid for it; Ralston noticed she included a handsome addition for the woman’s service. When the server left, he leaned forward to watch as Callie lifted the glass and took a long whiff of the alcohol within. He couldn’t see her face, but he saw her physically recoil with a single harsh cough, shaking her head as if to clear it before repeating the action. This time, she restrained herself from an obvious response, but from the way she bent her head to address the glass, he could tell she was skeptical of the beverage. It was clear she’d never had a drop of scotch in her life. After several moments of her investigation, during which she appeared to be debating whether or not she should drink, Ralston could no longer contain his curiosity.
“That is what you get for ordering whiskey.”
Callie nearly dropped the glass. Ralston couldn’t help feeling a touch vindicated by that. It served the chit right.
She had turned instantly toward him, scotch jostling violently in her glass, and he rose to move to join her at her table.
He gave her credit for quickly recovering from her surprise enough to respond, “I suppose I should have guessed you would be here.”
“You will admit, a lady of good breeding requesting a recommendation for a tavern is not exactly the most common of occurrences.”
“I suppose not.” She looked back at her glass. “I do not suppose I could convince you to return to your table and pretend that you never saw me?”
“I am afraid that would be quite impossible. I could not leave you alone here. You could easily find yourself in a compromising situation.”
She gave a half laugh. “I find that difficult to believe, my lord.”
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Are you honestly unable to see the damage that your being found alone here would do to your reputation?”
“I would imagine that the damage would be significantly less than that of being discovered here with you.” She gave a little wave, indicating the rest of the tavern. “There are plenty of unaccompanied ladies here.”
Ralston’s eyes darkened. “I highly doubt that those particular ‘ladies’ expect to remain unaccompanied.”
She did not immediately take his meaning, furrowing her brow in confusion. When, after a few seconds, understanding dawned, she looked to the unattached women around the pub and then back to him, wide-eyed. He nodded, as if to confirm her suspicions.
She gasped, “But—I am not…”
“I know.”
“I would never—”
He tipped his head in acknowledgment of her words. “It begs the question…Why are you here?”
She was silent long enough for him to think she might not answer the question. Then she said, “If you must know, I am here to drink scotch.”
One dark eyebrow rose. “Forgive me if I do not believe you.”
“It’s true!”
“It does not take a master investigator to see that you are not a scotch drinker, Lady Calpurnia.”
“It’s true,” she repeated.
He gave an irritated sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Really,” he said, as though it was nothing of the sort.
“Yes!” She grew indignant. “Why is that so difficult to believe?”
“Well, first, I can assure you that the scotch at Allendale House is likely legions better than whatever swill they’ve given you here. So why not simply have a drink there?”
“I want to drink here. I find the atmosphere…engaging.”
“You didn’t even know here existed until two hours ago,” he pointed out.