Page 23 of The Duchess Games

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but whoever gave that to you is no friend.” She would have wiped her tongue if she could have. Would have informed him that her brandy was of much better quality if she could have. Whoever had let it down to make it drinkable had done an abysmally poor job. Brandy was smuggled over-proof and then diluted. It meant far less volume and fewer casks for the ships to haul. But it also meant people drank awful concoctions. The French would be morally insulted. “Don’t drink bandy smuggled into London,” she couldn’t help but warn him.

He lifted an eyebrow.

“Everyone knows London water will make you ill. But there is one thing you can do with bad brandy.”

“What’s that?”

“Snapdragon.”

He frowned. “What?”

“You’ve never played Snapdragon at Christmas?” she gaped at him.

“My mother did not encourage games or frivolity. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Well, that won’t do,” Cat announced, standing up. She held out her hand. “Come with me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“We’re going to play Snapdragon.”

“It’s past three in the morning.”

“And so no one will see us and your reputation will be safe,” she assured him. “Don’t worry, anyone who is not asleep is probably loitering by your bedroom door, remember?” He let himself be drawn to his feet. She kept forgetting how tall he was, how wide his shoulders.

Don’t get distracted. This is a mission of mercy.

She remembered a Callum who smiled, who laughed. And she was starting to strongly suspect that he had not truly done so since they were young.

He followed her down to the kitchen, mostly because she would not let him refuse. She carried the decanter of smuggled brandy. “Why are you fully dressed?” he asked, behind her. “And wearing shoes?”

Oops.

“I always go for a walk when I can’t sleep,” she explained as she led him down the stairs to the dark kitchen. At least it was the truth. If not the truth tonight.

She pushed him towards a stool and rummaged for a platter and a jar of raisins and then lit a candle. He watched her as if she was the most interesting creature he had every seen. “Have you ever been down to the kitchens?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said. “Cook always had biscuits for me.”

She felt better knowing that, for some reason.

His eyes never left her as she scattered raisins in the platter and poured the brandy over them. “I am intrigued and faintly terrified.”

She faltered. “This is silly. You don’t want to play a children’s game.”

She drew away but he caught her hand. “Show me, Cat.” A command, but a soft one. A shiver tickled the back of her neck.

“Very well.” She cleared her throat. “The goal is to snatch the raisins from the platter.”

“That doesn’t seem so difficult.”

She tilted the candle, touching the flame to the liquor. Blue fire kindled in the platter.

Callum stared. “This is meant for children?”

“Well, for everyone, really.”

“At Christmas.”