She was so absorbed in the task that Reese startled her when he walked in, carrying a small sack in the crook of his arm. “What’s that smell?” he asked, sniffing the air suspiciously. “And why does it look like a brigade of overzealous maids came through here?”

Sophie brushed off her palms, untied the apron, and lifted it over her head. “It’s lemon oil,” she said with a shrug. “The room was overdue for a cleaning.”

“Thank you,” he said with a frown. “I hope you know that’s not why I asked you here.”

“I know,” she said—although she still wasn’t entirely sure of the real reason. “How was your dinner?”

“I brought it back,” he said, holding the sack aloft. “There’s a sandwich in here for you as well, some cheese, and a couple of apples.” He sat in one of the chairs and gestured at the other. When she didn’t move, he said, “You’re not going to make me eat alone, are you?”

Tentative, she took the sandwich he offered and sat across from him. It seemed strange to be eating dinner alone with a man—and even stranger that they had no napkins, utensils, or table. A little like a picnic, but without the pesky insects.

Feeling Reese’s eyes on her, she nibbled at the sandwich. “Delicious,” she said.

He unwrapped his and bit into it with obvious gusto. “Food was an excellent idea,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

They devoured most everything Reese had brought from the tavern, with the exception of the apples, which they set on the table between them.

The room had no clock on display, but Sophie suspected that the hour was close to midnight. Usually by this time on a Friday evening, she would have made her way from the meeting to Fiona and Gray’s house, where she often stayed up late visiting with her friends before making herself at home in their lovely guest bedchamber. But earlier that day, she’d sent Fiona a note informing her that she wouldn’t be able to spend the night and would arrive early Saturday morning, instead.

Sending the note had felt a bit like crossing into dangerous, uncharted territory. Miss Haywinkle had been fond of saying that the rules of proper behavior were in place to protect young ladies. Sophie had been skeptical, but as she sat across from the scruffy, brooding Earl of Warshire in the quiet, dimly lit room, she began to think that the headmistress may have had a point.

And that was precisely why Sophie intended to set up rules governing their interactions. She needed to establish clear boundaries. Lines that would not—could not—be crossed.

“As I mentioned in Lady Rufflebum’s garden,” she began, “I think it’s important that we spell out the terms of this arrangement.”