“I agree,” Reese said earnestly. “But allow me to pour us some drinks first.” Before she could object, he swept away the remnants of their dinner, disappeared into the back room, and returned with two glasses of brandy. He handed one to her, then clinked his glass against hers before raising it and taking a long swallow.

Sophie set hers down on the table without taking a sip. If there was ever a time she needed to keep her wits about her, tonight was it. “I am under no obligation to you,” she began. “But to ensure there is no misunderstanding going forward, I wish to make a few things clear.”

“Fair enough,” he said smoothly as he settled back into his chair. “I know that my request is highly irregular, but I’m not proposing anything improper. It’s not my intent to seduce you, Sophie.”

Heat crept up her neck. Whether it was from talk of seducing or the velvet sound of her name on his tongue, she couldn’t say. Either way, she was grateful that the lantern was on the counter and she and Reese were mostly in shadows.

“I wasn’t suggesting that you have wicked intentions where I’m concerned,” she said. “I realize that such a thing would be highly unlikely.”

“Why is that?” he asked, incredulous.

Heavens. Now her cheeks were on fire. “Because I don’t usually inspire those sorts of…” Dear God, this was humiliating, but she’d promised herself she’d be forthright in her discussions with Reese. That she wouldn’t dance around difficult subjects. “I only meant that men generally don’t … desire me in that way.”

He blinked as though she’d managed to stun him. And then he chuckled—a deep, intoxicating laugh that she felt low in her belly. “Forgive me,” he said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. “But as long as we’re being truthful, I have a confession to make.”

Sophie braced herself and resisted the urge to reach for her glass of brandy. “Go on.”

“I was sincere when I said that it isn’t my intent to seduce you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t desire you, Sophie. In fact, it’s difficult for me to imagine a woman more desirable.” His gaze, undeniably hot, lingered on her face for several heartbeats.

Like a dormant bulb feeling the sun after a long, brutal winter, her body unfurled, blossoming with warmth. “The conversation seems to have veered off course,” she said, doing her best impression of Miss Haywinkle. “The point is that I want to be clear about our agreement. You will permit me to use this room every Friday night between the hours of seven and eleven o’clock. Afterward, I shall endeavor to create an atmosphere that’s conducive to sleep—but I make no guarantees.”