Graham’s hand inched nearer to the nape of Joachim’s neck, causing his skin to quiver. “What an appalling burden. Were your parents Puritans? Please tell me your friends call you something else.” For the first time there was a hint of Scots under the well-modulated boys’ school drawl.

The whiskey’s headiness played off Joachim’s empty stomach and he almost laughed at the sincere rudeness of the question. “My father was a minister, my mother was Belgian. I’m named for my maternal grandfather. How about you call me Cockburn?”

“Perhaps, if you play your cards right.” Ainsley Graham was most definitely staring at Joachim’s mouth. He unconsciously rubbed his lips together and flushed at the dazzling light that brightened Ainsley’s face when he laughed. “Our rascal Barley set me up, hasn’t he?”

“Pardon?” Joachim tilted his head to the side, confused. Perhaps Stuart’s family called him Barley? It made no sense, but nicknames rarely did. His stomach growled and he coughed to cover it up.

Ainsley lifted his glass and then set it back down without a drink, tapping his chin. “I’m sure Barley said your name was something less provocative, but I’m a good sport.” He stood and stretched his lean body like a cat before he pulled the servants’ bell. At least, Joachim assumed it was to alert servants—he’d never seen one before. But in a house this size, there must be a better method than shouting to fetch someone.

“I sent everyone—including my mother—away aside from Nelson, and he’ll be serving supper before he leaves, too. Nothing fancy, but I don’t think you came for the food, did you?” Ainsley winked and refilled Joachim’s glass, clinking it against the side of his before settling back down on the sofa. Any closer, and he’ll be in my lap.

Bloody hell, the room was over-warm, matching his host’s gaze. “I didn’t, and I’m not particular about what I eat. I came to mine your brain for research, didn’t I?” Because it was best to discuss his purpose for coming such a long way. He had a doctoral thesis to write, after all: the manifestation of delusions in those otherwise accounted as sane.

From what he’d read, Ainsley Graham fit the bill.

After a lecture two weeks earlier, Stuart Graham had found Joachim at a pub reading one of Ainsley’s books. Once Stuart finished his drink, he sheepishly admitted to their being brothers and offered to wrangle an introduction. Assured Joachim that he would be welcomed for a visit to see the haunted sites Ainsley had publicly verified to the chagrin of his university colleagues.