Sam drained the last of the water in his glass. If he drank the wine, he had no doubt he would be ill. He hated feeling so weak. The rest of the meal was interminable. He pushed pudding about his dish and accepted more water when Tristan summoned one of the footmen. They were too far from each other to converse easily. He drank more water and rubbed the back of his neck and fidgeted as the port was passed around. He needed to stand up and get some air quite urgently but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, or to Tristan for that matter, so he held firm and accepted the glass. He didn’t dare drink it, so he just touched it to his lips a few times.
As they continued to chat, the guests around them shifted and as their host stood to repair to the parlour, Sam felt a sense of relief t
