Really, how had she managed to get him to contemplate the practical considerations of that sort of sexual act? "Impertinent," he muttered, not admitting to scaring or scarring.
Alastor couldn't help but chuckle at her toast. "I might not have used exactly that particular phrasing. But, yes, to Stephen Nott, the man who cured my favourite impudent wench, should suffice." Casting her a smug smirk, he raised the glass for the toast.
He shrugged when she drew attention to the garden set-up. "You've been cooped up in the house for so long, I thought you might like it."