Page 51 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“Of course,” he lied. There would be much more. After all, according to an apothecary his mother frequented, the Chinesehad a whole system of medicine based on just the feet. And though he could make no sense of the diagram she’d shown him, he did understand how to make a woman moan by just touching the bottoms of her feet. “I swore to act as a gentleman.”
“And then warned me that you would not.”
True enough. So he looked up and gave her his most charming look, one perfected as a boy. It held mischief and daring, and never failed to make the women laugh.
Except…she didn’t. To his surprise, she let go of his left hand to touch his face, stroking a lock of hair from his brow. “Are you always charming when you hurt?”
He blinked. “Charm is used to get one’s way.”
“And to hide wounds.”
He shook his head, reluctantly dislodging her fingers. “To prevent them.”
“Then tell me if you loved this Cara.”
He swallowed. “I was young, and she was a skilled courtesan who went to extra effort to enlist my sympathies. Of course I fell in love.”
“And she did not love you back, though she pretended to.”
He frowned. Had he really been so naive as to expect love from Cara? He supposed loyalty at least. Even young as he’d been, he knew she was not a creature prone to love.
“She healed from the worst of her injuries in my bed. She cried as she touched me, and her kisses tasted of salt.”
“Could she cry on demand?”
He laughed, though the sound wasn’t even remotely light. “Most assuredly.” And on those words, he escaped her lax fingers and began to lift her skirt.
There were her feet, white and slightly clenched. She sat perched on her heels with her toes pressed into the floor. As if every part of her, except her feet, were straining toward him.
He raised her skirt higher, revealing the sturdy line of her shins and the fleshy curve of her calves. Higher still, and at such an angle that he could peek…
Her thighs were pressed together, tight and afraid. And when he set her skirt on her knees, he rested his hand on her lap to still the vibrating tension he felt there. “I am just washing your feet. It is in the—”
“In the Bible, yes, I know.” She readjusted her skirt to cover her knees, but not before he saw an old scar across one from a deep cut. “How did she betray you?”
“She told me about the man who had beaten her. She told me his habits and his weaknesses. She did everything but say the words aloud.”
“What words?”
“Please avenge me. Please hurt this man for hurting me.”
“Oh. And did you?”
He nodded, unwilling to dwell on how stupid he’d been. Always before, his protection had existed in a world he’d known, people at his school, children who had a hard time thinking of devious plots.
He said nothing more as he lifted up her foot, gently straightening out the toes, and when she fidgeted because it tickled, he made his touch stronger. Firmer. And as he set her foot into the water, she sighed in delight.
“Oh, that feels good.”
He grinned as he guided her other foot into the basin. And as he knew would happen, the shift of her weight off her feet forced her to lean back in her chair. A couple swishes of the washcloth later, her knees relaxed. She still held the skirt in place, but there was plenty of time.
“I waited for him outside of his club,” he said, surprised that he continued the tale without prompting. “I didn’t know the man. He was an older gentleman, but I’d seen the cut acrossCara’s lip from his signet ring.” He frowned. Knowing now what the traitorous bitch had done, perhaps that part wasn’t true either.
“Were you furious?”
“I meant to speak with him. I had some innate respect for my elders, and this man was double my age.”
“Forties, then? Some might say the prime of his life.”
