Page 46 of Gambling with the Earl
He would have liked to show her how much he cared. He longed to catch hold of her hand and bring her fingertips to his lips. To caress away the worry lines at her temple. He would do all that and more. But after their moment of weakness in the solar, the kiss that had swamped him with passion and temporarily stolen his sanity, he promised himself that he would never again act with impropriety towards her.
He no longer asked her to sing for him. As pure and beautiful as her voice was, his mind would turn to lust the moment she entered his solar. She was an innocent maid. He was an earl. It mattered not how he burned for her. To kiss her again would take what they had and turn it into something sordid.
She had exclaimed with surprise upon unwinding that first lot of bandages. “See how it has helped?”
He’d looked down, expecting an angry red scar, but found instead something smaller, thinner. A mark which was already fading into his bronzed skin.
“The herb you brought?”
“Comfrey.” She gathered up the shrivelled leaves from the bandages. “Our village healer prescribed it for Alfred, our servant, the one who was cut by an axe.”
It was only afterwards that he’d wondered at her words. Had she really said ‘our servant’? What could that mean?
He watched her closely as she went about her days. Her work was meticulous as ever, but something about her bearing had never rung entirely true with the idea that she had come from the servant class. Could it be that Kitty’s family had once enjoyed some degree of privilege but latterly had fallen on hard times? Or was it wishful thinking on his part to imagine her as more highborn, more suitable as a match for someone of his standing? Either way, she remained a servant in his employ. The exact circumstances of her birth mattered little besides that.
As his body healed, his movement and sense of freedom began to return, though the oppressive heat made riding or even walking outside difficult. Kitty was to come again to him this morning, but in the face of his impressive recovery, he knew she would announce any day that her ministrations were no longer necessary.
What then? He would be bereft without her.
Her light footsteps sounded on the stairs, then came the knock. Three times in quick succession. It was the sound he now lived for.
“Enter,” he called. He longed each day to see her. And each day he worked hard to hide his longing.
He waited for her by the washstand, where the light streaming through the large window was at its brightest. This had become their custom. Her quick fingers would remove the bandages, skimming over his flesh and bringing goosebumps to his skin. Her eyes, however, remained fixed studiously on his injuries. Did she know how she affected him? He couldn’t tell. Her touch, her movement, her pronouncements were all strictly professional.
This morning, she paused in her task. Her gentle hand stayed against his chest while she crouched lower and put her head closer to his wound. At once her sweet breath hit his shoulder blades and he felt the traitorous twitch of desire deep inside him.
“It is fully healed,” she announced, and for the first time in several days she raised her beautiful green eyes to his.
His need to see the proof wrestled with his wanting to stay held in her gaze. His heart beat heavily. It was the news he’d sought mixed with the inevitable consequence he’d been dreading.
“See for yourself.” She stood tall and backed away from him, folding her hands demurely in front of her apron.
He glanced down at the thin line which had replaced the searing red stripe of agony he’d feared would never leave him.
“You have worked miracles,” he said. His voice was calm though his emotions raged.
His words brought a flickering smile to her lips, but she still did not look at him.
“Not I, my lord. It was God’s grace, along with the healing power of nature.”
What now? He should thank her, dismiss her and get on with his day. He had letters to write. He must see about hiring castle guards and ordering repairs to the gatehouse. But once Kitty had left his chamber, he would be reduced to chance meetings on the stairs, perhaps a shared look over a meal served in the great hall. His mind reached for a reason she should stay.
Kitty sighed, as if she had come to a decision. “Though the wound itself is healed, the muscles surrounding it will need some time to adjust.”
He held his breath. Was Kitty herself offering him a solution?
“What would you suggest?”
She pursed her lips and directed her gaze towards the window, away from him. “There is a kind of curative massage which may help.”
“Curative massage? I have not heard of such a thing.”
She looked as if she regretted speaking up. “I watched the healer perform it with Alfred.”
“And do you think you could do it?” The idea of her hands upon him sent his pulse pounding, but would he be able to retain his thin veil of self-control?
She worried at her lower lip. “I’m not sure it would be proper.”
