Page 37 of Black and Silver

Lawrence pulled off her remaining stocking, then stood, pulling her to her feet as he did.

“I shall check in a moment,” he said, reaching behind her to tug at the ties of her gown. “But it will be some time before the stove is hot enough to boil water.”

Minerva groaned her discontent at that, then shrugged and flailed as Lawrence continued to undress her. Lawrence couldn’t tell whether she was attempting to help him remove her soiled and heavy clothing or if she was fighting against him.

“At least the rain has washed some of the mud from your hair,” Lawrence said once he had her sodden gown and petticoats in a pile around her feet. Her underthings were clean enough to stay in place, but they were soaked through, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Lust was the farthest thing from Lawrence’s mind in that moment, however. He sat Minerva on the chair again, pushed her dirty things closer to the hearth, then rushed into the cottage’s only other room, the bedroom, to tear the thick quilt away and bring it to her.

“Up you come,” he told Minerva as he helped her to her feet once more, then wrapped her snugly in the quilt. “Right this way, madam,” he went on, still trying to keep things cheery, though his heart beat harder and his insides quivered with fear more and more with each passing moment. “I saw a nice, warm bed in the other room. I’ll have you tucked in and off to sleep in no time.”

“No!” Minerva protested, using more strength than she should to resist him when he tried to pick her up. “I have no wish to go to bed. I want to stay near you.”

Lawrence’s heart nearly melted in his chest. Instead of picking Minerva up and carrying her into the other room, he indulged in a moment of hugging her tightly. She sagged against him, as ifhuddling into his warmth, and rested her cheek on his shoulder once more.

“I have you, love,” he told her in his gentlest voice, kissing the side of her damp head. “Nothing is going to happen to you while you’re in my arms. I’ll keep you warm and safe for as long as we’re together.”

To his surprise, Minerva sobbed at those words. “I’m going to die,” she wailed softly, shivering slightly despite his embrace. “I’ll be dead and gone to Sweden, and you’ll never see me again.”

The corner of Lawrence’s mouth twitched. “Sweden?” he asked, moving closer to the increasingly warm fire with her. “Not heaven?”

“A whole new life is waiting for me,” Minerva mumbled.

“Not while I have you,” Lawrence said.

He eased her back onto the chair, wishing the room had a softer armchair that he could tuck her into. She really should have been in the bed, but until the whole cottage was warm, the wooden kitchen chair was the best they could do.

Minerva seemed to flag for a few moments as Lawrence rushed around the house, preparing the kettle for when the stove was hot enough for tea, then lighting the smaller fireplace in the bedroom. As he worked, he opened cabinets and pulled out drawers, searching for anything that might be medicine to stave off disaster.

He found plenty of bottles with stoppers that looked as if they could be medicines, but the labels were all handwritten, and he had enough trouble with letters that were printed. Handwriting was completely beyond his abilities.

And yet, he had to do something.

“Do you know what cherry syrup smells like?” he asked, pulling open one of the bottles whose label began with a “C”. That was all he could make out of it.

“Cherry syrup is good for coughs, not throats,” Minerva answered, surprising Lawrence. Even though he’d spoken out loud, he believed her to be asleep sitting up. “I need honey.”

“Oh?” he said, returning the bottle to the small cupboard where he’d found it. “Is that good for throats?”

“Yes.”

Lawrence found a small jar of honey and turned to take it to her, only to find Minerva staring at him.

“You cannot read,” she told him, her brow knit in thought.

Heat rushed up Lawrence’s neck to bathe his face. “I can read,” he said stiffly. “Only…only not all the time.”

Minerva’s frown deepened as he approached her with the honey. “What do you mean by that? One either reads or they do not.”

“The letters move,” Lawrence said, crouching in front of her and dipping his finger into the honey pot, then holding it to her lips.

“Letters do not move,” Minerva said, looking more than a little comical with her imperious expression, swaddled in a borrowed quilt, her dark hair matted with rain and some mud. “They stay put on the page, like sensible little soldiers.”

“Not for me, they do not,” Lawrence said, touching his honey-soaked finger to Minerva’s lips.

Minerva sent him a stern look of doubt, then parted her lips to suck the honey from his finger.

The jolt that shot through Lawrence defied his determination to remain completely immune to his baser needs as he cared for Minerva. His cock jumped to life as the suction Minerva employed on his finger reminded it of other ways she could take part of him into his mouth.

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