Page 18 of A Touch of Charm
No stitches he’d ever made had done so, but who knew what else could go wrong that night?
And nothing must go wrong because enough had already been done.
First, he was alone at the practice and should be ready for emergency callers. Instead, he arranged a food tray for the beautiful princess down the hall.
Second, he had to hide who he was and live his life, not think about how some brutal highwaymen nearly captured the lovely Transylvanian princess in the other room.
Just down the hall, only a few steps away, her brother guarded the princess with clear vigilance. This brought Andre to the third point: The injured prince was deeply involved in some dangerous diplomatic crisis with Baron von List. And since Prince Stan was injured and Andre was the only other person there, he had involuntarily stepped into List’s line of fire. And for the princess in the room down the hall, mere steps away, Andre feared he’d do anything. A woman like her deserved his protection—even at the cost of his conviction that violence was never an adequate response. A pang of something more profound than remorse struck him, for it was the first time in his life that Andre wished he were more. If he had a title, he could confront Baron von List. But as a bastard, he could stand as little more than the princess’s guard.
The princess’s guard.
Andre plucked a grape from the plate on the tray and squished it in his palm. He had to remind himself that he was no more than a grape that had fallen off the Habsburg vines. He’d never make it into the cream of the crop. He’d never suffice to be the wine that touched Princess Thea’s rosy lips.
He sighed.
For Mary, Andre knew fresh milk would be needed come morning, but for now, he placed a jar of golden honey on the tray, its translucent glow catching the light, and neatly arranged spoons, cups, and glasses.
While the tea steeped and cooled, Andre entered the cellar through the kitchen’s back door. He needed some ice for Stan’s shoulder. As he went down farther into the cellar, the chill seeped through his thin shirt as he approached the cooling cabinet, which he opened with a screech. It was as if the cool realization made his insides scream.
He had to stay away from the princess like he never had to stay away from a woman before.
*
Thea left herassigned guest room in search of something to drink. Stan had looked strained after their conversation—or was it because of his shoulder injury? Either way, she knew replenishing his body would aid his healing and perhaps double as a gesture for reconciliation before they went to sleep angry. She went down the stairs and through the corridor toward the back of the building and found an open door that led to a kitchen. A kettle was steaming there, and the fresh scent of peppermint wafted through the air.
“Dr. Fernando?” She saw an abandoned tray loaded with two plates, cups, silverware, grapes, and other food items. It looked unfinished. Where had the handsome doctor gone?
Since Stan thrust her into his arms, Thea had felt a sense of closeness with the doctor, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. Her stomach fluttered excitedly, and she was curious about the tall, dark-haired man who seemed unlike anyone she’d ever met.
She heard a tapping and then another as if a hammer struck metal.
“Dr. Fernando?” she called louder, venturing toward another door that was narrow and seemed to lead to a storage or cellar.
Thea touched the rough wood of the door and looked into the dark space. It was a staircase leading around a dark cellar corner, and the light flickered from the depths of the darkness.
Carefully, Thea ventured down the steps and found the man she’d been looking for with a big lantern on the floor beside him.
Andre knelt on the floor, the dim light casting long shadows on the damp stone walls. His fingers curled around the chisel and hammer so that Thea could see the veins of his hands and lower arms. He was strong; she’d felt it when he’d held her and Mary mere hours ago in the forest. But now she could admire the muscular arms and envied each tool in his grip. The rhythmic thud of metal on ice filled the quiet space, each strike deliberate and sure.
“Princess, this is not a place for you,” he said without looking up from the wooden door. But Thea was curious and didn’t want what was for a princess; she tried to decide for herself what was for her. And he most certainly was.
“What is this place, Dr. Fernando?”
“Andre. Just call me Andre. This is our cellar storage. Clutter.”
Thea glanced around and saw a few chairs stacked on each other, a broken lamp, metal buckets, and a few old tools that reminded her of the axes the woodcutters used back in Bra?ov.
However, Andre focused on the cabinet inserted into the wall. Thea stood behind him and bent down to see what the lantern illuminated.
A sizeable sparkling block of ice.
She was accustomed to ice houses, but not tiny cooling cabinets let into cellar walls.
Andre raised his right hand with the hammer and let it fall onto the top of the chisel. Each hit produced a crisp, cracking noise, followed by a satisfying crunch as the ice fractured and broke away.
“This is almost enough,” he said, putting down the tools just long enough to hand Thea a piece of ice nestled in a white towel.
The block of ice glistened under the flickering lantern, and Thea felt the cold on her hands. However, a heat built inside her that was so strong that she feared she’d melt Andre’s precious ice.
