Page 21 of Mending the Baron's Sins
“Give it a moment. Are you always this impatient?” she teased, though that smile was back on her lips.
“Always,” he confessed. “You seem the opposite,” he remarked. “I would have thought you’d run from the room by now at my foul temper.” He chuckled. It was something he liked about her, the fire in her spirit. She never seemed to be afraid to say anything to him, despite his position.
She sat back, ever patient, and rubbed her fingers on a cloth. There was the smallest of traces of a smile again on her features.
“There, now, wait for it to work.” She continued to look at him with something akin to curiosity in her gaze.
Seconds later, he felt it. There was a small tingling and cooling sensation on his forehead. It did not get rid of the pain, but it was soothing enough to allow him to sit back in his chair with more comfort.
He decided not to ask what was in this salve. Whatever it was, clearly, it was doing the job.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Now, you sit there. It’s cold in here. I need to make a fire.”
He watched her through half-lidded eyes as she moved to kneel before the fire. She was as distracting as ever as she knelt down. She bent over in front of him, added logs, and placed a lit taper in the grate. It took enough time that he noticed his dizziness started to fade. He realized the pain in his head wasn’t as bad as it had been before.
She’s a miracle worker.
Unlike with laudanum, he did not feel as if he was departed from his body when the pain softened.
“Why would you come and work at a place like this?” he asked as she turned back to face him, her face much more in focus now. He could see Orla was tired, with soft gray shadows under her eyes.
“Why not?” she asked, to which he quirked an eyebrow. “Ah, you have noticed the darkness in Ingleby Hall too?” she teased him.
“I may have done,” he whispered with a smile.
“Healing is what I have always wanted to do.” She wiped the ash off her hands with a cloth, then stood and moved toward him, standing beside his chair. “My family moved here from Ireland years ago. They have a business in town.”
He frowned, noticing the momentary hesitation in her words.
“I always wanted to go into midwifery. Some sort of healing.”
“You like helping people?” he observed, as she reached for his wrist. He jumped at the sudden touch, but she didn’t pull back. Calmly, slowly, she turned his hand over on the arm and took his pulse, resting her two fingers on his wrist.
“Always,” she murmured simply, bending down over him as she counted under her breath.
She was so close, too close now. Her soft breath, her parted lips, were doing things to him that he should not be able to feel.
His length was threatening to press against his loose trousers again. He shifted his hips, trying to hide it from her as he looked away.
Stop thinking of her, and it will go.
“It’s something to admire,” he said eventually in the silence that followed.
“What is?” she said distractedly, still bending over him.
No… it is getting worse.
“Helping people.” He was struggling to think of when he had last helped anyone. There had to be a time. Surely in his life he had done something to help another. He just couldn’t think of an example at this moment.
Perhaps this sickness is my punishment now, for never having helped anyone.
“Everyone has good in them, my lord,” she said softly.
He looked toward her, even though he knew he should not. She was so close, surely, she would notice at any second what she was doing to him. Now his arousal was complete. His length was unmistakable beneath his trousers, and he couldn’t bear to let her notice. What would she think of him? What would she think to be desired by nothing other than a selfish cripple who struggled to stand from a chair on his own?
“Your eyes are a little bloodshot.” Her other hand lifted, and she took hold of his cheek, tilting his face up into what little light there was.
