Page 19 of Her Dark Seduction
Chapter 7
Harwyn and I spent the next morning making the salve. The oil which the flowers were soaking in had turned a rich, warm yellow overnight. Its delicate, healing aroma soothed my senses, and I picked up the bowl, swirling the oil round. Harwyn set a large pot of water over the fire, and I placed the bowl into it, stirring the contents as the water bubbled into a low simmer until the yellow gradually turned into a vibrant orange. Taking the bowl off the heat, my hand slipped, and I cried in frustration as some of the precious oil splashed out.
“Lady, your hand!”
Some of the hot oil had spilled onto the back of my hand. Harwyn ran over with a dish of cold water and plunged my hand in. She sat me at the table, insisting I do no more that morning. I obeyed her reluctantly, but was soon grateful for her care, for my hand started to feel very sore. Under my direction, she finished the process, straining the oil through a cloth into a clean bowl and stirring in the beeswax before pouring it into jars to cool. The color had now dulled to a soft ochre. I nodded approvingly. We now had enough salve to last several months.
Harwyn took my hand out of the water. The skin was an angry red and a blister was already forming. Once the salve cooled, I would be the first patient to use it.
I sent for Sawford during the afternoon but by sunset he’d still not come, so I sent for him again. While tearing strips of cloth for bandages, I heard his voice behind me.
“What is it you want, madam?”
I was used to the sneering tone, but his ability to move about so soundlessly still unnerved me. I had not even heard him enter.
I motioned to him to sit. “Your dressing needs changing, and I must check the wound.”
“I have no time to waste on frivolities.”
I bristled with anger but kept my voice cool. “You’ll be lucky to avoid further infection, and are a fool if you choose to ignore the risk. Unless, of course, you consider having only one arm to be an advantage.”
On seeing the jar of salve in my hand, his eyes narrowed.
“Hold out your arm, Monsieur.”
He did so, watching me with what looked like amusement until he saw my bandaged hand. He grasped it but released me the instant I winced.
“It appears I am not the only fool.”
“A simple accident,” I replied, not disguising the scorn in my voice. “Not all ladies are engaged in frivolities, despite what those around us may think.”
“Lord Mortlock would not share your sentiments. He does not wish to see flaws in his wife.”
“Are you referring to the burn on my hand or to my character, Monsieur Sawford?”
He curled his lip in amusement but said nothing. I unwound the bandage on his arm, cleaned the wound and, as delicately as I could, spread the salve with my fingertips.
“Tell me if it pains you.”
He remained silent while I applied a fresh bandage. I secured it with a knot near his wrist, and he took my hand, curling his fingers round mine. The shock of the contact made me look up. His eyes were fixed on my face, and I caught a glimpse of something in their hidden depths, an understanding between him and I which separated us from the rest of the world. He looked away as he removed his hand.
After dismissing him, I turned my back and resumed tidying the room. I did not hear him leave but when I looked round he was gone.
Before I visited my husband that night, I removed the bandage from my hand, remembering Sawford’s words about a flawed wife. The burn pained me greatly but its appearance concerned me more. The skin was an angry red, and the burn had puckered into blisters. With luck, in the dim light of the solar my husband wouldn’t notice it.
Standing before him once more, I removed my nightgown, suppressing a cry at the stab of pain of the fabric brushing over my hand. Sawford heard, for he immediately took my wrists, holding them behind my back. My husband did not tell him to release me. Instead, he nodded his approval, leering at the way the position pushed my breasts forward.
After my husband had finished, Sawford held my nightshift up to place over my head. I stepped closer to him and caught the tangy aroma of the salve mingled with his masculine scent. He nodded toward my arms and deftly slipped the garment on, taking care not to touch the burn as I lifted my arms. Taking my hand, he led me out of the solar.
On entering my chamber, I tried to ignore him while I replaced the bandage on my hand, but his presence dominated the room. I could almost taste the raw male power in the air.
He spoke softly but his voice conveyed strength and the inevitability of what was to come. He was not a man to be denied.
“Lift up your arms, so I may remove your gown.”
I backed away and shook my head, my heart hammering in my chest.
“I’ll not ask again, and you would not wish to explain a torn nightgown to Lord Mortlock.”
