“I don’t know yet, my lady. I will need to perform an examination. And much will depend on you. Do you trust me?”
“I do.”
And it was true. From the moment Mr. Wang had arrived with her stepson, he had been nothing but helpful, kind, respectful.
“Will you allow me to touch your feet? I will need to touch you often in the course of the therapies.”
A shiver ran through her. Not of fear or revulsion. Oh no. The exact opposite. It was unadulterated excitement.
“Very well.”
Slowly, with the utmost reverence, he cradled the back of her leg with one hand and removed her slipper. Then, while still holding the back of her heel, he pressed his thumb into the center of her sole, massaging it along the length of her foot. Her toes curled in. Was it her imagination that his fingers caressed with lingering touches? Molding her arch, enveloping her toes, learning the contours of her foot. It was almost…sensual.
“Do you feel my touch?”
To the very marrow of my being.
“Yes,” she said simply, her voice a little strained from holding back the scandalous thought.
He repeated the same procedure with the other foot, with the same result. Then he sat back on his haunches, and her eyes drank the sight of his trousers stretching over his thighs. But she was not prepared for her reaction when he placed her stockinged feet on his solid thighs.
“Are you able to curl your toes on your own?”
She very much wanted to. It surprised her how much she craved to dig her toes into his rock-hard thighs. Slide her feet up and down them. Her eagerness must have helped her complete the movement, for not only was she able to curl her toes, but her weak legs drew strength from somewhere to slide up his thighs, getting perilously close to—
His hands closed over her ankles, arresting the movement before her feet reached a sensitive area.
“I think there’s a very good chance you will recover. You have sensation in your feet, and you are capable of some movement. Your muscles are weak from disuse, but that’s what we are going to fix.”
He put her slippers back on and rearranged her skirts, rising to his feet in one smooth, controlled movement. What would it feel like to move with so much ease? To have such strength that every action appeared effortless?
“Indeed.” She forced out of a throat gone dry.
Jesus, she was shameless. The man had been focused on helping her. Meanwhile, her mind—and her morals—had gone straight to the gutter at the marvelous sensation of having his hands upon her feet and legs.
“Would you like to start tomorrow, then?” he asked.
“So soon?” She heard the note of panic in her voice. She wasn’t ready.
“Why wait? The sooner you start, the sooner you might be able to walk again.”
“You are right, of course. Tomorrow then.”
“Do you know how to swim, Countess?”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “Swim? No, of course not!”
“Relax.” His hand came to rest on top of hers, warm, solid. Safe. It settled her alarm. And caused a fresh set of nerves to tingle all along her skin. “Don’t worry about any of it. I will be right by you. I shall see you through this, my lady.”
She looked into his eyes. Apprehension warred with hope inside her. But she must go forward. Because retreating into the shadows was no longer an option.
CHAPTER 2
Wangcouldn’tclaimtobe an expert in British aristocratic etiquette. But he felt quite confident that lusting after his best friend’s stepmother would be frowned upon. Especially when said lady was incapacitated and practically a recluse. When she inhabited the same residence where he was staying as a guest. But most of all, his feelings were particularly inappropriate because he was reasonably sure the lady did not return them. Would never do so. She was a member of the aristocracy. A countess, for goodness’ sake.
While Wang did not consider himself less than any man, and was proud of his heritage, he was acutely aware society did not see him as the countess’s social equal. He was a Chinese immigrant. A member of the working class, and those two things alone placed her as far above his station as the stars were from Earth.
Knowing all this, he was hard-pressed to determine when his feelings had grown so out of control. Something had sparked thefirst time he saw her. But it hadn’t been lust. She had looked so delicate. A beautiful flower battered by the elements and yet still clinging tenaciously to a sliver of earth to avoid being swept up in a storm.
