“Rub,” she commanded. “Myleg.”
Stephen gently lifted her left foot onto his lap and tossed her slipper aside. He started there, with the arch of her foot, kneading slowly,firmly. Long straight lines exactly where she needed it. He hadn’t even touched her leg yet, and already the muscles were relaxing.
Eventually, he moved up to her ankle. Then made his way up her calf. Lazily, leisurely. As if there was nothing else he would rather do than sit on a stone floor and massage her tight muscles into pudding.
To her surprise, it seemed to be working. Her entire body was now a limp lump of treacle. The soreness was gone. She was back up to seventy percent. Maybe seventy-five. If he kept working magic like this—
Dun dun-dun. A loud bugle blared outside the thin arrow-slit windows.
“What in the devil?” Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder.
“I’ll look.” Stephen lowered her leg and pushed to his feet. He hurried down to the closest embrasure window, then grimaced. “It’s Reddington, in full uniform, atop a white stallion. He appears to have brought a dozen foot soldiers, a bugler, and some sort of page boy carrying a large sword.”
Elizabeth slid her foot back into her slipper. “This I have to see.”
“Densmooore,” came Reddington’s grating cry through a speaking trumpet.
Elizabeth peered down through the embrasure window. The spectacle was exactly as Stephen had described. Elizabeth was surprised Reddington didn’t have a portraitist on hand to capture him in his full, faux-Wellington glory.
“Are you here to negotiate peacefully as promised?” she called down. “As a man of honor? The sort who keeps his word?”
Reddington looked offended. “Densmore is the one who has failed to keep his word. He and I are nothing alike. Now let me in.”
“He does have a fair point about your cousin,” Elizabeth whispered to Stephen. “None of us would be in this mess if Densmore hadn’t gambled away property that didn’t belong to him.”
“You have my permission to lock the earl in the dungeon as soon as your brother finds him.”
She made a face. “Ugh, we’ve been so busy, I didn’t have a chance to tell you.”
Stephen tensed. “Tell me what?”
“Densmore isn’t in France.”
“He’s back already? Isn’t that good news?”
She shook her head. “He was never on the boat to begin with. He bought the ticket, then missed the sailing. We do believe he fled somewhere by boat. If your cousin were still in England, Graham’s spies would have found him by now. They still will. This is only a temporary setback.”
“What do we do in the meantime?”
“We certainly can’t admit Reddington into the castle. He might have come here to negotiate, but the moment we let him through the door, he’ll never leave. We have to meet him outside.”
“No dueling this time,” Stephen said quickly.
“You don’t get to determine whom and when I do or don’t duel,” she snapped, then winced. She was trying to be less volatile. At least with Stephen. “You’re right. No dueling today.”
Together, they headed down the stairs, through the murder room, and out the front door, where Reddington and his men waited.
On cue, a page boy ran up and showered Reddington with pink rose petals, while another lad launched intoGod Save the Kingon his bugle.
“Thissuffocating saffron,” Elizabeth muttered.
Stephen sent her a sharp look. “This what?”
“Something Kuni says.” She waved her hand. “Not important.”
Reddington slid down from his comically large white stallion with surprising grace, and accepted his sword from a page boy whilst another dusted him with more rose petals. “Now then. At what time today will you be handing over the deed to the castle?”
“Peacefulnegotiation,” Elizabeth reminded him. “Put down your sword.”
