She selected a vial, uncorked it, and dropped a few beads of liquid into the water.
“Are you trying to poison me?” he asked, dryly. He couldn’t help himself. Needling her had become oddly satisfying.
“Come here,” she said, sending him an exasperated look.
For some unfathomable reason, he obeyed.
Sebastian leaned forward and Maddie’s hand gently settled at the base of his skull, guiding him over the steam.
Then she draped one of the white linens over his head.
He bristled at first, outlined beneath the cloth by the hand of a beautiful woman. But the steam struck him full in the face, and with the first inhale of that sharp, minty vapor, his resistance began to dissolve.
“What is in this?” he asked from beneath the linen.
He heard her rifling through the case again.
“Mentha piperita—peppermint.Melissaofficinalis—lemon balm.Camphora officinarum—camphor.” A pause. “From a tree. A needle one. I know that for a fact.”
Her Latin was flawless. Not just a pretty face, then. Not just a high-and-mighty heiress with a dowry and a mission.
He should not have wanted to run his fingers through her hair. And yet he did. Almost desperately.
“And where did you get this delightful poison?”
“Alfie,” she said.
“Who in the world is Alfie?”
“My apothecary. Alfie Collins at 87 Harley Street in London.”
“Of course.”
“He made me this traveling kit,” she added, almost defensively. “For… reasons.”
“What sort of reasons?”
“Never mind.”
Now that piqued his curiosity, but it was hard to press while being steamed like a Christmas pudding. The water began to cool. He cracked one eye open and caught sight of the shimmering surface, flecked with oils. Then the coughing started.
He yanked off the towel and doubled over, hacking a bit.
And there she was, already pressing a clean cloth into his hand instead of withdrawing.
If the cough had permitted it, Sebastian would have paused to acknowledge that every other lady he’d ever met would have first avoided him in his state, second not helped with a clean cloth, and third not be as gorgeous delivering minty oils for a steam bath.
He blew his nose again, trying to angle his body discreetly so she wouldn’t see the results.
“Any better?” she asked, folding another linen with military precision.
“You knew exactly what I needed, didn’t you?” he mumbled, a little foggy now. The lemon balm was kicking in, or maybe it was hervoice, but the headache was eased with all that came out. “That helped, thank you.” He tried to smile, but his skin felt tight, dry. Between the fire in the hearth and the steam, the air in his room was practically tropical rain.
Maddie opened another small jar—wider, paler—and dipped her finger into a cream. Without a word, she rubbed her palms together, warming the mixture. Then she placed both hands on his cheeks.
Sebastian went utterly still.
She stroked the salve into his skin—soft, slow, rhythmic. It was a healer’s touch. Except it absolutely wasn’t. It was sensual. And entirely inappropriate. And very nearly his undoing.
