“You won’t regret it. I’m very skilled at massaging the muscles. My mother would get terrible cramps, and I had to learn how to do it or else she’d be writhing in agony. You saw how I massaged the bloodfrom Mr Lloyd?”
I had seen. She was very skilled with her hands. I nodded, though still very unsure.
“Then please, sir, let me do this for you. You’ve done so much for me,” she said.
“That doesn’t mean you owe me anything,” I said, trying to block the image of Grace massaging my back from my mind. “It wouldn’t be professional.”
I couldn’t ignore my pain, however, and it had worsened over the course of the day. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be struggling through tomorrow's schedule in agony.
“I’ll call my own massage therapist,” I said, wincing as another muscle in my back gave a sharp twinge. I grimaced, holding a hand to it, hunching.
“Nonsense,” said Grace, standing up. “I can fix that in minutes.”
Minutes? I looked up at her, wincing against another stabbing pain.
“Do you really mean it?”
“Trust me, sir,” she said.
Grace had certainly put a lot of trust in me, just by staying in my home and taking me at my word. I decided I owed her this as a gesture of my faith in her; our mutual trust and respect for each other.
Not just because I would so dearly enjoy her hands on my back.
I took off my shirt, unbuttoning it slowly to give her the chance to change her mind. I folded it gently over the back of my office chair and laid, as instructed, face down on the couch. It wasn’t my therapist’s massage chair, but it would do. I was glad for my midnight weight-lifting, too, when I couldn’t sleep. Not only did it while away the hours,but it ensured I was in my best physical shape for her.
Grace alarmed me by straddling my body, her legs either side of my thighs. She began at my shoulders, her small warm hands working at the muscles like an expert. She made her way down, focusing on each muscle, working out the knots. It took all my strength not to groan into the cushion, it felt so soothing.
When Grace worked her way down to the slipped disc, I tensed up. Pain shot down my right thigh.
“Relax, sir. You’ll make it harder to massage,” she said.
The sound of her voice, and the feel of her legs surrounding me – not to mention her hands massaging me – was too much to bear. I stiffened, grateful at least that I was face down, and she couldn’t see what she was doing to me. I took deep breaths, in and out, and tried to relax. Grace massaged with her fingertips, changing pressure when she saw fit, releasing it again when required. I realised she hadn’t been lying. She really did know what she was doing. I was feeling so much better already.
When Grace began to rub my back in big, wide circles, a heaviness came over me. My eyelids began to droop. I muttered into the cushion while Grace smoothed my back with her hands, caressing the whole space, sending me into a sleepiness. My eyes closed a final time, and I found myself drifting away, into the best sleep I’d had in years.
Chapter Seven
Grace
When Maggie brought my breakfast tray in the morning, she came bearing two items intended for me.
“I’ve a special-delivery letter for you, and this,” she said, presenting me with what looked like an umbrella in a white sheath. I took off the sheath and eyed the object inside curiously.
“For the rain?”
“It's a parasol,” said Maggie. “Though it also works as an umbrella, it’s designed to keep the sun off you without the fabric getting too hot.”
It was white and lacy, like my socks and blouses, old and faded grey as they were. I couldn’t believe Nick had thought to give this to me, knowing I would struggle if I went outside in the daylight without something to protect my head. Back in the Dales, I wore wide-brimmed hats, but I hadn’t brought any with me, and they wouldn’t look right in the city. The fact he’d even thought of a parasol took my breath away. I traced my fingertips along the little lacy bits, wondering if the slightly worn look of it meant that it had once belonged to someone else. Someone like Louisa.
I thought of the money Nick had advanced me, and the shopping list I was to go out and fulfil. New clothes. I was more excited about the funereal suits than I was the casual or evening clothes, which I would be needing for the event on Saturday with Mr Gable. I could hardly believe it. Friends. I was going to makefriends.
And Dorian had looked at me in such a way that made me blush.
I knew I should have been more excited about the social engagements, but the truth was that I was excited about the week’s work ahead, knowing I was to become Nick’s official apprentice. I enjoyed spending time with him, watching him work, letting him watch me. I especially pined for that look in his eyes when he stared at me just a little too long, as if he couldn’t pull his gaze away, making me feel magical.
I knew I shouldn’t feel that way for him. He’d been so kind to me. He didn’t need a foolish twenty-one-year-old thinking about him that way in what was supposed to be a professional setting.
And yet.
