She felt a prick of guilt since she, in truth, didn’t need spectacles at all. They were merely part of her disguise. But the fact that he’d paid attention—that he’d given her this marvelous present—filled her with giddy delight.
“This is the finest gift anyone has given me,” she said. “I shall wear them with pride, my lord.”
“Ethan, remember?”
“Ethan,” she said shyly.
Saying his name somehow felt more intimate than all the erotic words she’d used with him. Probably because she’d been Sirena then, and their steamy banter had been part of a fantasy. In this moment, however, she was Xenia…she washerselfin a way she’d seldom allowed herself to be. From the start, he’d had a way of eliciting her genuine reactions, and while she couldn’t share her past, she didn’t want to keep up all the false pretenses either. Thus, she’d decided to compromise.
I’ll be as honest as possible, but I won’t put either of us at risk.
“I, um, have something for you as well.”
Setting the beautiful spectacles on a table, she removed his present from her pocket.
He took the glass jar with a puzzled look.
“It’s a salve.” She was aware of how paltry her gift was compared to his. “I made it specially for you. It contains some healing herbs.”
“So this is the salve Brunswick keeps talking about.” Ethan’s mouth curved faintly. “He swears it performs miracles.”
“This is a different formulation. One that I thought might, um, help with your hand.”
She bit her lip, wondering if she’d made a mistake. With good reason, he was prickly about his injury, and she’d already angered him by repeatedly poking her nose where it did not belong.
Yet here you are bringing up his wound again. Are you a glutton for punishment?
She held her breath when he studied her with inscrutable eyes.
“There is one way to find out,” he said. “Will you apply the salve, Mrs. Wood?”
Relief flooded her, along with elation.
“I would be pleased to,” she said softly. “If you would call me Jane.”
As Ethan led the way to the sitting area, he noted the improvements Jane had brought to his life. The carpet was a lustrous sage green, the windows sparkled, and lemony polish scented the air. The oak surround of the fireplace gleamed; with the dirt removed, a delicate, leafy pattern had emerged along with the elegant Tudor roses affixed to the panel. The leather sofa had been buffed to a shine.
“You’ve worked miracles in my absence,” he said.
He could tell his compliment pleased her. As they sat on the sofa, her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks were flushed. Her skin had the dewy ripeness of a fresh peach. Recalling her comment about her freckles, he concluded that she’d probably tried to conceal them with powder, which explained her formerly pallid complexion.
Today, she looked young and fresh. Her hair seemed brighter and more lustrous, the reddish gleam beneath the brown raising his temperature several notches. He’d always been partial to red hair. Jane was already temptation itself, but if she had fiery locks too…
He warned himself to slow down. He knew what he wanted, but he had to make certain that she wanted the same thing. If she did indeed return his interest, then he had to figure out a way to put them on equal footing. For he refused to take advantage of a woman in his employ—a woman who, he thought with a jolt of anxious arousal, now looked younger and more innocent than a typical twenty-seven-year-old widow.
“Shall I help you with your gloves?” she asked.
He nodded, for no reason other than a yearning to feel her touch. He watched her expression as she stripped off the casings of leather. Constance had tried to mask her revulsion the few times she’d seen his hand, and looking back, he would have preferred her honesty. It was mortifying to realize that he’d been willing to accept his former fiancée’s politely averted gaze and martyred expression because he hadn’t felt he deserved better.
Jane, however, showed no sign of pity or disgust as she worked off his left glove. Her touch was efficient and gentle as she bared his monstrous hand and placed it on her lap. Opening the jar, she scooped out some salve with her fingers. When she applied the creamy white ointment to the back of his hand, he felt a cooling sensation.
“It tingles,” he said.
“It’s supposed to. That means the peppermint and lemon balm are working. When I rub in the salve, it should dull the ache and improve circulation as well.”
Her head bent over the task, she held his hand in both of hers, massaging his contracted muscles with soothing strokes. Despite his dulled sensation, he felt the pressure of her touch. She pressed into knotted tendons and stiff flesh, easing the contracture of his fingers.
“That feels nice,” he admitted.
