Once again she was captivated by his expression. Once again she lost the ability to think clearly and rationally. What was it about this man? What was it about herself that opened her to such thoughts and desires?
“I can make a quick mixture,” she admitted. “That will help it heal.”
“Let me,” he suggested, waving at the seat next to his. “Just tell me what to do.”
She pursed her lips but decided against arguing. After all, she could see that he would not allow her to do so. This man was accustomed to getting his way, just as she had suggested before. So she drew a long breath, then began to give him orders about which herbs to use and how to mix them for her. To her surprise, he followed her instructions to the letter, without so much as an argument.
She stared as he crushed the items with her mortar and pestle, his muscles working in his good arm as he ground them together. He was very focused on the work, his mouth drawn into a deep frown, his gaze on the bowl. She could see the spy in him then, motivated, driven, undeniable.
Entirely undeniable.
“Now what?” he asked.
She jumped, drawn from those unexpected, unwanted thoughts. “Er, we—we put it on the burn,” she stammered.
He turned toward her and smirked. “Well?”
She blinked. “Well, what?”
“Hold out your hand, Diana,” he said, leaning in close enough that she felt his warmth.
“Yes, yes, of course,” she breathed, and turned her hand over to show him the injury.
He spread the greenish paste he’d made across the burn. “Do you have a cloth to cover it?” he asked.
She nodded. “In the cupboard there.”
He moved away and she took the opportunity to suck in a few deep breaths. The tension, the spark between them…God, it was powerful. She felt like she was losing all control and it terrified and thrilled her all at once.
He returned, soft flannel cloth in hand. He met her eyes as he gently wrapped her palm. He only looked away to tie it off. She followed his gaze and frowned at the knot he had used. It seemed familiar somehow.
“Some would call that witchcraft, you know,” he said, plopping down next to her and stealing a piece of chicken from the plate where she’d been stripping the meat away.
She smiled, though his words made her stomach clench. “Indeed, you are right, even if you tease. Not that long ago I might have been accused of just that. Burned for it in some parts. Even now it isn’t as if people trust a woman in such a vocation.”
He examined her face closely, too closely, and she swallowed hard under his regard. What was he thinking?
“The female spies I’ve known over the years have said much the same,” he said at last. “Their talents are unseen. I suppose it would be just as difficult to gain the respectyoudeserve.”
She bent her head. “It is. But those who mattered gave it to me.”
She felt him still watching her, and his voice was strained when he said, “Your father, you mean.”
She caught her breath and stood, motioning to the chicken. “It’s good you came down, actually. You need some nutrition. It will help your body heal.”
“I’m so very glad you’re in the business of protecting my body,” he said, his voice suddenly rough.
She thrilled at the tone, knowing full well what it meant. Feeling her body call back to him no matter how wrong it was. To maintain some distance between them, she pivoted and found two plates. Quickly she dished out the chicken she’d been preparing, alongside carrots from the garden, which she had roasted in a wine sauce.
“Simple, but it is filling,” she said as she set the plate in front of him and one at her own place, which she took.
He arched a brow and took up a fork. He speared both a slice of chicken and a carrot at once, and his eyes lit up as he chewed them. “Excellent,” he said.
She laughed as she took her own bite. “You sound mightily surprised.”
“I am,” he admitted with a laugh as he all but poured the food down his throat. “I don’t know any ladies who can cook.”
She stiffened. “Well, I am not a lady.”
