“Good.” He smiled. His teeth were white and even. “Now, I’ll just put some salve on those cuts. Mrs. Barrow makes an excellent salve for cuts and abrasions.”
Callie’s mouth dropped open as, in a matter-of-fact way, he began to dry her feet with a towel.
“I—I can do that,” she stammered. It was rather unsettling feeling his big, warm hands caressing her feet so gently through the towel.
He smiled again. “I know, but I don’t mind doing it. Could you fetch me two more towels, please, Nicky.” Her son ran off and a pair of guileless blue eyes met hers.
“I don’t believe this is very proper,” she muttered.
“Don’t you like it?”
She gave him a troubled look. Yes, she liked it. Of course she liked it. And that was the point. She didn’t even know him and he shouldn’t be handling her feet so…so intimately. It made her…feel things, things she had no business feeling with a stranger.
As he dried the last toe, she said, “Thank you. You may now unhand my feet.”
He took no notice. Scooping out a fingerful of aromatic salve, he proceeded to rub it into her feet with his hands, slowly, gently, and with a sensuous rhythm. Her toes curled in pleasure and she felt the tingles all the way up her legs.
She blinked, torn between pleasure and embarrassment. He was merely attending to her injuries, she reminded herself, but try as she might, she could not stop herself from reacting, even though she knew she should not.
“Please, that’s enough,” she said. “Did you not hear me, I asked you to unhand my feet!”
“Oh,unhand—I thought you said hand them,” he explained, looking up at her with a twinkle. “Hand being a foreign term for massage.”
Her jaw dropped. Heknewwhat his touch was doing to her. He wasflirting.
The realization astounded her. No man had flirted with her in…forever. She’d gone from being a child to being Rupert’s wife. Nobody would dare flirt with Rupert’s wife. She had no idea what to do.
She said feebly, “That’s a barefaced l—nonsense!” She balked at calling the man a liar in his own house.
“Oh, massage isn’t l—nonsense.” His voice was serious, but the blue eyes danced. “It’s very helpful. Helped many a soldier prevent frostbite, or chilblains. And it’s wonderful for weary feet, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“And in English we don’t say ‘le nonsense,’ we just say ‘nonsense.’” His eyes twinkled. He’d known very well what she’d been going to say.
It was so ridiculous she couldn’t help but laugh. “I know perfectly well what we say in English. I was born here!”
“Were you? What a coincidence, so was I, so already we have something in common. And was Nicky also born here?”
“No,” Nicky chimed in as he returned with the towels. “I was b—”
“No, Nicky wasn’t born here!” She gave her son a warning glance. Nobody, even tall, unexpectedly kind men who flirted, should know who they were. “And, please, sir, my feet will do very well now, thank you.”
“When the salve is absorbed.” His deep voice was completely imperturbable. His long, strong fingers continued to knead and massage. He caressed each toe in turn, rubbing between them and sending tiny, invisible shivers thrilling up her limbs. It felt like her bones were turning to honey.
It was completely improper and utterly heavenly, and it was all Callie could do not to dissolve into a puddle of bliss.
She watched his face as he ministered to her, noting the quiet strength, the deep lines around his mouth, and the faint touch of bleakness that came to his eyes when he wasn’t remembering to flirt. It was suddenly all too intimate.
Callie closed her eyes…
Gabe fetched a pie from the pantry. Mrs. Barrow had cooked up a storm before she’d left to visit her mother.
“I’ll wager you’re hungry, eh, Nicky?” He cut a slice of pie and handed it to the boy. “Get that into you, lad. Cold pork pie; I can vouch for it.”
Nicky hesitated and glanced at his mother. “Mama never eats pork,” he said. “Papa says—said it’s vulgar for ladies to eat pork.”
“I see,” Gabe murmured, noting the tense change. Papa sounded like a bit of an ass.
