“Excellent. Now, for the salve.” He picked up a clean cloth and dabbed at the small bloody leech bites. The bruised red marks all over his body were less red and angry-looking. He saw her watching and said, “Shall we go into the sitting room? It gets the afternoon sun and I believe Barrow has lit a fire in there, so it will be nice and warm, and you can put the salve on me there in private.”
Callie wondered briefly what he suddenly wanted privacy for—after all, he’d sat, unashamed and unembarrassed, naked to the waist in front of Tibby and her, but he’d already picked up the salve and a large green tin and headed out, so she followed.
The green tin proved to contain jam tarts and Gabriel stood in the sunlight that streamed through the big bay window munching them. His body was powerful, though not in the thick-muscled way that Rupert was powerful.
Gabriel’s body was lithe, sleek, and hard…He was like a Greek statue in the sunlight, only warm and made of muscle and bone.
She glanced up, to discover he’d been observing her examination of his naked torso. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. “Just checking where I need to put that stuff,” she muttered. “Turn around.”
“You’ll need this,” he said softly and held out the pot of salve. She took it and he turned his back to her.
She’d never really looked at a man’s back before—not naked and not up this close. Rupert was the only man she’d ever seen even partially unclothed. Rupert had been a man of physical modesty; he’d kept his nightshirt on at all times.
This was…extraordinary. Broad and powerful, with smooth, golden skin, as if he took his shirt off in the sunlight often.
The recent scrapes and bruises overlaid other older scars: the mark of a blade here, the round puckered scar of a bullet, perhaps, there. Testament of battles fought and survived. A hardened, experienced warrior.
I will protect you,he’d said.
She uncorked the pot of salve and sniffed it cautiously. It was pungent, but pleasant, too. A thick muddy green in color, she could smell camphor, marigolds, mint, and the bitterness of pennyroyal perhaps, as well as other herbs. She sniffed again. Maybe myrrh, too. “What’s in this, do you know?”
He shrugged. “I’m not completely sure, but I expect it will contain goldenseal, plantain, and Saint-John’s-wort, as well as comfrey root. Mrs. Barrow used to send us to collect the herbs when I was a boy. The knowledge came in very useful when we were at war.
Carefully, gently, she smoothed salve into the abraded flesh. The cool ointment warmed under her palm, absorbing the warmth of his body and flowing over the planes and hollows of his back.
“Tell me about Tibby,” he said after a while. “You have, I think, a closer relationship with her than most women do with their old governess.”
“Yes, Tibby is a darling. She was, in many respects, like a mother to me. My father was very…particular about my education. He had plans for a brilliant marriage for me.”
“And he succeeded.”
“Yes.” Callie dipped into the pot and scooped out another fingerful of salve. She refused to think about her successful, brilliant marriage. She took an odd comfort from kneading and massaging the firm, warm flesh beneath her hands.
“How did it come about?”
“Papa’s original plan was for me to marry the prince regent, but he married Princess Caroline of Brunswick when I was just a little girl, so Papa was forced to look to European courts for a suitable husband for me. He went off on a tour of the various European courts, leaving me in England with Tibby, to grow up and become educated.”
“He left you behind? Why? And how did you feel about it?”
Callie thought about it as she rubbed salve up and down the strong ridge of muscle that enclosed his spine. “I think he thought he could arrange a better marriage for me sight unseen.” The way she’d turned out had been a crushing blow to Papa. He’d made no secret of his frustration that she’d taken after his side of the family in looks, instead of the tall, cool blondes of her mother’s family. Had Callie been a beauty, she could have married into one of the great royal families, instead of a small obscure principality.
“I didn’t mind being left behind,” she said. “In a way, it was a relief.”
“Good God, why?”
“I never could do anything to Papa’s satisfaction. I was a thorn in his side, really—not a drop of royal blood visible in me. I’m too short, too plump, my face is too round and with an undistinguished snub nose. And I have a great many character faults as well.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, I’m argumentative, stubborn—”
“I’ve noticed that.”
She slapped a glop of cold ointment on him. He chuckled. “I know, I asked for that.”
“And I cannot seem to be interested in theimportantthings.”
“And what were the important things?”
