“And what is in it?” Cade asked.
“A mix of herbs and brandy.”
He brought the glass to his nose. “It smells revolting.”
“It will make you feel better.”
He arched a brow. “How do you know I feel poorly?”
She blinked at him. “Because you don’t remember who I am and we met last night.”
Cade winced. “How did I behave? Poorly?”
“Exceedingly poorly.” But her smile belied her words.
“Did I sing?”
“Yes. A lot.”
“I apologize.”
“No need. Your brother and Lady Daphne already did that for you.”
He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Blast. That’s all I need. More of Rafe’s censure.”
“He does not approve of you?”
“Does the white sheep ever approve of the black one?”
A frown marred her brow. “I do not know what you mean.Le mouton noir?”
“It’s an English saying,” he replied, eyeing the green elixir warily.
“What does it mean, this, black sheep?”
He blew air into his cheeks and they puffed out. “It’s used to describe the most disreputable member of the family.”
“And you arele mouton noir?”
“In my family, yes.”
“Lord Rafe isle mouton blanc?”
“Yes. Quiteblanc.”
She laughed at that and Cade was enchanted. He lifted the concoction to his lips and tipped it back. It burned a path down his throat. He choked. “What the devil are these herbs? Brandy never tasted so vile, even at this hour of the day.”
“Give it a moment,” she said, pressing her lips together. Cade suspected it was to keep from laughing at his discomfort.
Cade took a swig of coffee to kill the taste of the bitter liquid he’d just consumed. But even he had to admit that moments later the spinning in his head and the churning in his stomach stopped. By God, he did feel better.
“D’accord?” she asked in her adorable French accent. “All right?”
“Yes. I do believe it’s cured me.”
She pulled his injured hand from his lap. A spark unexpectedly shot up his arm. Dear God. When was the last time a mere touch from a young woman did that to him? Before he had a chance to protest, she’d efficiently unwrapped the bandage. “It looks good,” she announced. The movement of her thumb, rubbing in little circles on his palm was making him sweat. He swiped the back of his hand across his brow. It had to be the elixir. God only knew what was in that drink. “No sign of infection,” she finished.
“I suppose I have you to thank for that,” he said as she gingerly wrapped his hand again. He reluctantly pulled his hand away from hers.
