Page 59 of A Winter Scandal

Thea poured water from the jug into a bowl and dipped a rag in it. Squeezing out the rag, she dabbed gently at the wound. Gabriel winced, but remained still. The blood remained stuck in his hair, so she held the wet rag against his head, letting it soak. She could not ignore how close she was to him. She could feel the warmth emanating from his body. The side of his head was at the level of her breasts, and without thinking, she ran her other hand over his tousled curls. Gabriel stiffened, and Thea felt the sudden surge of heat in him. Quickly she dropped her hand away, embarrassed by her action, and finished wiping the wound clean.

“I saw a bottle of gin in that cabinet. Perhaps I should use it on the wound. I have read of using whiskey to clean wounds. Gin would be the same, wouldn’t it?”

“I think I’d rather use it inside me,” he retorted, but shrugged. “Why not? They say pain makes one a better person.”

Thea pulled the bottle of liquor from the cabinet and poured some in a cup, which she set down in front of Gabriel. Then she poured a bit of it on the cloth and held it to his wound. He sucked in his breath sharply.

“What sort of books do you read anyway?” he asked. “Tales of cleaning wounds? Hardly sounds like what one would find in the vicarage.”

“I read almost anything I can get my hands on,” Thea answered honestly. She sat down at the table on his right. “I think I read that bit about whiskey in the memoirs of a traveling minister in the colonies.” She gestured at the bottle. “What does that taste like?”

“Blue ruin? Pretty ghastly, actually, but it does the trick. Here.” He slid the cup across the table to her. “Try it. It’ll warm you up.”

Thea picked up the cup and took a small swallow, making a face at the taste. “Oh! How bitter!” She shivered as it slid fierily down her throat and into her stomach. “It tastes like perfume.”

Gabriel chuckled. “My dear Thea, is it your habit to drink perfume?”

“Well, it tastes the way I would think perfume tastes.” She reached out and took another sip, then set the cup down with a shudder and slid it back to him. “Why does anyone drink that?”

“Cheaper than brandy or whiskey. And it has the result you want.”

“What is the result?” Thea asked curiously, leaning forward and crossing her arms on the table.

He smiled and reached out to run his finger down the length of her nose, brushing it over her chin as it fell away. “You look at one in such a way—as if you would soak up every bit of knowledge you could find.”

“Even Papa said I was an admirable pupil. I just … like to know things, to find out everything I can. I want to know why and how and where. I suppose it seems silly, living in a village out in the country as I do.”

“I think that makes it all the more understandable. The way a man imprisoned would want to discover all he could about the outside world.”

“Exactly!” Thea beamed, pleased and somewhat surprised at his understanding. “There is so much I have never seen or done. Those plays you were talking about the other day. The opera. Musicales.”

He poured more gin into the cup and took a swig. “If we were in London, I would take you. Well, the plays and the opera, anyway. Not the musicales. Those are deadly dull. But I should like to show you the plays.”

“And museums!” Thea exclaimed, her eyes shining. “I would love to go to a museum. My sister said her husband took her to Bullock’s Museum, and she saw Napoléon’s carriage. Oh, and the Tower—Traitors’ Gate … the ravens … the tower where the little princes disappeared …”

Gabriel laughed. “I can see I would have my hands full, escorting you about the city. No doubt you’d want to see Astley’s and Vauxhall Gardens, as well.”

Thea nodded and let out a wistful sigh. “I should like to see them all.” She glanced at the cup. “I think I know what you mean—about drinking that. I feel warmer and, I don’t know, relaxed.” She took off her spectacles and set them down on the table, running her hands back over her face and into her hair. Then she picked up the cup and took another drink.

“Careful.” He reached out to take the cup from her. “You won’t like it if you get foxed on daffy.”

“Daffy.” Thea smiled. “Blue ruin. It has such colorful names. But I don’t think you need worry about me becoming foxed. It tastes much too nasty. I don’t know how you have managed to drink what you have of it.”

“It’s an acquired taste.” He paused. “Not the sort of taste the vicar’s sister should acquire.”

“The vicar’s sister shouldn’t do anything,” Thea retorted, “except sit in the corner and knit.”

“I cannot imagine you doing that.”

“I can knit,” she answered with some indignation, though she added honestly, “but I’m not terribly good at it. Veronica was always better than I at such things. Mama said that was because Veronica practiced whereas I always had my nose stuck in a book. Which is quite true, of course. But it was much more boring to knit.”

“More entertaining to read about cleaning wounds,” he agreed, his eyes twinkling.

“Well, it was!” Thea lifted her chin. “Father said it was too bad that I was born a girl.”

A smile curled up one corner of his mouth, and his eyelids lowered a fraction. “I cannot agree with that sentiment.”

His voice was low and rich with meaning, and it teased at something deep within Thea. She shifted a little in her seat. “Well, he meant it was too bad that I could not take advantage of the sort of education a man could. Rather a waste of intellect.” She looked away, surprised by the hot sting of tears suddenly burning her eyes. “Though naturally he never meant to be harsh, I’m sure.”