Page 23 of The Lady and the Thief

“Thrilling, is it?”

“And full of pathos.”

“Tell me, then.”

“On our picnic. In your story, did you give me a name?”

“You’re curious, are you?”

He was. The name she’d given him would tell him something about how she saw him. “I didn’t read the notebook, Viv. I’d rather have you read it to me.”

“It’s just notes.” She removed the damp cloth from his side.

“I could make helpful suggestions.”

“I have Lady Melforth for that, thank you.”

“But Lady Melforth wasn’t there. On Babylon Street.”

She looked up, and their gazes met. A flicker of interest appeared in her eyes. He knew he’d got her thinking. She did want to share her writing.

“I’m going to pull away the old plaster now,” she said.

Lark just had time to grip the edge of the mantel when she tore the plaster off. For a moment, his head swam, at the mercy of sensations, cold air against stinging skin, and above all, the firm press of her hand at his waist. She turned away to discard the old plaster. Then her fingers pressed lightly around the aching place in the middle of the sting, and her voice came again. He thought he detected a quiver in it, as if she were not as detached as she appeared to be. “The stitches are holding. You can thank Dr. Newberry for that.”

Lark did not want to thank Dr. Newberry.

“The bleeding’s not bad, but you are a little bruised around the wound.” Her fingertips traced a circle on his skin setting it tingling. Again, she dipped a cloth into the basin. “Do you really think you can manage a boat ride?”

“If you wrap the new plaster securely.”

“Very well.”

He forgot time as he gave himself up to her ministrations, her hands smoothing the plaster in place and winding the strip of linen around his middle. Her elusive scent wound around him, too. Her garments whispered with her movements.

Then she stepped away, as if she’d been wholly unmoved by their nearness. “You’ll do,” she said. “Let me collect my things, and we’ll be off.”

“Wait,” he said. “Did you give me a name in your notes?”