Lord Stanton's Last Mistress

‘You were here before, weren’t you? I remember...’

He reached for the veils and she surged to her feet, which was a mistake because she tripped on the awkward yards of cloth and stumbled backwards.

‘Careful!’ His arm shot out to right her and with a groan of pain he turned chalk white and fell back.

‘Don’t move.’ Christina’s concern overcame her confusion and she gently pressed back the bandages, sighing with relief at the unbroken scab beneath. ‘That was foolish.’

‘I wasn’t the one leaping like a scalded cat,’ he muttered through gritted teeth. ‘You made your point; I won’t touch the veils. That blasted doctor may have extracted the bullet, but I think he left a sheave of knives inside me instead.’

Despite her discomfort, her mouth curved upwards at his quintessential Englishness.

‘Not a sheave, just one. It is considered good luck.’

‘You are jesting, right?’ His eyes widened and she smiled at the apprehension in his voice.

‘Of course I am. He is merely terrified of the King which makes him a little clumsy. Please lean back while I apply some salve, it will soothe the inflammation and the pain.’

‘I don’t need any more ministering. That fool of a doctor did enough damage already by the look of it, and I’m damned if I will let you smear some noxious folk remedies on an open wound. What I need is to get off this island.’

‘It is merely some boiled herbs, including witch hazel and vinegar which are excellent for preventing putridity in wounds. I promise there are no bat wings and ears of newts. If you wish to recover swiftly, I suggest you let me apply the salve.’

His mouth held firm for a moment at her scold, and then with a curse worthy of a sailor he leaned back and closed his eyes.

His skin was hot and velvety beneath her fingers as she spread the salve. She worked slowly, smoothing it as gently as possible over the reddened area around the wound, her fingers just a butterfly’s flutter on the wound itself. He didn’t wince, but she could feel the tension in his muscles and see it in the way his hands fisted by his sides. She had an almost overwhelming urge to bend down and press a kiss to his bare chest, to ease that control, to reassure, explore... She knew she should draw back, but her fingers kept up their soothing strokes, until she exhausted her excuse and had no choice but to stop.

For several heartbeats the room was utterly silent. His chest rose and fell slowly and his eyes opened, pinning her.

‘You have dangerous hands, little nurse.’

She curled her fingers into fists and looked down.

‘I don’t think they qualify as dangerous. Not next to whoever did these to you.’ She indicated the scars on his arm and shoulder, but tried not to look further. He raised his arm, inspecting the scars as if surprised to see them.

‘These are just useful reminders not to wander around the bazaars of Constantinople after a night of heavy drinking when you are not welcome in that town.’

‘Someone tried to kill you?’

‘Not everyone finds me charming.’

‘I can understand that, but it is hardly a reason to try to kill you.’

‘Thank you. Foolish of me to expect a disavowal.’

‘Besides, not all these scars are from the same event or weapon,’ she added, ignoring his unconvincing attempt to look offended.

He glanced down at his torso with a frown.

‘No. I’m afraid I carry a diary of my follies on my person. This new one will be a particularly inglorious chapter; I didn’t even do anything to merit it but be in the wrong place at the wrong time. How demeaning.’

‘The others were merited?’

‘Except for this one.’ He turned over his left hand to show a white patch along the root of his palm. ‘This was from trying to save a friend from his folly when he climbed back into our room at school in the middle of the night during a storm and almost ended up an ornament on the bushes below.’

‘Folly appears to be contagious. Are your friends as foolish as you?’

He smiled.

‘No, Raven was like that before I met him. I was still deep in my obedient phase and very determined not to succumb to the family curse of depravity. I held out quite a while, too.’

She frowned at his tone. ‘I don’t believe in curses.’

‘Of course not, nurses must be sensible, right? I’m not fond of the notion myself. Too Greek. I accept full responsibility for choosing which side of my family tree I emulate. I made every effort to behave like the proper half of that tree for almost two decades and found it not only stultifying, but also unappreciated. So for the past five years I have been enjoying a grand tour of the other half. Aside from these...’ he indicated the scarred topography of his body ‘...I am finding it suits me very well.’

‘I am glad, because I would hate to think you derived no pleasure from trying to kill yourself.’

She hadn’t meant to speak quite that sharply. He smiled, a slow wolfish smile, and her legs pressed together, readying herself to move.

‘I’m deriving a great deal of pleasure at the moment from being resurrected. I’d derive even greater pleasure from seeing what my little saviour looks like under those veils, but don’t worry, I don’t need to be slapped more than once to learn not to steal cakes from cook’s table. I will just have to exert my imagination; it is very creative. Shall I tell you what it is weaving?’

‘No, thank you. I have little doubt it is an improvement on the reality. Now, you might be accustomed to injury, but you are still very weak and what you need most is rest. If you need help, call for Yannis. He is outside. The King is a good man and has every interest in seeing you in good health so I suggest you not try anything foolish.’

‘You are a fiery little thing, aren’t you? You don’t sound as terrified of this King as the doctor appears to be.’

‘I have no reason to fear him. I owe him everything and he has always been kind to me. However, he does have a temper and I suggest you don’t provoke it if you wish to have your way.’

He smiled, his eyes lightening with laughter.

‘That is excellent advice, darling. I promise not to provoke him, but I don’t know if I can promise the same to you, as it is too much of a pleasure to watch, or rather listen, to you rise to the fly. I do promise to keep my hands to myself, but for your information, the best way to put a man’s fantasies to rest is to confront him with reality. Perhaps these veils have more merit for newlyweds than I gave them credit. Marriage is a tedious business and anything that introduces a touch of mystery is welcome.’

‘Are you married then?’ The words were out before she could stop them, her skin still tingling from his casual endearment.

‘No, thank God. I’ve watched too many disasters on that front. When I do marry, in the very, very distant future, it will be to someone whose expectations can be measured in worldly goods and who knows her limits and mine.’

It had nothing to do with her, but it hurt like a personal rejection.

‘I will return later with a tisane for the pain, but you should rest now. If you need anything, summon Yannis and he can send for me if there is a need.’

‘And pull you from your husband’s arms? Tempting but not very chivalrous, my dear. I shall make do with this Yannis.’

The lingering falsity of her marriage stuck in her throat. It wasn’t like her to lie. Not that she had actually said she was married, but she had certainly not corrected him and that was bad enough, wasn’t it? All she had to do was tell him—I’m not married; the veils were the King’s idea. Then he would laugh and tell her to take them off, that she stood in no danger from him.

And that would be a lie, too. Even if he meant it. He might poke fun at her, but somehow she knew the moment he knew she was unmarried even that taunting freedom in her presence would cease. She might not know him, but she knew that. Still, the next time he said anything about her married state she promised she would tell the truth. However uncomfortable.

She glanced back—he looked weary, but his smile lingered as he watched her, part warmth and part mockery. She was so tempted to stay so she left.

* * *

If she had an ounce of sense she would have stayed away from that point forward, but she didn’t. The first week of his illness was unsettling, but the second exhausted all her reserves of self-control. She found all forms of excuses to visit the Englishman, though any servant could have delivered the tisanes she prepared and she was gaining no favours with the doctor by insisting on applying her salves to the wound. She drank in every moment in his company like the Illiakan plains drank in rainwater after the long dry summer. He never demanded she remove the veils again, and thankfully he never again referred to her marriage, so she could at least continue to shove away her guilt at perpetuating the lie and enjoy the pleasures of his company, from the unsettling effect of touching him as she nursed him to the more innocent pleasure of reading to him. She loved lingering over the agony columns just so he would tease her and then she could berate him for his insensitivity and watch the laughter light up his austere face.