She went to the doorway, put two fingers in her mouth, and emitted an earsplitting whistle. In seconds servants came running.
“Get rid of this mattress and bedding,” she ordered. “To the stables with it. You, fetch the gentleman a fresh mattress. You, clean sheets, the ones off the line this morning, and fresh bedding. And you—” She stabbed a finger at a sleepy-looking maidservant. “Mop the floor. Boiling water, steep in it a handful of sage, two of lavender, and one of mint, leave for five minutes, then strain and use it to mop the floor with.”
While they scrambled to do her bidding, she turned to Luke and Isabella. “My deepest apologies for the inconvenience,señor,señora, but last week my idiot of a husband allowed a gentleman to bring his hounds inside.” She darted an evil look at her husband. “Against all my rules. This is what happens when I go to visit my sister!”
“He assured me they had no fleas—” the big man almost tearfully protested.
“Pfft! Have you ever seen a dog without a flea?” she said scornfully and turned back to Luke. “The dogs must have slept on that rug, and the fleas have bred in the warmth. Never mind, it will be all clean and good again in a few minutes and Carlos will bring you some of the best brandy,señor, and maybe some hot chocolate for your lady.”
Carlos disappeared, and the servants removed the old mattress and bedding and carried in a fresh one.
“Wool stuffing,” the landlady told Luke and Isabella. “New washed and dried in the sun. And the same with the sheets and blankets.” She gave Isabella a smile. “Now then, my lady, you let your good man take care of you while I fetch some salve to take away the itch.”
“Perhaps I could wait on the chair,” Isabella suggested.
Luke stood her on the chair. There could still be fleas on the floor.
She sat, drawing her knees up to her chin, and waited wrapped in his greatcoat. She looked like a little street urchin in his too-big coat, with her bare, bitten toes poking out.
The maid arrived with a mop and steaming bucket. Underher mistress’s supervision she thoroughly mopped the floor while the other servants shook out the clean sheets and bedding.
In minutes the bed was made up, the floor gleamed, and the room smelled of lavender and mint. The landlady handed Isabella a small jar of ointment, saying, “This will help with the itching. Sleep well, my lady. Once again, my apologies,señor. Now, out, out the rest of you, the gentleman and lady wish to sleep.” She swept everyone from the room. As the door closed behind her, they heard, “And Carlos, you can explain to me why I should not make you sleep in the stable on that flea-ridden mattress?”
Isabella giggled. “Poor Carlos, do you think she’ll carry out her threat?”
“Serves him right if she does,” Luke growled.
Isabella unstoppered the jar and cautiously sniffed the contents. “Not bad.” She began to apply the ointment to her bites.
She twisted awkwardly to reach the back of her thighs. “Do you want a hand with that?” Luke asked her.
“Yes, please.”
She gave him the jar, turned her back, and raised the hem of her nightgown, revealing slender, creamy limbs that caused his mouth to dry.
“Behind my knee,” she said, and he dipped a finger in the mix and dabbed it on the small red mark at the back of her knee. Her flesh was silky and tender there, and he stroked it under the guise of applying the ointment.
“Can you see any more?” she asked and lifted the nightgown higher, almost to her bottom.
He wanted to run his hands up her legs, caress her softness, but he’d made a resolution and was determined to stick to it.
“That’s it,” he said. His voice sounded hoarse. He replaced the stopper and set the jar down on the washstand. “Now, perhaps we can finally get some sleep.”
But he knew before she even turned around on the chair to face him, before she said, “Thank you,” in that soft voice, that he’d lost the battle.
She turned and swayed toward him. Or did he sway toward her? He didn’t know. All he knew was that his arms wrapped around her almost of their own accord, as if separate from his will.
For a long moment he held her, pressing his face against her stomach, breathing in the scent of her through the cotton nightgown. He felt her fingers in his hair, caressing him, andhe carried her to the bed and laid her down on the sweet-smelling sheets. Her hair spread out over the pillow, a tangle of twisted darkness, like the feelings seething inside him.
He kissed her then, a gossamer touching of lips at first, barely a taste—she was an innocent, he had to remember to go slowly—but she made a little humming noise deep in her throat, twined her arms around his neck, and drew him closer.
Heat surged through him. He speared his fingers through the glorious mass of her hair and ravished her mouth with slow, soft kisses, while she returned kiss for kiss, enthusiastic little baby bird pecks.
The sweet clumsiness of those kisses forced a bridle on his rampant desire. No virgin, his bride, but an innocent nonetheless. She knew nothing about lovemaking.
He teased her lips apart, and as their tongues tangled, she grabbed his shoulders and shivered against him. He deepened the kiss. The taste of her flickered like flame along his veins.
She returned caress for caress, an eager, giving pupil.
