His Lady Mistress

Elizabeth Rolls169The slight roughness drew his attention. Lifting her hand, helooked at it. And realised it was still slightly reddened, chafedfrom rough work. In a couple of places between the slenderfingers he could see where the cracks had begun to heal.Sharply she tugged at her hand. He held on, ignoring herefforts as well as Taffy’s importunate nose. ‘Is that still painful?’He stroked one healing crack with a gentle forefingerand felt the fine tremor that took her.She shook her head. ‘No, my lord. Mrs Henty made upsome paste of Palermo. And she found some chicken-skingloves for me to sleep in. My hands are much better.’‘Good.’ At least she had found some healing under hisroof. But the formality of her response accused him as nothingelse could. My lord. As though she were beneath histouch. He had done that to her. Taking her other hand, hestraightened up slowly, drawing her with him until theystood, hands linked. He looked down at her and found herface raised to his. They stood slightly out of the pool of light.Shadows fell across her face, deepening the dark smudgesunder her eyes.Scarcely realising what he was about, his hands slid up herarms, caressing cool silken skin, and on over her throat,where a sudden pulse leapt and skittered under his gentlefingers. To her cheek. Tenderly his thumbs brushed up overthe pale cheekbones, as if by doing so he could erase theshadows and coax colour back into them.‘My lord?’ he asked, continuing to caress her cheek withthe backs of his fingers, marvelling at the softness. He’d forgottenhow soft and yielding she was. Her breath caught unevenlyand then, slowly, one small, hesitant hand lifted to hisface. Quivering fingertips traced a wondering path along hisjaw, igniting every nerve. He’d forgotten that too...no, thatwas a lie. He’d tried to forget, with a resounding lack ofsuccess.Then, as though she found it nearly impossible,‘M...Max?’