“Good.” The thought that the man who had hurt her was being punished gave her an odd sense of relief. Maybe he would think twice before doing the same to another woman. “Thank you for going through the trouble, I imagine it wasn’t easy.”
“Think nothing of it. I’ll do anything for you. I mean that. No one will harm you and get away with it.” He held his hands out. “Now show me what he did.”
She placed her hands in his and allowed him to remove her gloves. He rolled her sleeves, revealing yellowing skin on her left wrist, and scabbed-over knuckles on her right hand. He held her as gently as he had the handkerchief.
“Do they hurt?”
She shook her head. “Not today.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He kept his eyes on hers and raised her hands to his lips. Slowly, he kissed each knuckle and the inside of her wrist. Each tender touch of skin to skin seeped deep into her heart.
“Allow me to wash them.”
Hooking her fingertip with his, he led her to a water-filled basin.
“I can wash my own hands.” She protested, but followed him anyway. “I’m notthatdelicate.”
“I know.” He shot her a half-smile. “But I want to do it.”
Matthew dipped their hands into the cool water. His thumbs lingered over hers, massaging from the heel of her palm down to the pads of her fingertips.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he admitted. “I never thought I would have the chance.”
She shot him a dubious expression. “You’ve always wanted to wash my hands?”
He dried her hands with a towel and eased her close to him. He brought a damp fingertip to her chin and lifted her face until it was level with his.
“I’ve always wanted tobatheyou,” he whispered across her lips. “But this will do for now.”
He lingered long enough for her to feel his breath, long enough for her towantto move forward. A whisper of a touch, and he released her, leaving her head spinning.
“We should get started,” he said. “If I’m not mistaken, this dish has to simmer.”
“It does,” she said. “How did you know that?”
“Imighthave stolen away to your manor this morning to talk to your chef.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “He was surprised to see me, but had the ingredients we needed, and gave me instructions. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve done some of the prep work.” He looked her over. “But first, you’re missing something.”
He plucked an apron from a hook on the wall, then twirled his finger. Obediently, she turned. He placed the apron over her head, then tied it behind her waist.
“Look at you.” He flicked her strings. “Your mother would be horrified.”
“I know.” She gave a dreamy sigh. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
He laughed.
“All right, chef. Let’s cook.” He gestured to the table. “Put me to work. What should I do?”
“That depends.” She raised a brow. “Can you be trusted with weapons?”
“I believe I can manage.”
She handed him a knife, a board, and placed a handful of onions and peppers in front of him.
“Slice these. I want them to be about this size.” Demonstrating, shequickly sliced half an onion into strips. “Your turn.”
“I will lose a finger if I do it like that.”
“Not if you take your time.”
