Page 14 of The Devil to Pay

Jules bit back a smug smile and shook his head, daring to hold her gaze far too boldly. She looked away first, which was satisfying, and then Milly reappeared with the jug of warm water and a basin.

“Thank you, that will be all.”

The maid bobbed a curtsey and departed, and Jules watched as Davenport poured the water into the basin and added a few drops of something that clouded the liquid.

“Soak your hands in that for a few minutes,” she ordered him.

Desperate to tell her to go to the devil, Jules swallowed down an exclamation of indignation at being ordered about and did as he was told. The water stung his torn flesh and he hissed, gaining a glance of concern from the woman beside him.

“It will only sting for a moment,” she said kindly.

He bore it stoically and then relaxed as the sensation dissipated and the warm water eased his freezing fingers.

After a few moments, Davenport drew up a stool beside him and draped her lap with a piece of soft, clean linen. Without a by your leave, she took his right hand from the water and placed it in her lap.

“You’ve never done this kind of work before,” she said.

As ever, it was a statement, not a question, and Jules felt no need to answer it, even if he could have. She looked up, obviously expecting at least a shake of his head, but Jules just stared obdurately at her. The ghost of a smile touched her lips, and she returned her attention to his hand, gently patting it dry.

“I’ll speak to Dixey about giving you lighter duties for a few days to let your hands heal.”

Jules scowled and shook his head. As much as he wanted to stop digging, for the pain was becoming hard to endure, he was damned if she would be the one to see him fail.

She noted his scowl with interest. “Don’t be stubborn,” she said, and her tone was soft now, sending a thrill of something most peculiar down his spine. “No one is doubting your strength or endurance, I assure you, but you must not make your hands worse, or you’ll regret it. Such lovely fine hands, too. Long fingers. One would almost think you a gentleman.”

Jules barely resisted the temptation to tug his hand away from hers, knowing this would only make her suspicious. He’d make sure Briggs gave her an explanation that would justify his lack of calluses and signs of manual labour. No doubt the irritating devil could think of something that would humiliate Jules enough to satisfy him and Davenport both.

Having dried both hands, she reached for a small glass pot and took off the lid. A sweet, flowery scent reached his nose as she warmed a small amount between her hands. Then she took hold of his right hand again and began working the balm gently into his skin, carefully avoiding the sore spots. Jules swallowed, an odd sensation building inside him as she applied the balm to first one hand, then the other. Her hands were elegant, but strong and capable, with long fingers and clean, blunt fingernails. He raised his eyes for a moment, watching her. She was absorbed in her work, oblivious to the moment’s intimacy. A niggle of irritation worked at him. Jules was not used to being ignored, nor to his proximity being dismissed as irrelevant, but she finished her work and reached for his other hand, heedless of the effect she was having on his equilibrium and his temper.

It annoyed him that her touch stirred him, making his skin thrum and his blood surge through his veins. He considered her dispassionately, trying to make himself believe that any man would react to such a touch from a female of any stamp. She was not beautiful, he told himself. Her nose was too large, her mouth too wide. She was altogether too much, and yet… and yet… his heart was crashing about like something small and panicked caught in a trap.

He stood suddenly, unable to take another moment of it.

“Where are you going?” she demanded crossly. “I’ve not finished.”

Incensed with his inability to tell her, he just jerked his head tersely towards the door.

“Oh, no. Not until I’ve bandaged those blisters, and you’ll not return to digging today. If your hands are not protected, they’ll get infected, and I’ll not have your death on my conscience when you get blood poisoning. Not when it could so easily be avoided. And don’t look like that. A man in the village died a few years ago because of an untreated splinter, of all things. Don’t you be so pigheaded as he was.”

Jules set his jaw, determined that Briggs could see to any bandaging for him, and went to walk out.

“Is it usual for you to ignore your employer’s wishes?” she asked mildly.

Jules hesitated as he remembered this was not his life. He was not the son of a duke here and he did not get to do as he pleased and tell people he didn’t like to go to the devil. This was the lot of a working man, he reminded himself: to do as he was told. Her demand was not unreasonable. Indeed, she was doing her best to care for him. It was not her fault she made him feel like a coiled spring. Except he was not feeling especially reasonable. Still, this was valuable information. His emotions, those of frustration and anger and indignation at not being able to do as he pleased, were valuable and would aid him next time he wrote a character who was subject to the whims of a cruel master or mistress.

Jules forced himself to return to the stool and sit down, stoically holding his hands out for her.

She regarded him with interest, a considering gleam in her eyes that made him feel like an odd species of newt caught in a jam jar.

“You are not used to being told what to do,” she said, curiosity in her tone. “Indeed, I think you would rather like to murder me.”

Jules forced himself to ease the taut line of his jaw and shook his head, though she was entirely correct on both points.

She snorted and selected a different jar, applying a thick cream to the torn skin on his right palm before deftly binding it.

“There, all done,” she said, her tone brisk, striding out of the room before he had figured out how to thank her without speaking.

Jules hurried after her, assuming she was going to speak to Dixey on his behalf and feeling unaccountably embarrassed that she should do so. No doubt she’d make a drama out of his blisters and leave him feeling a fool.