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“You were playing with my toes.” Giving her one of his haughtiest frowns, Max proceeded to draw his leg modestly under the bedclothes. Then his head fell back against the pillows, his eyes shut, and the frown turned into a grimace.
Tentatively Marietta reached out and pulled the covering up over his chest—removing temptation—and tucked him in securely. But he wasn’t asleep.
“Water,” he whispered.
She reached for the jug the servant had brought last night, and poured some water into a glass. She supported his head against her shoulder, aware of the heat of his skin even through her layers of clothing. She held the glass to his lips, carefully tipping a little at a time between them. Max swallowed greedily, but after a moment he seemed to have had enough, and turned his face away. Gently she lowered him back onto the pillows, and smoothed his wild curls.
The doctor would be coming this morning, and she was relieved to know it. Max was too hot, surely? A fever was to be expected, but how did she know what was acceptable and what was excessive?
“’Etta.”
“Yes, Max? What is it?” He seemed to know her, so he must be reasonably lucid. Surely that meant he was all right? If he was in danger, wouldn’t he be rambling and half-conscious?
“Blue eyes. Big sparkling blue eyes. And pink lips. Pink lips ripe for kissing.”
Well, maybe he wasn’t quite as lucid as she’d thought.
“Hush, Max. Go to sleep now. You need to get well.”
She wasn’t sure whether he heard her or not, but he sighed and in a moment he had relaxed into sleep. Marietta sat and watched him, resisting the wicked little voice in her head that told her to touch him again.
Touch.
This was the part of her future profession to which she had not given much thought. She had brushed over it, believing that the physical aspects of being a courtesan would just come to her naturally—she was Aphrodite’s daughter. Surely it couldn’t be too difficult, and it wasn’t as if she hadn’t done it before. Still there had been a vague, niggling doubt, deep in her mind, that she may not like being touched or touching in return.
But just now, when she had touched Max, the sensation of exploring a naked man’s skin, even if it was in her role as nurse and more accidental than deliberate, had been…exciting. Was it because it was Max? Max, with whom she had no intention of becoming emotionally entangled? Max, who made her feel strangely safe? Possibly. Whatever the reason, Marietta told herself that it was a good thing. A courtesan must enjoy the physical aspect of her relationships, she must feel desire. Max could teach her that—she had a feeling he would be a very good teacher.
Max was still asleep, and when she tentatively touched him again he felt a little cooler. Marietta yawned and sat back down in her chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. She told herself that the doctor would be here soon, and wriggled around so that she could rest her cheek on her hand. That was better…In another moment she too was asleep.
Max’s head throbbed cruelly. He lay with his eyes shut, desperately trying not to be sick, until slowly, tick by tick of the mantel clock, the nausea began to pass and he could begin to remember. He had gone to Aphrodite’s Club, and after being inside had left and walked into the lane. He had closed his eyes for some inexplicable reason. He recalled the damp darkness, the sense that he was not alone, just before he was struck down.
Judging by the brutal pain in his head, his assailant had meant business. It felt personal, but Max supposed that was unlikely. He looked like a rich gentleman, and that was enough for some people to take exception to him.
A flash of image. Max concentrated and in his mind saw big blue eyes peering into his. Marietta Greentree? Yes, she had been here in the night. Now he recalled her hands, cool against his chest, and her voice, a balm for all his aches and pains. Or was it just a dream, after all? Had she really been playing with his foot?
Max opened his eyes.
Marietta Greentree was curled up in an armchair, her red and green skirts spread modestly about her. She was resting her flushed cheek on her folded hand, loose strands of fair hair falli
ng forward over her face. She looked helpless and innocent.
And yet this was Aphrodite’s daughter. Max started to shake his head in disbelief, only to stop abruptly when the movement caused a pain to slice through his temples. The throbbing began again. Abominably.
He groaned aloud.
Marietta lifted her head slightly. She peered at him through the tangled strands of her fair hair, as if she was disoriented. Then she pushed it out of her eyes and sat up, stretching and yawning widely. Like a kitten after a refreshing nap, or an innocent with nothing to disturb its conscience. That was how he saw Marietta Greentree, Max realized uneasily. Innocent and needing his gentlemanly protection. He was certainly finding it difficult to imagine her as the daughter of an infamous courtesan.
He’d been staring at her for too long. Those big blue eyes were gazing back at him, a growing expression of uneasiness in their depths.
“My head hurts,” he said pitifully, and it was the honest truth.
“Poor you,” Marietta murmured sympathetically. She laid her hand upon his brow, and there was something so soothing in her touch that it instantly felt better. Or perhaps it was the scent of her skin and the curved swell of her breasts beneath her tight bodice that improved his mood.
“Do you remember what happened?” She was speaking to him again and he tried to concentrate, but before he had a chance to answer she was doing it for him. “You were attacked in a lane, and one of the errand boys found you. Dobson brought you back here to Aphrodite’s Club, and sent for the doctor, who stitched your wound and bandaged it. He promised to call again this morning and see how you are feeling.”
She seemed to read his next question in his eyes, so he didn’t even bother trying to ask it.
“The doctor thought that moving you might make you more unwell, and it was better for you to stay here overnight.”
