The Countess Game: A Historical Romance Set During the Jacobite Rebellion by Deborah Cay Wilding

Author:Deborah Cay Wilding [Wilding, Deborah Cay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-09-29T16:00:00+00:00

"I do believe Sir Addington managed to run off with the family silver. I couldn't find decent goblets anywhere," Ashton apologized while pouring from a wine bottle of uncertain vintage.

"Or decent wine," I said, after taking a sip from a pewter tumbler, and we both laughed. He settled himself in a chair next to me and raised his own tumbler to his lips. We had retired to my bedchamber where a fire was already blazing in the hearth.

"We shall have to content ourselves with Spanish Madeira that has not yet turned to vinegar."

"Luckily there's no need for you to drink yourself senseless before I remove your stitches. It will not be a painful procedure. I believe your wound must be sufficiently healed by now and requires no further bandaging." I was half out of my chair to fetch my medicine chest when Ashton stopped me.

"Warm yourself in front of the fire awhile longer, why don't you? What will you be needing?" He pulled a knife from within his boot. "Will this do?" His mouth twitched and he looked at me sideways.

I laughed, almost spilling my wine.

"Perhaps not," he said, sliding the knife back in a slot where he kept it hidden for emergencies.

"A pair of small scissors in the side pocket of my medicine chest will suffice," I offered as an alternative.

"A better choice, indeed," he said when returned and handed me the scissors.

He knelt in front of me as I slipped his shirt over one shoulder and moved closer for a better angle.

"Let me help to make this a little easier for you." In one graceful move he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it on the nearby chair.

Not for the first time I marveled at the muscled contours of his arms and chest, but reminded myself with some difficulty to pay attention to the task at hand. With tiny cuts I began to snip away at the stitches and decided to engage him in conversation, partly to distract him, but mostly to fill the silence that suddenly settled on the room.

"Now don't fidget," I scolded. "And"—I cast about for an engaging topic to ease us over the awkwardness of our close proximity—"tell me a little about France. I hear you spent time at Versailles and had some...umm, memorable experiences."

He smiled, undisturbed by my veiled insinuation. "Well, Louis was never a king to pass up an opportunity for pleasure," he confessed with a wry smile. "Banquets were particularly lavish, I must say. Paradoxically the king was rather a stickler for schedules. His day was organized to the minute, so I sometimes joined him promptly at two o'clock for his daily stroll around the gardens. It was a ritual that took him away from the usual obsequious collection of hangers-on. The outing was a welcome relief from the intrigues and stench inside the palace, to be sure. You would not care to imagine thousands of courtiers and ladies packed into every square inch of gilded luxury where chamber pots were always filled to overflowing and rarely emptied.

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