Lysander became aware that his cock had begun to swell even in the icy clamminess of his soaked trousers. He could not break his gaze away from her stormy eyes. He continued to harden. He decided not to quail but to let her see him, the way that she had let him see her.

When her gaze dropped and she noted her effect on him, her eyes widened and she flinched back from the window, and then her pale face disappeared into the shadows of the room.

Released from the spell of her devouring gaze, Lysander staggered back a step. He drew a deep gasping breath into his panting lungs and then, closing his eyes tight, he plunged his entire head into the icy water of the rain barrel.

It didn't help. The hunger in her gaze was imprinted on the inside of his own eyelids. He would never forget the way she looked at him. He never wanted to forget it.

ONCE LYSANDER HAD CHANGED into the only other shirt he had tucked into Icky's saddlebags, he discovered that his boots could be salvaged by a night by the stove. He stuffed them with clean straw and left them tucked neatly to the side. Outside, Bing mercilessly handed him a pair of rough work boots and a hammer.

It had been a long time since Lysander had worked with his hands. Worthington House had a marvelous workshop in the old stables off the back garden, but it had been years since he had tinkered out there on his brothers' inventions.

Now, he couldn't seem to hammer a nail without slamming his thumb. The nail seemed to slip and wiggle in his fingers and the hammer swung erratically. He hoped Bing couldn't see how his hands tended to tremble.

"Take your time, lad. That plank isn't walking off anywhere." Bing's raspy voice sounded very nearly sympathetic as Lysander tried to repair the ancient stable door.

Lysander flinched from such expressions of pity. He had no right to it. He had his strength, he had both arms and both legs, and had come away from the battlefields with only a few scars. Others had seen so much worse.

Then Bing rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Hold on to t' blasted nail, lad! Pretend that if it gets away, it's going to bite you!"

Lysander relaxed somewhat, secure once more in Bing's refreshingly blunt disdain. He grasped the nail as if it were a viper as instructed, and swung the hammer down.

He smashed his thumb but good. The wild bolt of pain brought those frightening black edges to his vision. His shaking hands curled into fists. No, not now. Please not now.