The willow bark dulled the ache in her wrist and imparted a pleasant humming state of relaxation and the honey cheered her, but what was she to do with the sudden visceral awareness that she was alone in the house with a handsome, arousing man she barely knew? Last night, Mr. Bing had taken his repose in the small chamber off the stillroom, which he only used in the bitterest weeks of winter when his quarters off the stable became impossible to heat. Like a crusty, muttering duenna, he seemed most intent on protecting her virtue. She had supposed he would come back to the house after his pipe, yet the hour grew late and her chaperone remained distinctly absent. She was surprised at his neglect, for he was usually highly protective of her.

Then she recalled Mr. Bing's strange obliviousness to the young, handsome, half-naked guest washing in the rain barrel outside her stillroom window. Surely Mr. Bing had realized that Mr. Worthington ought to have cleaned up in the stable watering trough instead of dirtying her pure rainwater?

What was Mr. Bing thinking? It could not be what she suspected. Could Mr. Bing be encouraging this companionship?

When Mr. Worthington had thoroughly toweled off the dishes and stacked them neatly by the sink he meticulously dried his hands, fastened his cuffs, and put his slightly shabby, beautifully-fitted coat back on.

He meant to depart to his bedchamber, she could tell. Without quite meaning to, she stalled him. "Do you read much, Mr. Worthington?"

He gazed at her for a moment. "Did … once."

Amused, she regarded him with her head slightly tilted. "Does that mean you once read a great deal in the past, or that you once read a book?" She could not keep a smile from her lips although she tried. This must be an additional effect of the willow bark. She'd quite forgotten to be self-conscious about their intimate moment through the window glass.

His eyes widened slightly. "My family. All of us." His brows drew together. "So … many books." He spread his hands as if helpless to describe his meaning properly.

All of us. Seven siblings, he'd informed her earlier. Gemma allowed herself a wistful pang. She'd always longed for brothers and sisters.

She smiled at him once again. She had noticed that it tended to make him go rather still, like a wild animal caught in the flash of a lantern. His fascination made her feel as though she still had her looks, despite her lack of time for primping.

"I fear that my injury is bothering me greatly this evening." Oh, I am entirely without scruples. "I could do with a bit of distraction. Do you think you might fetch a book from the study for me?"