“I get the idea,” he grouched. “Bloody hell, I drank that much?”

She nodded with a grin. “You really are quite funny deep in your cups. You don’t slur your speech. You don’t stagger or sway in your movements. You don’t appear intoxicated at all. But the things you say—I really doubt you would say them if you had a clear mind.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, such as when you told me I would never dance again. So silly, of course I will—whenever you ask me to. And when you tossed me up onto your horse and told me to stay there while you killed Nicolai.”

His eyes widened. “I didn’t, did I?”

“No, you got distracted, trying to find a weapon in one of your pockets, then finally couldn’t remember what you were looking for.”

He grimaced. “Never again. If I ever see another bottle of rum, I’ll—”

“Yes, I know, you’ll break it over your head before you drink it.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

She chuckled. “I didn’t think so, but that is what you said last night.”

The sound of her humor again stirred him. He pulled her farther up his chest, so that her mouth was within reach of his. His eyes locked with hers. He had no doubt she would recognize the desire she could see in his.

“So we haven’t made love yet?” he said huskily.

“No, nor will we,” she said matter-of-factly, “not until I rid you of that awful headache I know you are suffering. When I make love to you, Christoph, I want you to feel only pleasure. I did not exaggerate when I told you I was skilled at healing. The knowledge of herb lore has been in my family for many generations. This will not take long.”

He was beset by several different emotions at once, hotter desire when she spoke of making love to him, acute disappointment when she left the bed, abrupt awe as he was treated to a full view of her nakedness.

She behaved as if it were a perfectly normal thing to do, to walk about unclothed. Not a bit of self-consciousness or embarrassment did she show. Nor was she proudly flaunting that luscious body before him, though she certainly had reason to. She simply went to a cloth satchel that was hers, rummaged through it until she found what she was looking for, then looked about the room until she spotted what else she needed—glasses and several decanters, one that was replenished with fresh water each day.

She opened each decanter to sniff it, then, surprising, chose the brandy to sprinkle some crushed herbs into. Stirring it briskly with her finger, which she then sucked clean, much to Christopher’s horror—what that did to his already stiff condition was quite painful—she came back to the bed and handed him the glass.

There was barely a half inch of the golden spirits in the glass, made murky, though, by the powdered herb, which had him staring at it with a frown. “Why the brandy rather than the water?”