Lord Stanton's Last Mistress. Lara Temple

read you the political pages from end to end. Twice. And those are equally as depressing. More so.’

      He frowned.

      ‘I remember now—you were reading something about the Tsar and the Sultan. But that news was well over a month old.’

      ‘The mail takes a while to reach us. The pirates have made trade difficult so the ships travel in convoys. Hopefully next week we will receive new newspapers from Athens.’

      ‘We... Who are you and why are you wearing a tent? You sound like you’re underwater.’

      ‘It is a bridal veil,’ she replied, with as much dignity as possible. ‘Brides on Illiakos wear them in public for the first month of marriage. It symbolises the period during which the married couple is dedicated wholly to one another.’

      ‘Good God, more sentimental drivel. I don’t envy you or your groom your wedding night.’ His laugh ended in a gasp of pain as he tried to sit up and she dropped the newspaper.

      ‘Please lie down, the doctor removed the bullet, but you lost a great deal of blood.’

      She sat on the side of the bed and pressed him back gently as she had during the throes of his fever. Except it was different now. His skin was no longer burning, but hers was. The moment her palms flattened on his shoulders she froze. She tried to reason that he was merely a sick man she was tending, but that wasn’t what it felt like. Her fingers were trying to curve over the velvet surface that covered the rock-hard ridges of his shoulders. Sitting like that, if she just leaned towards him a little, raised her head... Took off her veils...

      She removed her hands, but couldn’t gather any more resolution to rise. So she sat there with her hands clutched in her lap, waiting.

      He froze, too, and there was a confused frown in his ice-grey eyes now, as if he was struggling to remember a word.

      ‘You were here before, weren’t you? I remember...’

      He reached for the veils and she surged to her feet, which was a mistake because she tripped on the awkward yards of cloth and stumbled backwards.

      ‘Careful!’ His arm shot out to right her and with a groan of pain he turned chalk white and fell back.

      ‘Don’t move.’ Christina’s concern overcame her confusion and she gently pressed back the bandages, sighing with relief at the unbroken scab beneath. ‘That was foolish.’

      ‘I wasn’t the one leaping like a scalded cat,’ he muttered through gritted teeth. ‘You made your point; I won’t touch the veils. That blasted doctor may have extracted the bullet, but I think he left a sheave of knives inside me instead.’

      Despite her discomfort, her mouth curved upwards at his quintessential Englishness.

      ‘Not a sheave, just one. It is considered good luck.’

      ‘You are jesting, right?’ His eyes widened and she smiled at the apprehension in his voice.

      ‘Of course I am. He is merely terrified of the King which makes him a little clumsy. Please lean back while I apply some salve, it will soothe the inflammation and the pain.’

      ‘I don’t need any more ministering. That fool of a doctor did enough damage already by the look of it, and I’m damned if I will let you smear some noxious folk remedies on an open wound. What I need is to get off this island.’

      ‘It is merely some boiled herbs, including witch hazel and vinegar which are excellent for preventing putridity in wounds. I promise there are no bat wings and ears of newts. If you wish to recover swiftly, I suggest you let me apply the salve.’

      His mouth held firm for a moment at her scold, and then with a curse worthy of a sailor he leaned back and closed his eyes.

      His skin was hot and velvety beneath her fingers as she spread the salve. She worked slowly, smoothing it as gently as possible over the reddened area around the wound, her fingers just a butterfly’s flutter on the wound itself. He didn’t wince, but she could feel the tension in his muscles and see it in the way his hands fisted by his sides. She had an almost overwhelming urge to bend down and press a kiss to his bare chest, to ease that control, to reassure, explore... She knew she should draw back, but her fingers kept up their soothing strokes, until she exhausted her excuse and had no choice but to stop.

      For several heartbeats the room was utterly silent. His chest rose and fell slowly and his eyes opened, pinning her.

      ‘You have dangerous hands, little nurse.’

      She curled her fingers into fists and looked down.

      ‘I don’t think they qualify as dangerous. Not next to whoever did these to you.’ She indicated the scars on his arm and shoulder, but tried not to look further. He raised his arm, inspecting the scars as if surprised to see them.

      ‘These are just useful reminders not to wander around the bazaars of Constantinople after a night of heavy drinking when you are not welcome in that town.’

      ‘Someone tried to kill you?’

      ‘Not everyone finds me charming.’

      ‘I can understand that, but it is hardly a reason to try to kill you.’

      ‘Thank you. Foolish of me to expect a disavowal.’

      ‘Besides, not all these scars are from the same event or weapon,’ she added, ignoring his unconvincing attempt to look offended.

      He glanced down at his torso with a frown.

      ‘No. I’m afraid I carry a diary of my follies on my person. This new one will be a particularly inglorious chapter; I didn’t even do anything to merit it but be in the wrong place at the wrong time. How demeaning.’

      ‘The others were merited?’

      ‘Except for this one.’ He turned over his left hand to show a white patch along the root of his palm. ‘This was from trying to save a friend from his folly when he climbed back into our room at school in the middle of the night during a storm and almost ended up an ornament on the bushes below.’

      ‘Folly appears to be contagious. Are your friends as foolish as you?’

      He smiled.

      ‘No, Raven was like that before I met him. I was still deep in my obedient phase and very determined not to succumb to the family curse of depravity. I held out quite a while, too.’

      She frowned at his tone. ‘I don’t believe in curses.’

      ‘Of course not, nurses must be sensible, right? I’m not fond of the notion myself. Too Greek. I accept full responsibility for choosing which side of my family tree I emulate. I made every effort to behave like the proper half of that tree for almost two decades and found it not only stultifying, but also unappreciated. So for the past five years I have been enjoying a grand tour of the other half. Aside from these...’ he indicated the scarred topography of his body ‘...I am finding it suits me very well.’

      ‘I am glad, because I would hate to think you derived no pleasure from trying to kill yourself.’

      She hadn’t meant to speak quite that sharply. He smiled, a slow wolfish smile, and her legs pressed together, readying herself to move.

      ‘I’m deriving a great deal of pleasure at the moment from being resurrected. I’d derive even greater pleasure from seeing what my little saviour looks like under those veils, but don’t worry, I don’t need to be slapped more than once to learn not to steal cakes from cook’s table. I will just have to exert my imagination; it is very creative. Shall I tell you what it is weaving?’

      ‘No, thank you. I have little doubt it is an improvement on the reality. Now, you might be accustomed to injury, but you are still very weak and what you need most is rest. If you need help, call for Yannis. He is outside. The King is a good man and has every interest in seeing you in good health so I suggest you not try anything foolish.’

      ‘You