The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(52)

“Maybe we could use some of the trimmings Mrs. Wren bought in London,” Fanny said shyly. She’d been hovering nearby throughout the conversation.

“What a good idea.” Mother Wren beamed at her, making the girl flush. “We had better get started tonight.”

“Yes, indeed, but there is something I want to find before we begin on the dresses.”

Anna pushed back her chair and crossed to the old kitchen cupboard. She knelt and opened the bottom cabinet and peered in.

“Whatever are you looking for, Anna?” Mother Wren asked from behind her.

Anna backed out of the cabinet and sneezed before triumphantly holding up a dusty little jar. “My mother’s salve for bruises and abrasions.”

Mother Wren looked at the jar doubtfully. “Your mother was a wonderful amateur herbalist, my dear, and I’ve been grateful for her salve many times in the past, but it does have an unfortunate odor. Are you sure you need it?”

Anna got up, briskly shaking out the dust in her skirts. “Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for the earl. He had an accident with his horse.”

“An accident with his horse?” Her mother-in-law blinked. “Did he fall off?”

“Oh, no. Lord Swartingham is much too good a horseman to fall off his horse,” Anna said. “I’m not sure what exactly happened. I don’t think he wants to discuss it. But he has the most terrible bruises on his face.”

“On his face…” Mother Wren trailed off thoughtfully.

“Yes, one of his eyes looks quite bruised, and his jaw is black and blue.”

“So you intend to put the salve on his face?” Mother Wren covered her own nose as if in sympathy.

Anna ignored her theatrics. “It will help him heal faster.”

“I’m sure you know best,” Mother Wren replied, but she didn’t look particularly convinced.

THE NEXT MORNING, Anna ran her quarry to ground in the stable yard. Lord Swartingham stood firing instructions at Mr. Hopple, who was noting them as best he could in a little book. Jock lay nearby, but he got up to greet Anna when he saw her. The earl noticed, stopped, and turned his black eyes on Anna. He smiled.

Mr. Hopple glanced up at the cessation of directions. “Good morning, Mrs. Wren.” He looked back to Lord Swartingham. “Shall I start on these, my lord?”

“Yes, yes,” the earl replied impatiently.

The steward hurried away, looking relieved.

The earl sauntered over. “Is there something you need?” He kept walking until he stood too close to her.

She could see the fine threads of silver in his hair. “Yes,” she said briskly. “I need you to hold still.”

His beautiful ebony eyes widened. “What?”

“I have some salve for your face.” She produced the little jar from her basket and held it up.

He eyed it dubiously.

“It’s my late mother’s own recipe. She swore by its healing properties.”

Anna took the lid off, and the earl jerked his head back at the pungent smell that rolled up. Jock attempted to put his nose in the jar.

Lord Swartingham pulled the dog down by the scruff of his neck. “Good God. It smells like horse—” He caught her narrowed eye. “Hide,” he finished lamely.

“Well, that’s appropriate for the stable yard, don’t you think?” she replied tartly.

The earl looked worried. “It doesn’t actually have horse—”

“Oh, no.” Anna was shocked. “It’s composed of sheep fat and herbs and some other things. I’m not sure exactly what. I’d have to look up my mother’s recipe to tell you. But there is definitely no horse—uh, nothing objectionable in it. Now hold still.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her tone but obediently stood motionless. She scooped out a greasy glob with her finger, stretched on tiptoe, and began to smooth it over his cheekbone. He was very tall, and she had to crowd rather close in order to reach his face. Lord Swartingham was silent, breathing deeply as she spread the salve carefully up near his black eye. She could feel him watching her. She took another dollop and began to rub it gently on his discolored jaw. The salve was cool but became warm and slippery as his skin heated it. She felt the faint scrape of his beard under her fingers and had to fight the urge to linger. She completed the last pass and let her hand fall.

He looked down at her.

In moving closer to him in order to apply the salve, she’d crept between his spread legs. His heat surrounded her body. She started to step away. But his hands wrapped around her arms. His fingers flexed, and he seemed to gaze intently at her. Anna held her breath. Would he…?

He let her go.

“Thank you, Mrs. Wren.” He opened his mouth as if to say something more and then shut it. “I have some work to attend to. I’ll see you later this afternoon.” He nodded curtly before turning away.

Jock looked at her, whined, and then followed his master.

Anna watched them stride away, then sighed and thoughtfully put the lid back on the salve jar.

Chapter Thirteen

So Aurea went home to visit her father. She traveled in a golden coach drawn by flying swans, and she carried with her many beautiful things to give to her family and friends. But when her older sisters saw the wonderful gifts that the younger girl had brought home, their hearts, instead of filling with gratitude and pleasure, wallowed in jealousy and spite. The sisters put their beautiful, cold heads together and began to quiz Aurea about her new home and her odd husband. And little by little, they heard all: the richness of the palace, the avian servants, the exotic meals, and finally—and most importantly—the silent, nocturnal lover. Hearing the last, they grinned behind their pale hands and set to planting the seeds of doubt in their little sister’s mind….