To Kiss A Spy by Jane Feather Read Free Book Online

on her face. Pen could detect no humor in the statement, it was entirely in earnest. For the moment she could find no suitable response.
    Owen appeared content with the silence, and it seemed to Pen that she was slowly and inexorably enclosed by the calm stillness that flowed from him. The quiet of the kitchen was disturbed only by the heavy breathing of the dogs by the door and the crackle of the logs. She began to feel her aches and pains anew and the gash in her neck was throbbing, the skin around it was tight and sore. That made her afraid, if nothing else did. If the wound were poisoned, she had much more to fear than Owen d’Arcy’s calmly determined pursuit, incomprehensible though it was.
    Cedric returned to the kitchen. “Mistress Rider says I’m to take up hot water, sir. She’s fetching some special salves and bandages from the stillroom.”
    Owen merely nodded and said to Pen, “Let us go up then.”
    It seemed, Pen thought, that she had little choice. Her hand went to the purse suspended from the chain at her waist. She felt the fold of parchment beneath the embroidered silk. This strange encounter in a waterside tavern seemed all part and parcel of the force that had driven her all evening. Maybe Owen d’Arcy was in her destiny.
    She must have a fever, Pen thought disgustedly, to entertain such a ridiculous notion. Destiny, indeed! Her life was her own. Her choices were her own. She was like her mother, strong and in control of the forces that affected her life. She
chose
to be here with Owen d’Arcy, and she
chose
to allow him to minister to her hurts. And that was that.
    With a lift of her chin she preceded him out of the kitchen and up the stairs from the narrow passageway.
    Owen followed, wondering what she had been thinking to cause that sudden stiffening of her shoulders, the challenging lift of her chin. Something to do with him? It seemed likely. And that was all to the good. Anything that piqued her interest whether favorably or not served his purpose.
    Mistress Rider greeted them at the head of the stairs and lit their way to a small chamber under the eaves, where a fire burned comfortingly in the hearth and sconced tallow candles threw golden circles of light onto the shining waxed floor.
    “There’s witch hazel for the bleeding, marigold cream for cleansing, and comfrey to help the healing,” Mistress Rider said, indicating a basket on the table. “Will I tend to the lady, Chevalier?”
    “No, I’ll do it myself. I’ve a powerful need for a cup of aqua mirabilis and the lady would benefit from a sack posset. If you would see to those needs, mistress, I’ll be well content.”
    “As you wish, sir.” The woman bobbed a curtsy and bustled out.
    The chamber was warm, cozy, and utterly inviting. Pen sank down on a stool by the fire and unclasped her cloak, letting the heavy hood fall back. The thick furred garment slipped to the floor. She cupped her hand over the throbbing gash in her neck as she leaned closer to the flaming logs.
    Owen watched her for a moment, enjoying the graceful curve of her back. She wore the long hood of her headdress pinned up as prevailing fashion dictated and it accentuated the porcelain column of her neck. It struck him that she was not really nondescript at all. It struck him for the second time that night that his seduction of Pen Bryanston might afford more pleasure than he’d anticipated.
    Pen felt his eyes upon her and slowly turned her head to look up at him, her hand still cupping her throat. Her arrested gaze held his and for a long moment neither of them moved, strangely connected by their reflections in the dark orbs of the other.
    Pen could hear in her ears the suddenly accelerated beat of her heart. The muscles in her belly contracted. Her mouth was dry as she read the flash of pure desire that crossed his black eyes, belying the absolute stillness of his countenance. Philip had looked at her with desire and passion many times but under Philip’s