A Gentlewoman's Pleasure by Portia Da Costa Page B

picked her up, lifting her with no apparent effort, and began to carry her easily along the path. The motion of his long, smooth stride was almost hypnotic. Surrendering to the inevitable, Lucy slipped into unconsciousness.
     
    Where am I? she thought, on waking again. Am I dreaming? Still?
    Eyes closed, she attempted to take stock of her situation. She was warm. She was dry. She was lying on a firm but comfortable feather mattress, covered in clean sheets and a layer of blankets.
    Good heavens above, I’m completely naked!
    Well, if this was a dream, it was such a delicious one that it was a pity she didn’t fall off her bicycle a lot more often. It was worth a few bumps and bruises to be carried in the arms of a powerful Adonis and laid unclothed in a warm and cozy bed.
    “Here. Drink this. It’ll make you feel better,” said a newly familiar voice, and Lucy’s eyes snapped open to see the indistinct shape of her heroic rescuer standing beside the bed.
    A sure, steady arm slid around her bare shoulder, raising her up, and an earthenware cup touched her lips. The fluid in it was warm, but not tea or milk, or chocolate.
    Herbs.
    The beverage tasted rather like the pleasant odor that she could smell all around her.
    Whatever the decoction was, its flavor was flowerlike, slightly sweet but not cloying, and it immediately increased her sense of well-being. She was still drowsy, and slightly surprised to be as naked as a babe in a strange place, but she also felt set right, and restored. A strange peace that she’d never experienced before enveloped her, and she drifted again, her only thought that she longed to see her hero’s face.
    Losing all sense of time, Lucy slept again but wakened on and off, always feeling the reassuring presence of the big, kind man close by. Without her glasses, she could only discern him as substantial male form in the flickering lamplight, a figure with golden-brown hair and broad shoulders, still clad in his white shirt, and dark waistcoat and breeches. In her dreamy state, no conversation seemed necessary, but her companion spoke to her in soft, soothing tones, and she answered his enquiries about her condition. He brought her more herbal drinks, a little thin but tasty broth, and then, having freed her hair from her half-unraveled plait, he smoothed it back and mopped her forehead with a cool cloth. After that he even bundled her into his own huge overcoat and then half carried her, half escorted her to the outhouse in the backyard of what must be his cottage. Having stood guard outside, he conveyed her back to the warm bed, and brought water and a cloth so she could wash her hands and face.
    I should be mortally embarrassed. He’s a stranger. And he’s a man. And here I am naked in his house and in his bed.
    Her thoughts drifted idly back and forth, but with every ebb and flow she just smiled. She didn’t care one iota about propriety. She was safe and warm and cared for, and she was happy.
    When her mind finally cleared and she awoke properly, it was morning.
    Botheration. I think I’m fit again. I’ll have to leave him, and this place.
    And I don’t want to go.
    Opening her eyes cautiously, the first thing she saw was a low-burning lamp beside the bed, and the second was her spectacles on top of the chest of drawers, next to it. Miraculously, they were undamaged, and with great stealth, she snaked an arm out from the cocoon of covers and put them on.
    The world swam into focus and revealed that she was in a fairly large room that seemed to be divided in two by a pair of substantial curtains, drawn to at the middle. Small familiar sounds emanated from beyond this division—the splash of water and the slap of cloth against skin.
    Her heroic rescuing knight was taking a wash.
    Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness.
    Not giving herself time to think or hesitate, Lucy inched her way out from under the blankets and sat up on the edge of the bed. Her head felt a bit light, and her wits essayed