The Lady’s Secret by Joanna Chambers

infections when she was younger, and her mother used to rub her head for hours to relieve the pain. Later, Georgy had learned how to do it for herself.
    “I would try anything, Fellowes. Do your worst.”
    “Very good. Please—close your eyes, my lord.” He did so while Georgy cast around for some kind of unguent. There was only the scented oil. She opened the bottle and shook a small amount onto her palm, then quickly rubbed her hands together, spreading it evenly. The spicy scent drifted up to her nostrils and she saw Harland’s expression relax slightly as the same familiar aroma reached him.
    Taking a deep breath, she laid one hand on either side of his face, her palms cupping his jaw on either side, her fingertips meeting in the middle of his chin. Gently, she exerted some upward pressure.
    “Oh, that’s good.” Harland sighed.
    She smiled to herself, remembering just how pleasurable the relief from pain could be. After half a minute of pressing upwards, she slowly ran her fingertips up either side of Harland’s jaw, pressing firmly, right up to the base of his earlobes, where she began to rub small circles, moving upwards. Harland groaned. She paused at his temples and slid her thumbs to the base of his skull, and rubbed there too, her thumbs and fingertips all moving together at the front and back of his head.
    “This is wonderful,” Harland sighed after several minutes. “How did you learn to do it?”
    “My mother.” Georgy let her fingertips drift to his cheekbones, pausing every half inch to press a firm circle until she reached the bridge of his nose. Again, her fingertips met.
    “Close your eyes,” she murmured. Harland made a rough sound of assent, his jaw slack with pleasure.
    Georgy gently traced the upper ridge of his eye sockets with her thumbs, following the curving bones. She paused again at the bridge of his nose, pressing firmly on either side and then working her way along the lower ridge of the eye sockets and cheekbones.
    “Ah,” said Harland. It was little more than an exhalation really, an appreciative sound borne on a sigh.
    Her hands ached but there was one last thing her mother used to do, the thing that felt the best of all. Georgy drew her fingers slowly back to Harland’s temples again then tunnelled them into his dark silky hair and began to knead his scalp. She used all of her fingers, her thumbs and the heels of her hands in the task. He groaned again and the sound of his pleasure grabbed her, down low.
    She looked down at him, at that dark head relaxing on the headrest, at his lean length sprawled in the chair below her, at his expression, relaxed at last. His robe had worked loose and she could see his upper thighs, hard and muscular and rough with dark hair. Her eyes moved upwards and stopped again at his throat, strong and vulnerable all at once. His hair felt silken in her fingers, the planes of his head firm and warm in her hands. The oil scent infused the air. She gazed at his dark lashes, his lips, which moved minutely as she worked. She imagined what it would be like to press hers down on them, to stroke a hand over his smooth throat, to feel his pulse there. Her own body heated with that wanting.
    It was then she saw that he was hard.
     
    Fellowes’ fingers stopped moving quite suddenly. Nathan opened his eyes but Fellowes was not looking at Nathan’s face. Eyes wide, he was staring lower, at the semi-erection Nathan was sporting.
    Nathan scrambled upright and Fellowes’ hands fell entirely away.
    “Thank you, Fellowes,” Nathan muttered. His neck felt hot. “Would you brush down my blue coat, please?”
    “Of course, my lord. Any particular waistcoat?” Fellowes’ voice was as quiet and calm as usual. He was already moving away, as though the last few minutes had not happened.
    “No. Whatever you think.”
    Nathan stood and walked to his linen closet, pulling out a pair of drawers and hurriedly yanking them on. By the time Fellowes came back with the