Of the Chief Conditions and Qualityes in a Waytyng Gentylwoman: Not to be lyghte of creditt that she is beloved, though a man commune familierlye with her of love. He was too tired for this sweet torture. And too stiff. Parker winced as Susanna applied salve to an open cut on his arm, where he’d been sliced open by his own shovel in one of his many rolls on the stable floor with Marcus. He was getting old. He needed to start thinking instead of fighting, but it wasn’t as if he’d had any choice. Her fingers brushed his shoulder, and then she placed a warm, wet cloth over the deep purple bruise there. The solution she’d dipped the cloth in had a pungent smell, but he could feel his muscles relax as the heat did its work. Despite being half-naked in a room alone with Susanna Horenbout, he would not be doing what he’d wanted to since the moment he saw her. Ravishing her. Just the thought of it made him smile. “I would have my way with you—you know that, don’t you?” He saw a smile dance on her lips and then disappear.
