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Authors: Jane Feather
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can manage either way.”
Again Olivia felt the bandage. “I’m sure I can do it myself.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I am something of a physician, Olivia, as I told you. There’s no need to be shy.”
“How c-can you say that? It’s one thing when I’m not really c-conscious, but it’s different now.”
“I don’t see why. I’m wearing my physician’s hat. I grant you it would be different … very different … if Iwere not. But I promise you I have no trouble separating any, shall we say, masculine responses to your body, from the purely practical and medicinal.”
“Would you have … would you have a masculine response, then?” Olivia blurted the question, astonished at herself, but only on some distant plane.
Anthony smiled slowly. “Oh, yes,” he said softly. “Most definitely. But as I said, that’s not the point at this moment.”
He set the casket on the table and flipped open the lid. Then he hooked a stool over with his foot and sat down, reaching for Olivia’s hands. He drew her towards him and with his hands at her waist turned her so her back was to him.
“Now, why don’t you lift your skirts as high as you feel comfortable. I just need to be able to unfasten the bandage.”
“But it’s right at the top of my leg,” Olivia protested faintly, gathering her skirts in both hands and lifting them slowly. The breeze from the window was cool against the backs of her legs. “Is that high enough?”
“Just a little higher.”
“But … but you’ll see my bottom!”
“And it’s quite the prettiest little bottom,” he said, laughing. “No … no, don’t run away. I beg your pardon, but it was irresistible. I promise I won’t see anything I shouldn’t, but I do need to get at the pin.”
“Oh!”
Olivia said in mingled disgust and resignation. She hauled her skirt up as a freshening gust of evening breeze blew cold into the cabin, raising goose bumps on her skin. Or at least, they could have been caused by the cold air, but then again, maybe not.
Anthony unfastened the pin that held the bandage closed and unwound it. His fingers brushed against her skin, reminding her vividly of the strange dream time, butnow she was in full possession of her senses, and vibrantly aware. He touched the inside of her thigh and she jumped as if stung.
“Be still,” he said calmly, steadying her with his hands on her hips. “I can’t do this without touching you. I’m going to clean the wound now, and then dress it with salve and rebandage it. It’s healing nicely and tomorrow I should be able to take out the stitches.”
Olivia gritted her teeth and tried to pretend she was somewhere else, doing something quite other than standing here holding up her skirts for the intimate attentions of a male stranger.
But it was over at last. He wound the bandage once more tightly around her thigh and refastened the pin. “There, you can let your skirts down now.”
Olivia let the material slip back to her ankles and stepped away from his knees. She pulled the towel off her head, and her wet hair fell to the soaked clinging collar of the nightshirt. She shivered.
“Why don’t you wash and change now?” Anthony suggested. “There’s plenty of hot water left in the other pail. Just leave a little for me when you’re finished.” He strolled to the chart table as he spoke, adding cheerfully, “Piracy is devilishly dirty work.”
Olivia eyed the tub, the curl of steam from the pail. She ran a hand inside the sodden collar of her makeshift gown. She looked at the fresh clean raiment, the brilliant emerald sash. “I’ll be about fifteen minutes,” she said.
“Take your time.” He was bending over the chart table, the sextant in his hand.
“I’ll call when I’m finished,” she offered.
“Oh, I expect I’ll know when you’re finished,” he observed amiably.
Olivia swallowed. “Are you staying in here, then?”
“Of course. But I’ll keep my back to you. I give you my
Again Olivia felt the bandage. “I’m sure I can do it myself.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I am something of a physician, Olivia, as I told you. There’s no need to be shy.”
“How c-can you say that? It’s one thing when I’m not really c-conscious, but it’s different now.”
“I don’t see why. I’m wearing my physician’s hat. I grant you it would be different … very different … if Iwere not. But I promise you I have no trouble separating any, shall we say, masculine responses to your body, from the purely practical and medicinal.”
“Would you have … would you have a masculine response, then?” Olivia blurted the question, astonished at herself, but only on some distant plane.
Anthony smiled slowly. “Oh, yes,” he said softly. “Most definitely. But as I said, that’s not the point at this moment.”
He set the casket on the table and flipped open the lid. Then he hooked a stool over with his foot and sat down, reaching for Olivia’s hands. He drew her towards him and with his hands at her waist turned her so her back was to him.
“Now, why don’t you lift your skirts as high as you feel comfortable. I just need to be able to unfasten the bandage.”
“But it’s right at the top of my leg,” Olivia protested faintly, gathering her skirts in both hands and lifting them slowly. The breeze from the window was cool against the backs of her legs. “Is that high enough?”
“Just a little higher.”
“But … but you’ll see my bottom!”
“And it’s quite the prettiest little bottom,” he said, laughing. “No … no, don’t run away. I beg your pardon, but it was irresistible. I promise I won’t see anything I shouldn’t, but I do need to get at the pin.”
“Oh!”
Olivia said in mingled disgust and resignation. She hauled her skirt up as a freshening gust of evening breeze blew cold into the cabin, raising goose bumps on her skin. Or at least, they could have been caused by the cold air, but then again, maybe not.
Anthony unfastened the pin that held the bandage closed and unwound it. His fingers brushed against her skin, reminding her vividly of the strange dream time, butnow she was in full possession of her senses, and vibrantly aware. He touched the inside of her thigh and she jumped as if stung.
“Be still,” he said calmly, steadying her with his hands on her hips. “I can’t do this without touching you. I’m going to clean the wound now, and then dress it with salve and rebandage it. It’s healing nicely and tomorrow I should be able to take out the stitches.”
Olivia gritted her teeth and tried to pretend she was somewhere else, doing something quite other than standing here holding up her skirts for the intimate attentions of a male stranger.
But it was over at last. He wound the bandage once more tightly around her thigh and refastened the pin. “There, you can let your skirts down now.”
Olivia let the material slip back to her ankles and stepped away from his knees. She pulled the towel off her head, and her wet hair fell to the soaked clinging collar of the nightshirt. She shivered.
“Why don’t you wash and change now?” Anthony suggested. “There’s plenty of hot water left in the other pail. Just leave a little for me when you’re finished.” He strolled to the chart table as he spoke, adding cheerfully, “Piracy is devilishly dirty work.”
Olivia eyed the tub, the curl of steam from the pail. She ran a hand inside the sodden collar of her makeshift gown. She looked at the fresh clean raiment, the brilliant emerald sash. “I’ll be about fifteen minutes,” she said.
“Take your time.” He was bending over the chart table, the sextant in his hand.
“I’ll call when I’m finished,” she offered.
“Oh, I expect I’ll know when you’re finished,” he observed amiably.
Olivia swallowed. “Are you staying in here, then?”
“Of course. But I’ll keep my back to you. I give you my
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