The sharp burn in her foot had dulled to a steady ache, softened by the touch of his hands. Vincenzo's movements were careful now, precise, as he wrapped the strip of linen snugly around the wound, and for a moment she found herself admiring the flex of his fingers.
The crisp air drifted through the chamber, broken only by the faint rasp of linen in his grip. When he tied and secured the bandage in place, Vincenzo did not move away immediately.
His hand lingered against her ankle, steadying her. When he finally stood, his gaze met hers. His voice was quiet, measured, but there was a weight beneath it as he asked, "Back in the study—did you feel something that drew you to the window?"
For a heartbeat, she wanted to remain in the fragile ease his tenderness had offered. But a chill ran down her spine as the memory stirred—those whispers. She drew in a shaky breath before speaking, her voice unsteady, almost unsure.
