By bedtime, Dearne had hatched a plan. The staff were settled for the night, Will was in his bedchamber, and the house was quiet. Dearne slid on the rather fetching green silk dressing gown which had been left out for him and then padded barefoot to Will’s door. He tapped, and walked in.
“Sorry to intrude,” he said, closing the door behind him.
Will was sat up in bed, in his nightshirt and looked a little flushed.
“Would you change my dressing? I was going to ask Cox to do it, but I forgot and it’s starting to itch.”
“Itching is a good sign,” Will said. His voice was husky. He cleared his throat.
Dearne moved closer and looked more closely at Will’s guilty flushed face. He grinned. Dirty devil. “What were you up to?”
“Nothing.” The flush deepened.
“Well, did you finish your nothing
