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He froze.

She stepped closer. There was no disgust in her expression. No fear. Only determination, and somehow that was more difficult for him to bear than anything else.

“Marina—”

“I would not call it pity,” she interrupted, her voice softening.

She lifted her hand toward his face, pausing just before she touched him.

Ambrose stiffened instinctively.

But he did not move away.

Her palm settled gently against his burning cheek. The coolness of her skin brought a moment of relief, and he closed his eyes before he could stop himself.

“You… touch me?” he asked, his voice dropping into stunned disbelief.

Her gaze lifted to meet his.

“I would touch you a thousand times if you let me,” she whispered, her thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone, “until you understand that this is not about pity. I simply find myself in pain whenever you are.”

He stared at her.

He could not remember the last time someone had touched his face while it was inflamed. Certainly no one had done so with such tenderness.

Marina studied him for another moment before reluctantly lowering her hand.

“You ought to rest,” she said. “But first, I should like to prepare something for you.”

He frowned.

“I have several herbs among my supplies that may help soothe the inflammation. I cannot promise anything, but I should like to try.”

“Marina, you need not⁠—”

“I know.” She gave him a small smile. “But I wish to.”

He ought to have refused. He had endured these attacks all his life without anyone fussing over him, and the idea of being tended to now was almost as uncomfortable as the pain itself.

Yet he found he could not refuse her.

“Very well,” he said at last.

Her expression brightened.

“Then let me help you to your chamber first.”

He hesitated, then offered her his arm.

They made their way upstairs at a measured pace. Ambrose kept his gaze lowered, grateful for the dim corridors and the heavy curtains that shielded the house from the morning sun.

Once they reached his chamber, Marina drew the curtains more tightly and helped him settle into a chair away from the windows.

“I shall return shortly,” she promised.

He nodded, though he had little faith that anything she prepared would make much difference.

Marina hurried to fetch the herbs from her supplies. She found Mrs. Dalton and asked for hot water and a cup, then set about preparing a small infusion. She crushed the leaves carefully, allowing them to steep while she considered the quantities. It was not a remedy she had tested upon his particular condition, and she knew better than to expect miracles.