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Davina reached into her cloak and pulled out a small leather pouch. She tentatively closed the distance between them and handed it to him before backing away.

Broderick stared at the pouch for a moment before tossing it onto the table with a casual flick of his wrist, the coins clinking together as it landed. He folded his arms.

“A down payment,” he said. “I’ll get th’ rest when th’ job is done. But I want somethin’ else.”

Davina’s brows knit together, suspicion flashing in her sapphire gaze. “What else?”

He moved toward her slowly, with lethal grace. Her back straightened as he approached, and she retreated until the edge of the tent stopped her. He towered over her, his wide presence crowding her space, his eyes locking onto hers.

“You,” he growled. “In my bed.”

Her breath shivered out between parted lips. Panic flared in her eyes, and she tried to sidestep him, but he placed a firm hand on her shoulder. His other hand rose, brushing the side of herface, tracing the edge of her bruised cheek.

“And ye dinnae leave it,” he continued, his tone softening as his thumb grazed her split lip. “Not until I’m satisfied.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. A faint flush crept up her neck to her cheeks, and despite the panic in her eyes, her body betrayed her. The thick, musky scent of her desire rose between them.

His nostrils flared. She could lie with her mouth all she wanted—but her scent never lied.

He leaned in, voice deep and rough. “I can smell how badly ye want it, Davina. How badly ye wantme.”

His thumb brushed her lip again, and she held her breath. Her lashes fluttered for a brief moment, her body leaning ever so slightly toward him, as though drawn by an invisible tether.

But then, as though snapping out of a daydream, she jerked back, her arms crossing over her chest. Her cheeks flushed deeper, but her eyes blazed with defiance. Broderick cursed silently as she still resisted his compulsion.

“All right, then. I’ll agree to your terms,” she said, her voice trembling. “But only if we can convince my uncle that you’ll be present during my visits with the suitors.”

Broderick straightened, tilting his head as he studied her. She was trying to regain control, to set the terms of their agreement, but he could see the cracks in her armor, the way her hands shivered slightly as she clutched her cloak. He liked that she was fighting him, even if it made her all the more maddening.

“And if he says nay?” he asked, arching a brow.

“Then the deal’s off,” she said. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

Broderick’s lips curved into a faint smile. She was bold, he’d give her that. Reckless, stubborn, and infuriating, but bold. He nodded, stepping back to give her space. “Fair enough. Lead theway, mistress.”

She held his gaze for a moment longer, as though trying to gauge his sincerity, before turning toward the tent flap. Broderick followed, and when they emerged, Veronique was nowhere to be seen. Knowing her, she was pouting in the caravan. He’d deal with her later.

Amice gasped. “Mon dieu!What happened to your face,chérie?”

The old woman dropped her herb basket and hurried forward, snatching Davina’s hand. Davina winced, trying to pull back, but Amice had already yanked off the glove, exposing the inflamed wounds on her palms.

“Quelle horreur!” Amice moaned, her eyes narrowing with a mix of fear and fury.

“Amice, please don’t fuss over me,” Davina said, attempting to draw her hand back.

“Regardez.” Amice pointed to the red lines traveling up Davina’s wrists. “This will rot if we do not do something.Très dangereuse.”

Broderick crossed his arms and watched. Davinadidneed her hands and face tended to, and his blood was the best cure for them—but he couldn’t be so obvious. He reached out to Amice’s mind, sending her his thoughts. “When you make the poultice, ask me to help.”

The old woman nodded without glancing up. “You need special medicine,ma chère.”

Davina huffed. “Very well.” She sat in the chair beside the fire.

The Gypsy took her basket to the small table beside the vardo and mixed herbs in her mortar and pestle, her movements swift and sure. “Broderick, get me some honey from inside,s’il te plaît.”

He nodded and the wagon dipped slightly as he climbed thesteps. As expected, Veronique sulked at the back on her bed, arms folded, expression wounded.

He grabbed the jar of honey from the shelf and shut the door in her face, then descended the stairs and stood behind Amice, setting the honey on the table.