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Lord Ballantyne might be a liar, a thief, and a villain who chased young ladies through the woods until they had no choice but to accidentally poison him with monkshood, but he was no fool.

He held her gaze, pinning her where she stood, the shadows surrounding them turning his eyes a darker shade of blue. “You wouldn’t be keeping secrets from me, would you, Miss MacLeod?”

Dear God, he looked as if he were about to leap upon her, and she could do nothing but stare back at him, her heart fluttering like a bird’s wings behind her ribs. “You, ah . . .” She licked her lips. “You’re not well, Lord Ballantyne. You should be in bed.”

For an instant, it looked as if his gaze darted to her mouth, but his eyes were on hers again in the next instant, holding her captive.

She must have imagined it. “I advise you to return to your bedchamber, my lord.”

“How conscientious you are about my health, Miss MacLeod. I’d be flattered if I wasn’t certain your concern had less to do with my well-being and more to do with your wish to avoid the noose.”

She let out a quiet sigh. Really, she wished he’d stop saying the word “noose.”

“But there’s no need for you to worry,” he added. “I feel a great deal better. Fortunately for both of us, I’m nearly myself again.”

Was it a good thing he didn’t appear likely to succumb to monkshood poisoning or a bad thing? She hardly knew anymore, but there was no denying he seemed vigorous enough.

She’d given him one of her father’s plain white linen shirts to replace his blood-splattered one, and he wore only that and his breeches. The loose neck of the shirt revealed the burnished skin of his chest, and his tight breeches clung to the muscles of his legs.

Ahem. Far too vigorous, by half.

It was an utter scandal for her to see him in such a state of undress, but what was more scandalous still was that no matter how desperately she wanted to, she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from him.

“It seems I’ve come just in time. Lucky, isn’t it?” He straightened and came toward her, the shadows surrounding him giving way to a shaft of moonlight pouring through the window, emphasizing the elegant bones of his face, and gilding his hair with silver.

“I shudder to think what I would have missed, otherwise.” He leaned one hip on the edge of her worktable, his long legs stretched out before him, his knee brushing the skirts of her night rail, and the warmth from his body heating the sliver of space between them.

Somehow, she couldn’t catch her breath. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but despite the rumors about us, my sisters and I lead rather dull lives here at Castle Cairncross.”

“Dull?” He waved a hand around her workroom. “It looks as if you manage to keep yourself well occupied, Miss MacLeod.” He plucked up the flask of licorice extract she’d made yesterday. “What’s this?”

Her fingers itched to snatch it away from him. “Black licorice extract.”

He brought the flask to his nose and took a sniff. “What do you use it for?”

She huffed out a breath. “Do you truly want to know, Lord Ballantyne, or is this some ploy to trick me into revealing something about the treasure?”

He smiled. “I thought there wasn’t any treasure.”

“I never said that. I only said it wasn’t here at Castle Cairncross.” She took the flask from him and set it aside on her worktable. “As for the extract, if you must know, I use it to sweeten my maidenhair cough syrup. Glynn—er, I mean Mr. Fraser, the apothecary, sells it in his shop.”

“I see. How do you make it?”

She eyed him. Was he making fun of her? Aside from Glynnis and her mother, she hadn’t met a single person who was interested in her “potions,” as Freya called them.

He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting.

“It’s simple, really. I strip the plant down to the root, cut it into long strips, pound it with a mallet, then mix the pulp with water and simmer it for half a day or so. Once it thickens, I add a bit of sugar, boil it again, and store it in glass jars.”

She peeked up at him. Plants and potions and medicines were endlessly fascinating to her, but whenever she spoke of them, people’s eyes tended to glaze over.

But he was still listening, and it didn’t look like he was secretly laughing at her. “How fascinating. What other kinds of medicines can you make?”

“All sorts of things.” Despite herself, she was warming to her subject. “Did you know that the dried leaves of Wood Betony ward off headaches?”

“Indeed? I did not know that, Miss MacLeod.”

“Oh, yes. Lemon Balm steeped in Canary wine can be used to treat venomous spider bites, and Alchemilla vulgaris —commonly known as Bear’s Foot—makes an admirable wound treatment.”

His lips quirked. “Is that so?”

“Yes, indeed. Certain evergreen ferns native to Britain— Asplenium scolopendrium , or Hart’s Tongue—is a wonderful treatment for burns, and I make a heather oil liniment for those who suffer from inflamed joints, and—oh!” Without thinking, she seized his arm. “Gout!”

“Gout?”

“Yes. Eating fresh cherries can help alleviate gout. Now, I can’t claim to have made that discovery myself—not through scientific methods, at least, as we found it out quite by accident when my Aunt Isobel visited some years ago—but nature is the most fascinating thing imaginable. Don’t you think so, Lord Ballantyne?”

He didn’t reply, but stood quite still, staring at her with a curious expression on his face.

“Lord Ballantyne?”

“Fascinating, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Far more fascinating than I ever could have anticipated.”