Larissa's Game of Thrones (Larissa) novel Chapter 61

Without a second thought, Haskell agreed. "Alright. Do whatever you need to do."

After learning the brutal truth that his own brother was the one trying to kill him, what pain was there that he couldn't endure?

A flicker of admiration crossed Larissa’s eyes as she looked at him. "Spoken like the man I chose."

Healing Haskell's legs required more than just exceptional medical skill; it demanded the patient's full cooperation and unwavering resolve. His attitude was exactly what she needed.

Haskell savored her words—the man I chose—and a faint warmth spread across his features, making him completely forget about the agony the treatment was sure to bring.

Larissa laid out her needle case and several jars of medicinal powder on the stone table, then knelt and gently rolled up Haskell’s pant leg. He had worn loose, casual trousers specifically for the treatment.

She glanced at his exposed leg. "Nice leg hair," she commented casually. "Sexy."

Haskell was speechless.

A short distance away, Crispin nearly choked.

A faint cough escaped Haskell's lips, a touch of embarrassment coloring his cheeks before he managed a smile. "I'm glad you like it."

Larissa raised an eyebrow, her hands never ceasing their work. After securing the rolled-up pant leg, she turned to her case, selected a fine needle, and sterilized it with alcohol. "Of course I like it. Why else would I agree to marry you?"

"So the Judson family has already discussed our marriage with you?" Haskell asked.

Larissa focused on her task, carefully inserting the needle. "Mmm. My grandpa brought it up this morning. He said that as the true Judson heiress, I should be the one to marry you. I agreed, and he told me to spend more time getting to know you."

After a moment's silence, she shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Watching their interaction from the side, Finley’s initial confusion slowly gave way to a dawning, cynical understanding. He couldn't figure out why Haskell, who had only just met Larissa, was so warm toward her. His tone, his gaze—everything was laced with affection.

He remembered how Haskell had always treated Honora with polite, gentlemanly courtesy, but there was always an undercurrent of distance.

Could it be that he genuinely preferred Larissa?

No, Finley decided, that was impossible. Haskell was simply pinning all his hopes of walking again on Larissa.

A man of his stature, who had seen his share of beautiful and sophisticated women, fall for Larissa? Unlikely.