“You cannot join your guests the way you are. I caught that wicked gleam in your eye. You want to test those ladies, don’t you?”
Gad, was he that obvious?
He usually knew how to hide his thoughts well. “Why shouldn’t I?”
She frowned at him. “Because it is not fair to them. No woman, no matter how much she loves you, is going to want to get near you when you smell of sweat, wood mold, and dirty water.”
He held her back a moment as the rest of his staff entered the house through the kitchen door. “Harry, I think you are wrong about this.”
She blinked against the sunlight filtering in through the nearby trees. “What do you mean?”
“I think love…true love…does not notice scents or faults. Would you refuse to hug me if I walked in like this and strode forward to embrace you? Hypothetically speaking, of course.”
She glanced down at herself. “I would not refuse you, speaking in the hypothetical, of course. I would not refuse you because I smell just as horrid as you do. But if I had on a fine gown and had just bathed in fragrant oils? I would shriek to keep you at arm’s distance, and hit you over the head if you continued to approach me. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get sweat stains out of silk?”
Shetskedand continued to explain about how easily silk was damaged as he walked her up the back stairs to her bedchamber. “But you would not think of anything so practical as that, would you?”
“Must you always be practical, Harriet?”
He led her into her chamber through the servants door since he did not want her to be seen with him in the hallway.
Harriet was still wearing her apron and that hideous mobcap which, he had to admit, made her eyes look even bigger and more beautiful than they already were.
Fortunately, there were no maids awaiting her in her bedchamber.
He lingered with her a moment and took her hand. But he paused as he was about to raise it to his lips. “Ah, this won’t do. Your hands have been steeped in dirty water, just like mine.”
“See, not even you would want to get close to a woman who smelled like a dirty rag.”
“You have made your point, Harriet. Those young ladies ought to thank you for the able way you defended their cause.” He leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
He turned and hurried out the hidden door, using the back hall to get to his own bedchamber.
His valet was waiting for him and had thoughtfully ordered a bath brought up. The water was still hot, Max realized. “Miss Comeford will require one of these, as well,” he said, tossing off his clothes and dropping them on the floor since they were too soiled to drape across a chair. “Holt, go find Mrs. Watkins and have her bring a tub up to her room.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
“And get me a salve for my knees. I scraped the blazes out of them while cleaning out that chapel.”
“But I thought Mrs. Watkins had given you mats just for this thing.”
Max cast him a wry grin. “She did. However, I did not have time to properly set my knees on them since Miss Comeford was handily beating me as she scrubbed her way down the row of pews, and I was bloody not about to let her win.”
“So you won?”
“No,” he said with a chuckle. “She beat me soundly.”
He heard Holt’s chuckle as he walked out the door.
Max smiled as he eased into the tub and scrubbed himself clean with a sandalwood soap that would meet with Harriet’s approval.
He had just stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around himself when Holt strolled back in. “The tub for Miss Comeford is being brought up as we speak, Your Grace.”
He nodded in approval.
A warm feeling came over him, although he did not understand why he felt such satisfaction in the need to pamper Harriet. There was just something about her, a genuine sweetness and enthusiasm for all things even though her life had not been easy.
He quickly dressed and wanted to look in on her before heading downstairs to join his guests, but how could he when she would be in the bath by now?
