“Do not worry,” he told her. “I am merely going to bathe you, not ravish you. Although on second thought, the latter is not a half-bad idea.”
“Gaston!” she admonished, though she was pleased with the attention. She’d never been bathed by a man before.
He gave her a wink and gingerly removed her right arm from the sleeve. She lifted her left arm and he pulled the other sleeve off, his gaze raking her seductively. She raised an eyebrow at him in disapproval, knowing his thoughts before he even voiced them.
Clearing his throat loudly and forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, he wrung out the sponge and began to bathe her as tenderly as a mother.
Remington simply lay there and let him, never having experienced something so completely caring in her whole life. He wanted nothing from her for his service; he was doing it entirely because of his feelings for her. They were his sole motivation and she was deeply touched.
He thoroughly and gently removed the dried blood from her skin. She intently watched his face, smiling at him when their eyes would meet and then amused to see how terribly hard he was trying to keep his attention on his task. She could read the desire in his eyes.
“Do not you have duties to attend to?” she asked him softly. “You have been with me all morning.”
“You are my duty for the moment,” he said, running the sponge along her flat belly. “I have nothing urgent, nothing that Arik and my knights cannot attend to.”
She kept watching his face as he concentrated on his task. “What about Mari-Elle’s funeral?”
He did not respond for a moment. “Arik is seeing to the details. I am sending her back to Clearwell for burial. I do not want her buried here.”
“But what of Trenton?” she asked, concerned. “Surely he will want to attend his mother’s funeral? Will you send him back to Clearwell, too?”
“Trenton stays with me,” he said, unemotionally. “He understands.”
She looked away as he bathed her legs, her toes. His attitude was insensitive at best and she found that surprising where Trenton was concerned.
“But…Gaston, she was his mother,” she said after a moment. “How can you be so cold-hearted? Good or bad, she was still hismother. She had raised him from infancy and you, my lord, are practically a stranger to him. I think he should be allowed to see to his mother’s burial.”
He looked at her, a long look. Without replying, he lowered his head again to continue his task and she grew irritated. How could he be so cruel to his son? She drew up her legs, away from him, and yanked the thin sheet over her body to cover her naked flesh.
“I would sleep now,” she said quietly, trying to roll to her left side.
He watched her a moment before tossing the sponge back into the basin. “Do not do this.”
“Do what?” she grunted as she fought for a comfortable position. “I am not doing anything, except trying to find one spot on my body that does not ache like the devil. Why do not you go and seek Trenton? I am sure he could use his father right now.”
She closed her eyes, hoping he would get the hint and leave her alone with her annoyance. But he continued to stand there for the longest time and she fought the urge to peer at him from behind her lashes.
“Do you think that I killed her?” he finally asked.
She opened her eyes. “Did you?”
“Nay.”
“Then I do not think you killed her,” she replied. “But I think you are being very hard on Trenton because of your hatred for his mother.”
She saw his jaw tick and he came over to sit beside her on the bed. His huge hand gently grasped one of hers and she could read a flicker of dull emotion in his eyes.
“Mari-Elle died because she was pregnant,” he said softly. “Her physician said the child had planted itself too high in the womb and she bled to death. It was coincidental that it happened in the vault, I assure you. I never laid a hand on her.”
Remington’s mouth fell open. “Oh, Gaston. Is that why she wanted to make a marriage with you suddenly? Because she was pregnant with someone else’s child?”
He shrugged. “Most likely. She wanted me to bed her so she could tell me the child was mine.”
Remington was filled with a hatred of her own for the woman. Reaching up, she pulled his great head down to her bosom to comfort him, to chase away the humiliation he was surely feeling. If the woman had not already been dead, she would have killed her herself.
“My love, I am so sorry for what she has done to you,” she whispered. “But she has been duly punished for her sins, I believe. Yet I do not think you should punish Trenton for her sins as well. Let him see to her funeral.”
“If you think it best, then I will,” he said, his eyes closed against her warmth. “But I should go with him, as his father.”
