But without her clothing, could she refrain from giving him everything? She trusted him more than she trusted herself. Danger hovered, but if he could rid her of the awful sensation of being mired in muck, she thought she stood a chance of coming back to herself. Ever since Dibble’s arrival, she’d felt lost, floundering. She wanted more than anything to be again on a steady course.
She nodded. With a smile of understanding and gentleness, he leaned in and bussed a tender kiss over her lips.
“Knowing what you do about my past, how can you stand to touch me?” she whispered.
“Because I don’t see him. I see only you. And when I am done, you’ll see only you, too.”
He turned away from her, and it took everything within her not to grab him, pull him back, and walk into the circle of his arms. Not until she felt clean, although already she felt less dirty. Just because of the way he looked at her, as though she were as she’d always believed herself to be: worthy of love.
“I’ll begin filling the tub.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond but went into her bedchamber and carried on through to the bathing room. She turned on the tap, watched the water come through the spigot. It was an improvement to how they’d taken baths at their mum’s, dragging in the tub from the shed and filling it by bucket loads from the kitchen sink. Mick had been researching how to get heated plumbing into his buildings, but had been unable to make it available as of yet. She was rather certain a time would come when everything would be more convenient.
Hearing the tread of heavy footsteps, she backed up against the wall and watched as Matthew came in holding the huge pot and poured the steaming water into the bath she’d prepared. He made several more trips while she fluttered uncharacteristically nervously around her bedchamber.
Finally, he announced, “It’s ready.”
She wove her fingers together. “I think you made the water hotter than I did. I could just bathe myself.”
“You’ve done that twice already today. It didn’t help.” He held up one hand, flexed his fingers. “I have magic here.”
“The next thing I know you’ll be performing on the street, competing with the Fire King.”
He laughed, deeply and richly, then sobered. “I don’t share them with just anyone. Only the most special of ladies.”
Her heart warmed. He made her feel as though he cared for no one as much as he did her.
He set aside the pot he’d been holding. “I’ll unfasten you.”
Standing at the foot of the bed, she turned and grabbed the intricately carved poster, presenting him with her back. His hands were slow and steady as he loosened her lacings, while hers had begun to grow damp with the slightest bit of trembling in anticipation of his touch grazing over more than cloth. “You should probably remove your waistcoat and shirt so they don’t get wet.”
She didn’t much like the hint of breathlessness in her voice, but when he pressed his mouth to her spine at the base of her neck, the hint disappeared completely as her ability to draw air into her lungs deserted her.
“What a wise woman you are. Can you handle the remainder of your clothing or shall I see to it?”
“I can handle it.”
She mourned the loss of him when he moved away. “I’ll give you a few minutes and then join you at the tub.”
Nodding, she listened as his footsteps heralded his departure. Then she dashed to the tiled room, quickly shed her clothing, piled it in a corner, and sank into the incredibly warm water, hotter than she’d ever had the patience to make it. Carting in heated water had never been her favorite task, and she usually did it only long enough to get the water comfortable. She would have to rethink the value of the effort because this was lovely.
Hearing a slight scrape, a bump, she grew still and waited. She thought she should have been nervous, but she’d never not felt comfortable around him. And he had done deliciously wicked things to the most private and intimate places of her body. She wasn’t hypocritical enough now to tell him he couldn’t touch, especially when she loathed her very skin. She’d nearly scrubbed it raw that afternoon.
He was so quiet she barely heard him when he walked in. His waistcoat was gone but his shirt remained. He placed a stack of books against the wall and set a lamp on top of them. “You didn’t let down your hair.”
“It doesn’t need to get wet. It takes forever to dry.”
“Mmm. We’ll see.”
He disappeared and the light above went out, leaving her in a room barely lit with shadows dancing around. When he returned, the shirt had been discarded and she found herself staring at a smooth, finely chiseled chest as he crouched before her and offered her a glass of wine. She did wish he’d left the light above on. Some of the dips and shallows were lost to the shadows, and she couldn’t see them as clearly as she’d have liked. Beneath the water, her fingers flexed in want of a touch. She had to calm them before lifting one hand from the water, focusing on the stem to wrap them around, rather than the breastbone over which they longed to trail.
“I’ve never had wine in the tub.”
“It’ll help you to relax. I always enjoy a bit of scotch while bathing.”
“It seems rather decadent.”
“Exactly.”
