Her husband, her lover.
Louisa finished her bath, in no rush to leave this warm, humid sanctuary of self-discovery. When her half-hour reservation ended, she dressed and collected her toiletries, and tucked the erotic novel beneath her arm.
She left the bathroom tidy yet steamy. The walk back to her stateroom was short, and Louisa encountered few travelers as she crossed the paneled passageway. Still flushed from her climax, Louisa was all too happy to duck into her suite of rooms unnoticed.
Lord Granborough sat up, shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sun. He looked deliciously sleep-rumpled, and when he greeted her, his voice was huskier and more affectionate.
“Good afternoon, Louisa,” he said, running his hands through his honey-blond hair. He didn’t bother to cover his bare chest with the bedsheets. He reclined before her in all his golden glory.
She placed her book and toiletries aside. Admiring him, she said, “You look better.”
“A long nap was the cure. I’m only sorry I wasted the day. What have you done with yourself?”
Louisa blushed. “Oh, this and that.”
He studied her more carefully. Could he tell that she’d been…enlightened?
“You seem different,” His Lordship said. “Have you changed something?”
“Different how, my lord?”
“I’m not sure.” Puzzled, he continued to observe her as she went to the sitting room table and poured a glass of water. She brought it to him, and he drank lustily. “Thank you.”
Louisa watched his throat work as he swallowed. She watched his chest rise and fall with every breath. When her husband gulped down the last of the water, he sighed in audible satisfaction.
The sounds of his pleasure echoed in her brain, fantasy and reality blurring into one sensual memory—the man who’d taken, and the lover who gave.
Heat bloomed in her belly. Her heart fluttered between her breasts. Louisa went to her dress-basket to sort through her wardrobe. She dug through lingerie from Rouff and hosiery from Lord & Taylor. Beneath Prissy, her treasured girlhood doll, lay a peach velvet frock ordered from the Paris couturier Emile Pingat.
Louisa longed to wrap herself in sumptuous velvet. The heavy fabric could hide a multitude of sins, but could it camouflage a woman’s deepest desires?
As if in answer, she heard the bedstead shift behind her. Lord Granborough was up, moving about the suite. He poured himself another glass of water, dressed in only his under-drawers. The thin cotton left little to the imagination, yet Louisa couldn’t avert her gaze.
She’d tasted from the tree of knowledge and now hungered for more.
Her husband collected his dressing gown from a nearby peg and slipped it over his shoulders. “I don’t know about you, dear,” said he, casually knotting the sash at his waist, “but I’m desperate for a bath.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
He’d spent the dressing hour soaking in the tub. While he’d never admit it to his proud Yankee wife, six months of running water and flushing toilets had spoiled him. Giles enjoyed having a bath on demand, without the need for servants to heat and haul the water.
He looked forward to installing plumbing at Granborough—at considerable expense—to provide Louisa with some of the conveniences she’d always known. He wanted her to feel comfortable and safe in her new home. He hoped she would leave her unique mark on the place, and elevate their corner of the countryside to her luxurious standards.
Louisa retreated to the bathtub every evening, and apparently in the middle of the afternoon, as well. She always emerged looking rosy, soft, kissable, and pliant. He wanted her like that in his home, in his bed. He wanted to return from surveying his estate or walking his parkland and find her warm, willing, and wet.
A private bath without servants poking ‘round proved ripe for fantasy, and Giles indulged himself.
When he finally returned to their stateroom suite, Louisa was dressed and readied for dinner. She wore a peach velvet Pingat that she’d pulled from her dress-basket and sent her maid to press. The elegant dinner frock boasted ruched sleeves and a low, square neckline that showed a hint of décolletage.
He couldn’t tear his eyes from her.
He was desperate to put his hands on her.
“My word, Louisa,” he said, holding his arms out to her. She stepped toward him, her heavy hems sweeping against the carpeted floor, and let him wrap his fingers around her waist. “Never listen to me about your clothes—every frock you wear is superior to the next.” He pulled her close to whisper, softly, “You’ve never looked more beautiful.”
She smelled faintly of French perfume with a hint of lavender lingering from her time in the tub. There was something else…something sweetly sensual that drew him to her.
Her lips were pink and ripe for kissing. Her tight, high breasts swelled against the neckline of her dress. Giles remembered the slight weight of them in his hands when she had lifted his palms and pressed his fingertips over her nipples. He was mad for her.
