She lifted a leg above the water to rub the bar of soap all the way down to her toes. The shock and revulsion on Lucas’ face when Father O’Connor announced they were wed lay proof enough. A muscle cramped in her calf and while she kneaded the pain, the thief of remorse grabbed hold of her, triggering her to worry about the future. “I find the idea as unrealistic as you do. Oh, the years of regret cast upon us, Lucas. What an appalling waste of energy. You can’t build on it and the only good left is for wallowing in.” Couldn’t he see that to remain in the state of matrimony would bring them unhappiness?
She lifted her arms to pull the pins from her hopelessly disheveled bun and let the curls fall in the bath. His pregnant pause conveyed a shifting reluctance that piqued her curiosity.
“The deed is done, so I’ll live by the vows,” he growled.
Smarting from his callous remark, and feeling the rejection coming off him in waves, she dunked her head beneath the water, drenching her scalp, and furiously working the suds through her thick waves. To be married to a man who did not want her? Absolutely not.
She rose, sputtering, “Magnanimous of you. Your martyrdom shored up by the blood sacrifice of marriage.”
The creak of his rickety bench told her that Lucas had risen and was coming closer. She tensed, but as soon as she heard him pick up another log and cast it in the fire, she relaxed. “I refuse to honor the vows.”
“The priest may be right.” Lucas whipped the curtain back.
Gasping, Rachel drew her knees under her chin and moored them with her arms and sank deep into the bath, thankful the water was now cloudy with soap. “Leave!” she swore in an unsteady voice.
He moved closer, the barest hint of a booted heel scraping against the floor. So close in fact, she saw his eyes turn cobalt, the rings of his irises darken. Despite the opaque water, could he see the flesh that quivered just below the surface? The idea surged bolts of heat and mortification through her.
“Get out!” Rachel lowered her head, fearful she’d lose her nerve, confronting him.
“Make me.”
She sank lower into the water, her rapid breaths generating undulations on the surface.
Powerless, cornered, and naked.
He stepped closer, running long fingers along the rim of the tub. From lengthy days on the road, a dark stubble shadowed his face, giving him a rakish look. Light from the lantern above haloed him, casting him in an aura of gold. Even his thick ebony hair seemed bronzed as he leaned down to grip each side of the tub. His butternut breeches clung to powerful thighs, the corded muscles rippling beneath, in what could be considered indecent. Primitive.
“It occurred to me that there might be something we both didn’t expect,Mrs. Rourke.”
Damn, he used her married name, testing it for the first time, and she was surprised, he did.
“For one thing, you have courage. In my whole life, I do not believe I have engaged in as many arguments as I have with you these past few weeks.”
Even in the steaming water, chilblains raced over her skin. She stiffened her spine and lifted her chin. Careful. Plan tactics.Strategy before tactics is the slowest route to triumph.She cleared her throat. “A few heated disagreements are healthy, Colonel Rourke,” she said, deliberately using his formal title to keep him at arm’s length.
He walked around the tub. “Disagreements? Is that what you call them? Well, I expect, we are destined to have any number of them. A scary thought, isn’t it?”
“Colonel Rourke, I doubt such probability will be grounds for either of us to shiver and shake with fright. Nor do I doubt, beyond our professional arrangement, will we be together.”
He plunked his hands on both sides of the tub, his mouth lifting faintly at the corner. “Is there anything at all that would cause you to shiver and shake,Mrs. Rourke?”
His posture, awareness, and confidence belied undertones of a man who always achieved what he wanted. This was the other side of Lucas. The dangerous side. The side she’d seen when he attacked Captain Johnson. Her heart stopped in her throat. Oh, he was trouble. She clenched and unclenched her hands at the turn of events that put her at his mercy.
“Any number of things,” she said.
“Indeed.” His husky voice flowed over her like velvet. “What if we continue to work together, professionally, of course—perhaps we may do more than engage in heated disagreements? Might that be one of the things that would be agreeable,Mrs. Rourke?”
She met his gaze straight on, saw the rising heat within his eyes and nearly melted. “We are both determined individuals,” she whispered, out of breath. “Yet, I’m confident we are rather skilled in maintaining our completely professional connection.”
“We may both be proficient at sustaining a degree of professionalism,” he said with incredible warmth, “but what if we desire not to do so? What takes place then, Mrs. Rourke?”
Rachel’s mouth went dry. Belly-low, a warming came over her, like a moth fluttering around a flame. She could not bring herself to look away nor answer him.
“By all means, continue with your bathing. The soap tends to get slick when wet, doesn’t it?”
Her mouth dropped from the innuendo and he laughed while his gaze caressed the ripple of the water with suggestive fascination. Rachel’s temperature veered violently from chilled to overheated, and she felt a sheen of dampness blossom above her lip.
Damn him. How she’d like to wipe that smirk off his face. She pinned him with a glare, the same she used to sight a rifle.
