Yes, drawing the bath had been an incredibly attentive action on Bennet’s part. Gabe was going to give his valet a raise. He was, in every instance, a man who ventured beyond the call of duty to his master. He was a man who truly cared.
A man who—
“Gabe?”
The shocked echo of his wife’s query had his eyes opening. There, on the threshold of the bathroom, stood Helena, clearly hesitating in herrobe de chambre, cinched neatly at her waist. Her golden locks were unbound, cascading in a wild bevy of curls down her back and over her shoulders.
She looked, in a word, delectable.
He wanted to lick and kiss her from those burnished locks all the way to her toes. Her dressing gown left nothing to the imagination—and hell, he need not rely upon his mind but rather his memory anyway. Just last night, he had sucked the stiff peaks of those pink, pebbled nipples.
Belatedly, he realized he was staring. Devouring her with his gaze as he longed to do with his lips. But, he cautioned himself, tonight he had decided to keep his distance.
Gabe sat up in the tub. “Have I disturbed you? Forgive me. I thought you long since gone to sleep.”
Her gaze flitted over his shoulders and chest, warming every bit of skin above the surface of the water. And all the skin below it as well.By God, he was on fire, and it had nothing to do with the temperature of his bath and everything to do with the woman hovering on the threshold of the bathroom.
“I was not able to sleep,” she said then, giving him a smile that was at once demure and seductive. “I read for a time, and then my lady’s maid drew the bath for me. I see I tarried a bit too long and you discovered it before I could claim it.”
Well, bloody hell.Bennet had not drawn the bath for him, nor entirely guessed at his needs before he knew them himself. The bath had been meant for Helena. And Gabe had greedily sunken himself into it.
A pang of conscience hit him. “Forgive me, my dear. I had no idea it had been drawn for you. I had supposed my valet had done it, guessing at what I would require after I retired. Would you…shall I remove myself?”
“Of course not.” But instead of retreating to her own chamber where he most decidedly needed her to be, she moved deeper into the room. “You are already enjoying the waters, are you not? It seems a pity for me to require you to remove yourself on account of my whims. Selfish, even.”
She was being most accommodating to a husband who had essentially informed her he wished to spend the evening without her company, albeit in more polite terms. He willed his aching cock to behave itself and wither. He had no wish for her to see the effect she had upon him. Or, worse, for him to lose control now that he had so deliberately set out to exercise it this evening.
“I can finish my bath in peace and then draw fresh water for you if you like,” he offered. “I will not be but another few minutes, I promise, and there should be sufficient heated water to call for more.”
“I would not dream of ejecting you from your bath prematurely,” she countered as she reached the tub, bringing with her the seductive scent that was purely hers. And the decadently curved body that was also, purely, hers.
His fingers itched to seize her by the waist and haul her into the bath with him, dressing gown and all. It was only by the thinnest reminder of his intentions for the evening that he did not.
“You are hardly ejecting me,” he forced out, gratified when he did not hear a hint of the turmoil secretly raging within him. “I am willingly abandoning the bath that was yours to begin with. It is hardly the selfless act of a martyr.”
The selfless act of a martyr would be to remove himself from this chamber. This moment. Because he was finding it increasingly difficult to resist her. Or rather, to resist all the urges she brought to life within him. Wicked urges. Deep-seated urges. The same damned urges which had led to him compromising her and having to marry her.
He would never learn his lesson.
“Or,” she said, trailing her fingertips over his forearm in a caress that made his cock stand at attention beneath the water, “you could remain in your bath, and I could aid you.”
“Aid me,” he repeated, then ground his molars as her touch skipped down to his wrist.
“Yes.” Her pink tongue peeked out, moistening her lips. “I can wash you, if you like.”
He had to stifle a groan at the thought of her passing a cloth over his body. Of her remaining near enough he could be tempted to haul her into the tub with him at any moment. His resolve was weakening fast.
“I am not certain that would be a wise idea,” he said, irritated with himself for the hoarseness of his voice.
“If you would prefer solitude, I understand.” Her hand settled atop his briefly before flitting away.
The notion of her going, now that she was here, filled him with a strange sense of loss. She had offered to assist him in his ablutions. He should agree with her that solitude was best.
She turned to go.
He hated himself for the hurt tone of her voice.
“Wait,” he called out before he could think better of his decision. “Do not leave. Your company is welcome.”
