On a deep breath, she settled her hand in Northwich’s. “Fair enough. You have yet to give me reason to distrust you.”
“Nor did I five years ago.”
His fingers closed around hers. He was not wrong, and her guilt surged. Before she could say anything more, he was tugging her across the chamber and over the threshold, into his chamber.
He had every lamp ablaze, she realized, which was the reason for the light.
“I was exercising,” he said, as if that explained everything.
And she supposed it did explain most things. Just not his reason for hauling her into his chamber.
He led her to a chintz upholstered chair with a walnut carved frame. The flowered fabric took her by surprise. She would have expected stripes or a solid color from him. Something far more masculine and bolder than the muted floral.
“This was my mother’s favorite chair here at Wylde Park,” he offered, although she had not asked.
He must have noted the manner in which she looked at it askance.
“Sit,” he added, in not nearly as commanding a tone as the word alone suggested.
She did as he asked, recalling how he had spoken fondly of his mother. Remembering, too, that there had been mention inThe Timesof the former Duchess of Northwich passing away and a funeral being held. “I do remember that you loved her very much. I am sorry for your loss.”
He paused, his expression softening, a sadness in his eyes. “Thank you. She was a wonderful woman with a kind heart. I miss her every day.”
The love and sincerity in his voice touched her heart. How could it not?
Before she could comment further, he turned away, crossing the chamber to where an assortment of items were neatly arranged atop a burled walnut dresser. He took up a small tin and returned to her. “Show me where your muscles ache.”
Surely he did not intend to apply some sort of ointment on her? “I do not require special attention, Northwich.”
“Roland,” he reminded.
Yes.Roland.Such a beautiful name, for a beautiful man. She must think of him thus from now on. In truth, she already did, but habit and nervousness had resulted in the reversion.
“Roland,” she said. “This is unnecessary, I assure you.”
“And I assure you that it is,” he countered, skirting the chair until he stood behind her. “This salve works miracles upon my muscles when they are overtaxed or sore, and I have no doubt it shall do the same for yours. But if you do not tell me where you are in pain, I shall apply it from head to toe instead.”
“I doubt you have enough ointment for that,” she could not resist pointing out.
“Ah, but this is not my only tin by far, my dear.”
His smooth contradiction held an underlying note of truth.
On a sigh, she surrendered, dropping her head tentatively forward and showing him where her neck pained her. He swept her hair aside, his fingers pressing lightly on the nape of her neck. His touch on her bare skin was electric. She suppressed a shiver.
“Here?” he asked.
“Yes, and lower.”
The collar of her dressing gown was prim and high. His finger slipped beneath it, working over the taut cords there. Somehow, he seemed to know precisely where to touch.
“It will be far easier without your dressing gown in the way,” he said.
He was right, of course, but removing her dressing gown would leave her with only one layer of defense. And in this moment, she did not think it was her husband she needed to protect herself against, but rather her overwhelming reaction to him.
But she had no wish to admit that. Instead, her fingers found the tiny row of buttons keeping her robe in place. She fumbled over them, undoing them as his heat loomed behind her, his fingers working her flesh, kneading and massaging.
Her body was alight. He had brought about the resurgence of a part of herself she had forgotten.Desire.How long had it been since she had wanted anyone, since she had been so aware of a man that her skin seemed to tingle and burn and the juncture of her thighs thrummed with the steady pulse of need?
