“You miss him,” he guessed.
She pressed her lips together, the sheen of tears in her eyes undeniable. “I do miss my family, yes. However, you are my family now as well, and there is nowhere I would rather be than by your side.”
Her words humbled him.
Nearly brought him to his knees.
What had he done to deserve her? Nothing, he was sure. But he would keep her just the same.
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat, which had suddenly gone thick with emotion. “If you will not call for your lady’s maid, then I shall play the role.”
To distract himself, he moved past her, intent upon draining the water from the tub so she would not need to call for her servant. The tile floor was damp and slippery, so he tread with careful steps. Rolling back his sleeve, he reached into the warm, floral-and-fruit-scented water, and removed the plug holding the water in place. The sound of the tub draining soon filled the chamber.
He turned back to find her watching him, those warm brown-gold eyes singeing him as if they were fashioned of flame. There was a hunger in her expression that matched his own, but he forced himself to ignore it.
He would not take anything other than what she offered.
He could be honorable.
He had to be.
Hudson flashed her what he hoped was a charming smile. “What other tasks may I perform as your lady’s maid?”
Her lips pursed, and Christ, he longed to cross the chamber—wet tiles be damned—and kiss her.
“She brushes out my hair for me.” Elysande moved with elegant grace to retrieve her brush. “My hair dearly loves to curl when I am in my bath, and if I do not have it brushed, I am left with a tangled mess of snarls.”
It was difficult to believe her silken chestnut tresses could be anything other than sleek and soft, but he was willing to play this role for her, as it meant he had an excuse to linger in her presence. After the events of the day, he very much did not want to be alone. He had not realized his need until he had found himself here with her, and now that he was, he had no wish to leave.
Besides, he would not refuse an opportunity to touch her hair.
“I would be happy to replace her,” he said, closing the distance between them with care for the slippery floor and taking the brush. “Turn around, if you please.”
She did as he asked, presenting him with her back and the waterfall of lush, dark hair which was indeed tangling and curling as she had claimed. It occurred to him that he had never brushed a woman’s hair before. He had only ever brushed his own, which was quite a bit shorter. However, it could not be much different, could it?
Some of her hair had fallen over her shoulders, so he drew it back with his free hand, his fingers grazing her bare shoulder in the process. A jolt of pure electricity skipped past his wrist and up his arm. His body was so attuned to hers that even the smallest touch elicited an overwhelming rush of sensation. But he forced himself to ignore it and set about the task of brushing Elysande’s hair. There was nothing about the act that was erotic, and yet, with each stroke through her damp locks, he found the ache in his ballocks to grow subtly stronger. He took care to make slow passes, trying his best to be gentle. When the brush caught in a particularly large tangle, she stiffened.
He cursed. “Forgive me. What a ham-handed lady’s maid I make. Have I hurt you?”
“It was only a slight twinge,” she said. “I do not find you ham-handed at all. You are doing quite well.”
He was not sure he believed her praise, but he accepted it just the same, because he was a greedy bastard when it came to everything about his wife. “Tell me if I am brushing too hard, or if I am pulling your hair.”
“I shall.”
He resumed brushing, finding an odd comfort in the rhythm, mingling with his desire. This was, he realized, the first truly intimate moment they had shared as husband and wife, beyond the passion-filled embraces by the lake and in the library. He liked being near her. Helping her. Touching her.
Hell, he liked everything about her. Too much. Far, far too much. But then, one was meant to like one’s wife, was he not? That was rather the point of having one, aside from the necessity of her.
With great reluctance, he finished, finding no excuse to continue, for the bristles glided smoothly and unimpeded with each pass. He settled the brush on a nearby table and stilled. “There you are, my dear. You need not fret over snarls tomorrow, I promise.”
She spun to face him, doing so with such haste that she lost her footing on the slick tiles and pitched forward. Wild-eyed, she reached for him, and the towel fell. Hudson caught her, hauling her against him, naked, soft woman. No armful had ever been more welcome.
“Thank you,” she said, breathless, looking up at him with a dazed expression on her face. “How clumsy and graceless of me.”
“The floor is quite wet,” he said stupidly, trying not to think about the hard nipples pressing into his chest through the thin layer of his shirt.
He knew how responsive those nipples were. How long had it been since he had sucked them? An eternity, he was certain.
