“They can.”
He did not sound as optimistic as she wished for him to be. “You do not think their confirmation of your whereabouts and the prints will be sufficient?”
“I think that if O’Rourke is indeed guilty of collaborating with Croydon, he is a man capable of anything. He has already attempted to shape the evidence to represent the scenario which pleases him most.”
Chills swept over her. “And the scenario which pleases him most is you being guilty of the murder, is it not?”
“That is a worry for another day, my dear.” Hudson uncorked a vial and allowed a few drops of scented oils to slip into the tub before stopping the flow of water. “For now, I aim to please my wife this evening. I am reprising my role as lady’s maid.”
The bath was for her? How considerate and lovely of him. With so much uncertainty facing Hudson, he had still been thinking of her. Her heart gave a pang.
She eyed the tub longingly. “Will you join me?”
He replaced the vial on a shelf and turned to her, some of the tension draining from his shoulders and his countenance. “I hardly know if I shall fit.”
She ventured deeper into the bathroom, grateful for this nod to modern efficiency. The previous dukes may have raided the coffers and spent profligately until nothing remained, but this convenience was one she could not deny she enjoyed. Particularly whenever her husband was within its four walls with her.
She sent him a shy smile. “Try.”
“Anything for you, love.” Holding her gaze, he untied the knot on the belt keeping his dressing gown in place.
It fell to the soft mats, which had been placed within after her previous slip. The garment parted, revealing a sliver of his chest, the flat plane of his abdomen, the place where his scars dwelled, reminders of the dangers he had once faced.
The dangers hestillfaced.
She went to him, drawn as ever. Although she longed to kiss him, she was not yet ready for the distraction his mouth entailed. They had more to discuss this evening. Instead, she boldly worked the robe from his shoulders, relishing the warm strength of him.
“Get in, if you please,” she ordered him gently.
He did not argue, stepping into the deep basin and lowering himself into the sweetly scented water. She watched as every beautiful inch of him disappeared beneath the surface. He was so very easy to admire. So vital and powerful. But not just handsome. Beloved. Somehow, she had gone from wanting three months to devote to her latest invention, to never wanting to leave this man’s side.
His gaze smoldered into hers. “Now you.”
She felt no shyness as he watched her disrobe. Her soft silk fell atop his dressing gown on the mat, forgotten, as he extended his hands to her. Elysande grasped them, taking care to avoid his long legs as she stepped into the tub and settled within its inviting heat. The moment her rump connected with the porcelain tub, water sloshed over the sides, hitting the tiles with a splash.
“Oh dear.” She frowned, looking at the mess she had made on the floor surrounding them. The mats intended to keep her from slipping were soaked, as were the nearby tiles.
But Hudson was undisturbed. His head tipped back and he unleashed a deep bark of laughter, propping his arms on the lip of the tub. She liked the sound of it. He was often a serious man, and this small sign of levity made her heart suddenly full. Indeed, she did not think she had ever heard him truly laugh before this moment.
That they were alone, naked in a shared tub, pleased her. They had come so very far together since their union had begun.
“I do believe I am a failure as lady’s maid,” he quipped, grinning at her.
“To be fair, my lady’s maid does not ordinarily join me in the bath,” she teased, feeling wicked.
He caught her foot and gave it a light tug, making her rump slide across the slippery tub until she too giggled. “I had better be the only one who joins you in a bath.”
She fluttered her eyelashes at him playfully, relieved for this small moment of lightness in such darkness. “I do not know, sir…”
He ran his fingernail up her sole, soliciting a surprised squeal from her, followed by a peal of helpless laughter. “Ticklish, love? I never would have supposed.”
“Yes,” she gasped, attempting to wrest her foot from his grasp and only succeeding in causing more water to splash over the rim of the tub. “Oh, you wretch! Stop ti-ti-ti—”
More laughter followed, because she was dreadfully sensitive everywhere on her feet and most especially the backs of her knees. But no need to tell him about that, or he would simply torture her more.
“You shall have to say the word for me to cease,” he warned, tickling her other foot as well. “I wonder where else you are ticklish, love.”
“You are trying to distract me,” she accused without heat as she finally pulled free of his hold and curled her feet beneath her bottom.
