Chapter Four
In Which the Happily Unmarried Husband meets his Neighbour
Harry awoke early, just as the day was dawning, driven by a need to relieve himself.
“That damn tea,” he muttered, pushing back the linens. But it was a passing comment, rather than a complaint. This was the first morning he’d felt almost human. Sitting on the side of the bed, he tested his body, pleased to find that everything seemed to be working, if a bit weakly. His ankle was sore, and he was somewhat unwilling to place his full weight on it, but he could manage a respectable limp that got him to where he needed to be, and back again.
His clothes were neatly folded on top of the small bureau, clean and ready for him.
Willow, he thought, was indeed a rather well-organised “wife”.
The thought of dressing himself was enervating, but he knew damn well he was in serious need of a bath, so he crept from his room, using the cane that stood in readiness by the door.
Many of these houses lacked the space for an indoor bath but made up for it with a little outside nook where a shower of cold water would serve as a replacement.
As silently as possible, he slithered through the living room, where Willow slept curled up on the small sofa. The blankets tucked up beneath her chin, and her loosened hair, made her look like a child slumbering peacefully. She must be exhausted, he realised. Nursing a grown man wasn’t an easy chore, even with assistance.
But she’d done it, managed everything, and got him back on his feet.
He was alive, in all probability, thanks to her care. It was a debt he’d never be able to repay, and he knew it. Someday, he swore to himself, someday he’d be able to help her in return. Whatever she might need, he’d provide without question.
Reaching the kitchen without making a sound, he grabbed a cloth and cautiously lifted the bar across the door. There was a brief hit of cold air that made his toes curl, but then he was out, silently latching the door behind him.
And there was the little open nook. He prayed the water wasn’t frozen in the pipe leading up to it. A chain pull hung loosely, and—shivering now—he stripped off his nightrobe and stepped inside.
How he managed not to scream when the ice-cold stream hit his head, he didn’t know. But he’d always been able to tough things out, even when Ashe Trease had thrown him, naked, into a snowbank when they were young.
This was a horribly similar experience, but the refreshing, if brief, moments beneath the clean water made him feel human once more, and a brisk rubdown with the cloth finished the job.
He struggled back into his nightgown, blessing the thick cotton, and retraced his footsteps, closing the kitchen door behind him, and locking it.
He hoped Willow was still sleeping. He’d tell her about his impromptu bath, but since it would be a fait accompli, he might be able to avoid a scolding.
Walking back toward the living room, he eased the door open, only to stop short as he found himself confronted by an obviously angry young woman with her hands firmly on her hips.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
His lips twitched. “God, you’re like your mother when you do that.” He grinned. “Lady Hazel is an amazing woman, of course, but truthfully, she could scare the life out of all of us from time to time.”
“And deservedly so,” snapped Willow. “Do you understand the stupid risk you took? If you had fallen and I’d not awoken yet…you’d have frozen to death out there or at least re-injured your ankle. How could you do something so foolish?”
“I needed to wash.” He shrugged. “I smelled like a goat, and that bothered me.”
“A goat is smarter than you,” she fired back. “A goat wouldn’t risk re-injuring his ankle just to get a wash, which you could have had indoors quite well, had you waited for me to wake up and get some water heated.”
He straightened. “Did it occur to you that I might have wanted to begin doing things for myself and not depend on you so much? To take the burden off your shoulders?” He frowned, taking a step closer. “You have, in all likelihood, saved my life, Willow. What kind of bounder would I be if I let you carry on waiting on me, hand and foot, when I should be starting to look after myself?”
“A sensible one.” She refused to retreat. “And a thoughtful person would at least have let me know you wanted a damn bath.”
“So that you could spend an hour heating water, dragging whatever tub might be around here into the living room, filling it, and then probably scrubbing my blasted back for me, as if I was a helpless twelve-year-old?”
“Yes, if that’s what it took.” Her chin went up.
They stared at each other, inches apart, and Harry couldn’t help his gaze drifting to those ripe and lovely lips.
His body heated, reminding him that he was alive, male, and standing in front of a beautiful woman who was also clad in a nightgown.
“Willow,” he breathed.
