He towered over her, not bothering to clear the frown he knew would be creasing his brow. The saints knew, all the brow-clearing in the world wouldn’t make his face less fierce.
It was, what it was.
Hewas, who he was.
He did resist the urge to lift a hand and stroke her hair. Instead, he looked deep into her eyes, drew a long breath. “Lady, the bathing ceremony is a much appreciated custom among men of breeding, but I am not an old done man incapable of tending my own needs.”
There is naught old and done about me,his heart added, demanding her ear.
Her eyes widened, her mouth forming a little ‘o’ – as if she’d heard the silent words.
“Nor am I injured,” he said, encouraged. “I can bathe myself.”
“I am sorry.” She had the good grace to blush, and her discomfiture turned her eyes a deeper shade of blue.
So dark a blue, he released her at once lest he drown in their sapphire depths.
She touched his arm. “You truly do not mind?”
“And if I did?”
She hesitated but a moment. “Then I would oblige you.”
“But not willingly.”
“Willing, aye,” she said, surprising him. “But not happily.”
A pang of bitterness shot through him at her frankness. “Then we shall wait.”
“Wait?” She blinked. “Wait for what?”
Marmaduke allowed himself a wry smile. “Until you attend my bath because it is your will to do so.”
“My will?”
“So I have said.” He smoothed a few strands of pale gold hair off her forehead. “Your will and your desire.”
Her brows arched, but before she could say a word, he went to the only washtub yet unoccupied. Without further ceremony, and certainly without shame, he undid the cord to his underhose and shoved them to his ankles.
Something fierce and hot leapt inside him then. A bold need that made him stand thus a shade longer than was chivalrous. The sheerest moment only, but long enough for her to note the one part of himself he knew to be unflawed and impressive.
Only then did he kick aside his discarded braies and ease himself into the large wooden tub.
Heated water swirled around him as he settled onto the low bathing stool, the bath’s scented warmth lapping at his shoulders and sending him the comfort he’d rather find in her soothing embrace.
Her will and her desire. Anything less was unacceptable. Those truths circling in his head, he leaned against the linen-covered edge of the washtub, and released a long, tension-freeing sigh.
He was a patient man.
He would make her want him.
Love him.
Unlike the fools who’d sought to woo her before and failed, he possessed a deep enough heart to succeed.
Fending off the dark quibbles of doubt springing to life at his bold assumptions, he drew his hand down over his face and closed his eyes.
Then he laid calm siege to his doubts, routing his demons one by one before they could argue otherwise.
