He’d come back to life. There was no other way to describe the quickening. Resurrection, but incomplete. Solitude had never bothered him, but he’d been shrinking for too long. Shrinking away from the land of the living. Their moment of connection had brought him back with a rush of pain and a surge of desire.
He craved more. She could give him more. And she would. He’d paid dearly for the woman.
He swatted away guilt. She’d said she was here of her own free will. Was that not enough to muzzle his conscience?
Through the wood he heard the murmuring of female conversation. Mrs. Kent had been willing to travel back to the ruins of Wisterley and more than eager to prepare a few meals and help Alicia dress, oddly enough. Kent, of course, had never been afraid.
But he would not think of the rumors that clung to the castle, nor would he consider the wing ruined by char and decay.
He was here, at Wisterley. For the first time since the fire, he was anticipating a night within the castle. And the tingle in his balls? The one that filled him with glee (Yes—devil take it—glee)?
That was a sensation he hadn’t felt since he was randy and young, still hopeful he might one day escape the gloom.
He turned his attention back to the woman within Wisterley’s oldest and only undamaged tower.
The water swished.
He imagined her standing in the copper tub, bare as Venus. More likely, she had retained her shift. She was proper that way.
So proper he could not wait to spread her thighs.
It was up to him to ensure she was properly, thoroughly satisfied.
He was fully ‘up’ to the task.
Chapter Six
Awoman who gave her name as Mrs. Kent had appeared, offering to assist Alicia with her bath. Mrs. Kent was full of youth and vigor. When she announced she was married to the butler, Alicia failed to hold back surprise.
Alicia apologized immediately.
“Go on,” Mrs. Kent waved her hand. “You aren’t the first to give us the eye. The difference in age ’tisn’t anybody’s concern but ours, is it? He makes me laugh and,” she winked, “he’s a right bit better than my first husband, rest his soul.”
First husband.
As she bathed, she tested and discarded the phrase. ‘Admiral Octavius Stone, myfirsthusband,’ implied there would be a next. She may long to experience passion, but no man alive could convince her to become his bride.
Enough certainly was enough, thank you very much.
After helping Alicia towel dry, Mrs. Kent lifted a fresh shift over Alicia’s head. The fabric slithered down over her curves gentler than a whisper.
“Linen?” she asked.
“Yes, linen,” Mrs. Kent answered. “Soft, ’tisn’t it? I never saw the like.” She leaned back and squinted. “Did I do it right?”
Alicia straightened the gown. “Perfect, as far as I’m concerned.”
Mrs. Kent began collecting the towels. “I’m afraid I’ve never played lady’s maid before.”
Laughter bubbled up in Alicia’s throat. Fear, she supposed. Fear or hysteria.
“Are you well?” Mrs. Kent asked.
Alicia nodded. “It’s just that you didn’t hesitate to use the word lady.”
Mrs. Kent squinted one eye. “You’re quality, anyone can see that.” She shrugged. “Mr. Kent don’t judge, and neither do I. Besides, the duke’s come back. Your doin,’ I think. That’s quite something, indeed.”
With those astonishing words, Mrs. Kent look her leave.
