“I heard you. You shouldn’t have attempted this alone. I’ll call for a servant.”
“No!” Winston snapped, with more anxiety than anger in his voice. “I got in easy enough, but getting out is altogether more difficult. Lord, I do not want any servant to see me like this. The bellpull is at hand; I could have summoned one half an hour ago if I had wished. I can manage.”
The sound of a wet body moving against the metal of the bath came to her. The slosh of displaced water and then a thump and a sharp intake of breath followed.
“Damnation!” he hissed.
Without thinking, she turned and went to him, kneeling beside the tub but keeping her eyes closed.
“Hold still. Let me help.”
“I don’t require…”
“You require sense, which I have more of at this moment than you.”
“You’re impossible. If my mother knew of this, she would have apoplexy.”
“If your mother knew of the stables, she would have apoplexy,” Adeline countered, still with eyes closed.
“True.”
“Now, enough nonsense. Take my hand.”
“You think you can pull me out of the bath by yourself? I am twice your size in width and height.”
“You will do most of the work, I assure you. Hand.”
He hesitated only a second more before obeying. The heat of the bath rose between them, mist beading on her skin. She braced herself and helped him lift from the water. His body was heavy against her arm, the strength of it still evident despite the injury. She kept her eyes firmly closed, but her breath came quicker all the same. Her pulse raced at the feel of wet naked skin against her.
“Your dress will be soaked,” Winston pointed out.
“Then I will change out of it,” Adeline said, ruthlessly pragmatic to hide the excitement that was flushing her face.
“I will need linen,” Winston said.
Adeline turned her head and opened her eyes. She saw the pile of clean linen that had been left beside the bath. She picked up alarge sheet and handed it to him, but forgot to close her eyes. She felt her cheeks flame, and her eyes rose to his, fixing there.
I could just close my eyes again. Why do I not just close them? Or leave, that would be the decent thing to do. Just leave. He is out of the bath now.
Winston stood before her, rubbing the linen slowly over his body. She saw water trace the lines of his shoulders. She tried not to see, but the closeness made it impossible not to feel. His nearness, his warmth, the restrained power in his movements. She finally summoned the will to turn away, but he caught her arm.
“Look at me.”
She did, and the air between them tightened. The world outside the steam and lamplight disappeared.
“I owe you more than I can say,” he murmured.
“You owe me nothing.”
“I owe you my life. Twice over. You saved my daughter and, therefore, me. Two lives…” His voice was low, almost a whisper. “And I keep making you pay for it with fear.”
Her reply faltered. “You’ve done nothing of the sort. It is not you that I fear.”
He smiled faintly, then winced as he shifted.
“If I fall again, we’ll have the doctor back in laughter. Help me to the chair.”
She slipped her arm around him once more. The scent of soap and warm skin filled her head. His skin felt soft. His muscles felt hard. The linen was wrapped around his waist, but his naked torso was arousing enough on its own. He was the embodiment of Michelangelo’s David, the sculpture of the perfect masculine form. He leaned into her, trusting her completely, and that trust undid her more than any words could. When he was seated, she turned to fetch his robe. He caught her wrist before she moved away.
