The bathing chamber lay beyond a second door. Steam no longer rose from the copper tub, but when Nicholas dipped his hand in, he nodded.
“Still tolerably warm.” He straightened awkwardly. “Your dress. I assume you will need help with the fastenings.”
“Yes.”
Amelia turned her back to him. His fingers found the first hook at her nape, and she drew in a sharp breath.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No. Your hands are cold.”
“I apologize.”
He continued, methodically working his way down her spine. Each released hook felt like a small surrender. His knuckles brushed the small of her back at the last one, and she bit her lip.
“There,” he finished. “You should be able to manage the rest. I will wait in the sitting room. Call if you need anything.”
Then he was gone.
Amelia worked quickly, shedding her dress, her stays, her chemise. She hurried into the water before she could think too much. The bath embraced her with gentle heat, and she sighed. It smelled of Windsor soap and something else—something distinctly male.
His bath, she thought.He ordered this for himself.
The intimacy of that notion struck her. She reached for the soap and began to wash, but that awareness did not subside. That penetrating consciousness of Nicholas’s proximity. He was just beyond that door.
This is what you are asking for. But you will not make me break. That is what he said.
But why not? Why pull her close only to push away?
Before she could second-guess herself, Amelia called out: “Nicholas?”
Silence. Then: “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing. I—” She swallowed. “I need help with something.”
A beat. Footsteps. The door opened.
Her breath caught.
He’d been working—ledgers tucked under one arm, shirt unbuttoned. No. Notunbuttoned. Gone entirely.
He was shirtless.
She had seen crude glimpses of skin before—his forearms when he rolled his sleeves at the orphanage. But this... Candlelight caught on the planes of his chest, the definition of his arms, the dark hair that dusted his torso and trailed downward past his waistband. He must have been working at his desk, shirt discarded in the warmth of the fire.
He froze when he saw her in the tub, seeming to realize his state of undress for the first time. “Devil. I did not think—” He turned partially away. “I should go dress.”
“No.” The word came out too quickly. “Please. Stay.”
He looked at her warily. “What did you need?”
Now that he was here, she could not remember what half-baked excuse she had planned. “Nothing. I...” She swallowed. “I only wanted company.”
His jaw worked. “Amelia…”
“We did not really speak on the journey home. I thought perhaps we could talk.” She drew her knees up slightly. The cloudy water preserved much of her modesty. “You are always so busy with the estate. I hardly see you.”
He hesitated, then moved to the chair in the corner and sat, though tension radiated from every line of his body. “What would you have us discuss?”
