“Bathe me.”
She turned around slowly. Color was already brightening her cheeks, but she managed to say, “No, I—I’m afraid my benevolence doesn’t extend that far—unless, of course, you are prepared to marry me today?”
She thought that would settle the matter nicely until he replied, “You have wormed your way into my bedroom repeatedly with the excuse that it’s already your duty to assist me. So you can’t quibble over what sort of assistance your duty entails.”
She could, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t matter. He was making another of his points, showing her how much she would dislike living with him, reminding her that he’d always make some sort of unpleasant demand designed to embarrass her.
He took it for granted that she would comply, telling Carl, “Bring me a basin of water and a washing cloth.”
Brooke’s mind raced as she tried to think of a way to put off an uncomfortable situation. “You don’t want the water heated?”
“Not necessary. Carl always keeps a small pail of water warming in the fireplace in the bathing room so I don’t have to wait for hot water.”
Well then. How difficult would it be to rub a wet cloth over him?Very difficult.She groaned inwardly. But she needed to show him that his tactics were not going to work.So be pleasant, as a wife would be,she told herself.
When Carl walked away after setting the bowl of water on the night table, she wrung out the cloth. At least Dominic was still sitting on the side of the bed so she had easy access to him. But when she stood in front of him, cloth in hand, she was arrested by his eyes. He had such a piercing gaze, as if he were trying to see into her mind, or trying to gauge her reaction to this forced intimacy. He’d tried so many different ways to make her go. Did he really think she would find this chore so odious if she were his wife? She had a feeling that she wouldn’t mind it, and that made her blush. She wasn’t his wife yet.
She ran the cloth over his face first, slowly, carefully. She tried to ignore how incredibly handsome he was, but couldn’t. He had such strong features, chin, nose, the wide brow. Two locks of hair fell on either side of it, too short for his queue. It was like touching strands of silk when she lifted them out of the way.
When she felt the thick morning stubble on his cheeks, she realized the cloth might be too thin. Trying to clean his ears wasn’t a good idea, though, because she saw the gooseflesh on his neck. She quickly switched to his shoulder.
“That’s the one that aches from sleeping on that hard floor last night.” He added softly, “Massage it for me.”
She stopped moving her hand, she stopped breathing. Her heart was pounding. If she looked into his eyes, she was sure she would melt on the spot. Yet she had to massage him before he brought up her duty again. The only way she managed it was to imagine it wasn’t his shoulder she was kneading with her fingers, so she looked over his shoulder at the bedroom wall. Then she heard his groan of pleasure.
Utterly undone, she quickly grabbed the cloth again and moved it down his arm. If he asked her to massage him again, she’d throw the cloth at him. Holding his hand in hers, she wiped each finger. She was concentrating so hard on the task she didn’t notice right away that his hands weren’t dirty. He’d already washed them?
Her eyes went back to his. He could wash the rest of his body himself, too. He could do this so much more easily and quickly than she could.
As she started to say so, his hand twisted around hers and pulled her forward, nearly to his chest. “Remember your duty, soon-to-be-wife. This isn’t a matter of necessity, it’s a matter of choice. Mine. Continue.”
He’d read her thoughts! Hot cheeked, she stepped back to wring out the cloth again, then applied it to his chest. Not softly, but angrily, and for longer than necessary, though that might have been because she got so distracted by how big and broad his chest was and how hard and well muscled his abdomen was. But when she saw how red she was leaving his skin, she stopped abruptly. He hadn’t said a word of protest.
Contrite, she decided to finish as quickly as she could and get out of there. But when she leaned around him to reach his back, her breast brushed against his upper arm, and she felt the same wonderful sensations she’d experienced that morning when he’d brushed his palm against her nipple.Oh, God.
She quickly backed away to rinse the cloth out again, then climbed onto the bed and moved behind him to wash his back. More gooseflesh appeared on his skin as she washed the back of his neck. His neck and ears were sensitive. Something a wife might want to remember for future reference. Brooke tried to forget it. His dog helped her to do that by jumping up on the bed and watching her. Considering the animal’s odd behavior recently, he made her a little nervous now.
Running the cloth over Dominic’s back much more gently because his eyes weren’t on her now, she decided to get into the spirit of being a dutiful fiancée and massaged his shoulder a little more. She might as well try anything and everything to get him to love her.
But Wolf had distracted him and he leaned over to pet the dog’s flank, prompting her to remark casually, “You say he’s not a wolf, but one of his ancestors might have been.”
“Possibly. But it doesn’t matter. He’s quite tame.”
Dominic wasn’t, but she persisted, “I know wolves are supposed to be extinct on the isle, but how do we know they were all killed off?”
“Because it was inevitable once kings started placing bounties on them instead of just demanding their pelts as tribute. They’ve been gone for centuries, but the lands in the north are extensive and wide stretches are uninhabited. I suppose it’s possible a few packs might have survived, but I’m doubtful.”
She had expected him to scoff at her as he had done the last time this subject came up, not support her contention that his dog’s wolf ancestors might have roamed the Yorkshire moors more recently than centuries ago.
But then he said, “If you’d stop looking at Wolf like he’s more wolf than dog, you might not fear him or believe that rumor about a wolflike creature howling on the moors.”
The color returned to her cheeks. “Nonsense,” she insisted. “Wolf and I are great friends already, though he does get upset when he smells Raston on my hands.”
“Raston?”
“Alfreda’s cat that’s been catching mice for your head groom in the stable.”
“Cats have their uses. Did you think I would object to your bringing one with you?”
