“You want me to catch my death?” she gasped.
He snorted. “If it wasn’t so early in winter, there would be a pile of snow out here for me to drop you in. It’s a healthy way to cool off.”
“It’s nothing of the sort. Now put me down!”
“In your bare feet?”
Only now was she reminded that she wasn’t wearing her boots, though she was more properly attired than when he’d last seen her. But with the snow falling about Christoph’s face, she was also reminded of that other time they’d been in the snow together. Good God, he was the brute from the mountain pass! This was whom she had to deal with? A man who would touch her so inappropriately just to amuse his men? Of course! She should have known by the way he’d been manhandling her all day! And he knew. Why hadn’t he said anything when she’d described that encounter to him and told him her bracelet had been stolen by one of his own men?
He didn’t wait for her to answer or didn’t expect one, but he did carry her back inside before she did actually catch a chill. He continued down that little hallway off the parlor. She started to stiffen, but he wasn’t taking her back to the cell. He stopped between the two doors in the middle of the hall, one of which was open. She only got the briefest glance into the kitchen. The cook saw her and raised a brow. Boris was there, too, leaning against a worktable. She didn’t have time to give him a fulminating glare for what he’d done before Christoph opened the door to the other room and set her down inside it.
It was a bedroom, his bedroom. Nothing about it was Spartan or military. Richly appointed, it could have been a bedroom in a mansion, if on a smaller scale. It reminded her that he was a member of the nobility here and was obviously so rich he could build his own lavish quarters in the palace while he served the king. Too bad his behavior didn’t live up to his title.
Despite his having seen her in her underclothes before, she still pointed out, “This is highly inappropriate!”
“What is? That I give you a room where you can repair yourself? Or did you think I was going to stay and watch?”
She abruptly gave him her back again. He snorted, adding, “There’s water on the washstand. Return to the parlor for dinner when you are done.”
The parlor for dinner? Not back into a locked cell? Well, that was encouraging. But still she was forced to admit, “I will need something to wear. My dress is soaked and will need washing. I actually need a bath. And my boots—”
“Enough. Make do with something in my wardrobe.”
She turned again to tell him she wouldn’t wear his clothes, only to see the door close behind him. Very well, she didn’t exactly have much choice. At least the door had a latch she could turn to be assured of privacy.
With her energy returning, she moved quickly to the wash-stand, dropped her remaining clothes at her feet, and drenched herself with cool water. The discarded clothes kept a puddle from forming on Christoph’s fine carpet. She even poured the last of the water over her head before she ran a towel briskly over her body.
She heard something fall loudly to the floor in the next room, but assumed the cook had dropped something in the kitchen. She was too occupied rummaging through the wardrobe to even start at the noise. Uniforms, shirts, pants that were much too long for her, another winter coat thicker than the one she’d just seen him in, a white robe. She sighed over her choices.
She tried on one of his shirts, which only fell just above her knees. She needed something longer like a nightshirt, but couldn’t find one in the wardrobe or the bureau next to it. The white robe and the shirt would have to do. She buttoned the shirt up to her neck and folded the cuffs of the sleeves several times to get them off her hands. Christoph had taken all of her hairpins, so she couldn’t repair her coiffure, but she found a comb on the bureau, with which she got the tangles out. She was afraid to find out what she looked like when she was finished, so if there was a mirror in that bedroom, she didn’t try to find it.
She took a deep breath before she opened the bedroom door. She had to show that man confidence or he’d never believe her. He needed to see her heritage, not that frightened mouse he’d made of her in that cell. Unfortunately, being dressed in his clothes didn’t exactly make for a royal bearing. But the outer shell was superficial, she reminded herself. She knew who she was.
Chapter Eighteen
WHEN ALANA STEPPED INTO the parlor, it was empty, but only for a moment. “I could cut off the edge of that robe if you like, so it doesn’t drag on the floor,” Christoph said from behind her.
She swung around to see him coming down the hallway toward her with her boots in one hand. But he paused, his eyes slowly moving over her attire with interest. Her neck and chest were covered with his shirt, but she still felt the need to hold the edges of the robe closed tighter over that part of her body. He suddenly grinned, as if he knew how nervous he could make her with just a look.
She had left his room feeling composed, if a little bit angry, and a little embarrassed over her attire. Yet after his slow perusal of her, she felt something more. His attraction? Hers? Suddenly it was the most powerful emotion in the room, and it shouldn’t even be there!
“That won’t be necessary,” she said stiffly.
“You’re sure? I don’t think I’d mind kneeling before you—to do that.”
So he could see her bare legs under the robe, she didn’t doubt, but she promised him, “Someday you will kneel before me—as your princess—and regret your treatment of me.”
He just chuckled and tossed her boots on the sofa. He had removed his coat and the jacket of his uniform. She wondered if that meant he was off duty now? This certainly wasn’t the man who had slammed a cell door shut on her. It would be nice if they could start over, but she didn’t think that was possible.
But just in case it was, she offered, “There is a pepperbox pistol in my purse, if you didn’t find it yet.”
“I have it.”
So much for her olive branch. She resisted the urge to check her purse to see if he’d confiscated her money, too, and merely moved to the sofa to put her boots back on. She found her stockings stuffed inside them. She had removed them before they got damp with sweat so she turned her back on the captain to put them back on. Oh, God, this was even worse, wearing boots with a bedroom robe! Could she look any more ridiculous?
Her confidence having fallen a notch, she stood up to find him sitting at the dining table. He extended a hand to indicate she should use the chair beside him. Such a civil gesture seemed wildly out of place in this situation, which was anything but civil.
Before she approached the table, Boris entered the room with two bowls of soup—and a black eye. She wondered if the servant’s falling to the floor accounted for the loud noise she’d heard.
