He beamed at her. “The tub is filled for you in the kitchen.”
“The kitchen?”
“It is where we all bathe, the warmest room. You will have privacy.”
She felt too grimy not to accept. If she was quick, she could be done before Christoph returned. And the room was already empty for her, the large, round tub set near the oven, the pleasant aroma of bread baking floating toward her. She wished she could soak away all her worries, but she didn’t dare take any longer than necessary, and she’d never washed so quickly—and still wasn’t quick enough.
Even though she wasn’t facing the door, the draft on her wet shoulders warned her someone had quietly opened it. She glanced behind her, then sank lower in the tub. Of course it was him. No one else would dare.
“Do you mind?” she said scathingly.
“I don’t mind at all.”
He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, grinning at her. There wasn’t enough water to completely cover her, so she pressed against the edge of the tub nearest him to hide what she could and lifted an arm over the rim to point suggestively at the door.
“I’d rather not,” he said, but when her eyes shot daggers at him, he sighed and straightened. “I suppose I can take a few moments to blacken Boris’s other eye, for putting you in a room filled with knives.”
“I heard that!” Boris yelled from the parlor.
She didn’t think Christoph was serious, but Boris must have thought so. The icy draft that soon swept into the room told them both that the servant had run outside, leaving the outer door open. Christoph swore and closed the kitchen door, leaving her alone again. She stood up, wrapped her wet hair in a towel, spared only a few seconds to dry off with another, then quickly dressed before he came back to embarrass her further.
She knew she wouldn’t find the king in the other room. Christoph wouldn’t have stood there ogling her if he was. And his humor had been obvious, so she had to assume Poppie’s missive had never reached her father. Which put them back to square one—no, back to Christoph using her to lure Poppie into his hands.
Disheartened, she walked slowly back to the parlor. Christoph hadn’t left to chase Boris down. He had set one of the dining chairs in front of the fireplace, which was crackling strongly with a new log in it, but he wasn’t sitting in the chair, just standing beside it.
“Come here,” he said.
She raised a brow. “So you can roast me again?”
“I didn’t expect to find you . . . wet and naked. You can’t imagine how much I wanted to join you in that tub. Even now, it is difficult to keep the thought away.”
She sucked in her breath before she wailed, “We had a bargain!”
“I’m not breaking it. This temptation is new and it’s not gone yet. So come here and let me occupy my hands drying your hair, then I might be able to keep them off your body.”
That did not encourage her to approach him. But his words were stirring, making her realize she was in danger of that same temptation.
“That can’t happen again,” she said to him, but she meant it to be a reminder to herself.
He actually grinned. “Of course it can. Once tasted, there’s no longer a reason to deny ourselves such pleasure.”
His attitude infuriated her, so self-centered, so unmindful of anything but his own needs and desires. “Easy for you to say,” she said sharply. “You wouldn’t be bearing the consequences.”
“A child?” His expression turned intrigued, but ended in a beautiful smile. “I think I would like that. I take care of my own.”
“Excuse me while I fetch one of those kitchen knives.”
He burst out laughing. “Thank you. That definitely doused the—temptation. Now come here, Alana, and let me dry your hair. You can’t go outside until it is fully dry.”
She stilled instantly. “Outside? Poppie’s missive did reach him?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me the king wants to see me now?!”
“He doesn’t.”
She felt almost light-headed, to experience such powerful emotions over mere seconds, the final one being utter dejection. She didn’t even wonder why that message hadn’t resolved this situation for her as it should have.
