Rafe blew out a breath. “I didn’t have much time to relive it. I was thinking about Donald. What he went through. I…”
Daphne nodded. She motioned to a table where the innkeeper had already placed a bottle of wine. “Would you like a drink?”
Rafe turned to her, his eyes round. He took her hands. “I don’t need a drink. All I need is you.” He slid off the bed and knelt on the floor. He turned to face her and pulled her hands to his lips and kissed them. “My father used to tell me that I was good for nothing. That I’d never amount to anything.”
Daphne vehemently shook her head. “No. Rafe.”
“I’ve spent my entire life trying to prove myself, be good enough, stand on my own, never ask for help,” Rafe continued. “It’s not until I met you that I realized that’s not always the best choice. You made me see that.” He squeezed her hands. “Daphne, I can never make up for the loss of your brother but I want to spend the rest of my life trying. Nothing about our courtship or our marriage has been customary. I never formally asked you to marry me. I want to fix that now.” He moved up to one knee. “I’m not a nobleman, and I’m not rich, but I love you with every bit of myself. You were right about me. I needed you today. And I’ll need you tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. I need you every day of my life because I can’t live without you. Will you marry me, Lady Daphne Swift? Again?”
Tears stinging the backs of her eyes, Daphne fell to her knees next to him, rose up, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Of course I’ll marry you again, Captain Rafferty Cavendish. Of course I will.”
He stood and picked her up and twirled her round and round. Then he kissed her deeply. “Will you come to bed with me?”
She glanced at the bed next to his leg. “We’re nearly there.”
He looked almost boyish, vulnerable, and Daphne loved him for it. “You know what I mean.”
She smiled at him. “I don’t even have to strip this time to convince you?”
“Not a chance.”
“And you no longer think of me as asister?” she taunted.
He shook his head. “Oh, love. Ineverthought of you as a sister. I only told you that because I decided it was better for my career and my longevity than having your brothers beat me to a pulp. There wouldn’t have been enough left of me for the French if Donald had found out that I’d defied him.”
Her mouth fell open. “Youneverthought of me as a sister? But you wouldn’t even kiss me and you let me think—”
Rafe stopped her words by pulling her into his arms and kissing her again. “Seeing you in those breeches every day has been unholy torture.”
A catlike grin curled across her lips. She wrinkled her nose slyly. “It was?”
He blinked at her from beneath his dark lashes. “Trust me. Unholy. Torture.”
She pulled at her dusty cravat. “Want to see me undress again?”
He arched a brow. “By all means, but first, I’ve ordered a bath.”
As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door. Rafe made his way over and opened it. Two servants marched in bearing a clawfoot tub. Soon after, bucket after bucket of hot water arrived, carried by serving maids. The maids glanced between Daphne and Rafe and gave Daphne tentative smiles. Daphne grinned back at them without shame.
After all of the servants left, the steaming bath remained in the center of the room. Rafe nodded toward Daphne. “You first,” he insisted with a wicked grin. “Besides, after I get in, the water is sure to turn black. I have soot in places I don’t even want to contemplate.”
The servants had left a stick of soap and some linens on a stool next to the tub. Daphne hadn’t taken a proper bath in days. She was only too eager to slide into the steamy water. She ripped off her shirt and shimmied out of her breeches while Rafe groaned. Her boots and stockings were already long gone. She’d removed them while the servants were setting up the bath.
Completely nude and enjoying the way her husband’s eyes devoured her by candlelight, she slipped into the hot water with a long sigh.
Rafe sat on the bed and watched her. “You’re gorgeous, Mrs. Cavendish.”
She somehow managed to put her hair into a bun atop her head, a few tendrils falling down around her shoulders. She turned her head and gave her husband a wide smile. “I like the sound of that:Mrs. Cavendish.”
Rafe put his hands to his cravat and began untying it. “Yes, well, you may be a widow, sooner than later, if Julian isn’t in an understanding mood when we return.”
“He will be,” she said with a nod, pulling the soap from the stool and lathering her arms and neck.
“How can you be so sure?” Rafe’s cravat came off in a quick tug and he unbuttoned his shirt. Daphne unabashedly watched him undress as she continued to lather herself, moving to her knees and legs.
“I’ll just tell him it’s what I want.” She blushed beautifully. “Er, I mean, I’ll explain to him that we’re already married and we’re grown adults, and… well, Julian is reasonable.”
Rafe shook his head. “I can only hope he’ll be reasonable about this.”
