And now he was even more terrified. Because their kiss had answered one question and raised a thousand more. Instead of getting her out of his system, it had planted her at the heart of it. He needed more and—frighteningly—he suspected he always would.
A lifetime of kissing her would not be enough to sate the need that consumed him.
The door between their rooms taunted him. It was everything he could do not to walk right through it and sweep her into his arms.
But she was a distraction he didn’t need, especially given the news he’d received while she was bathing, and he was downstairs trying not to think of her bathing.
The Americans were backing out of their agreement with the firm.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he yanked off his boots and tossed them. Bloody.Thud. Hell.Thud.
The deal with Grunt and Harcombe had been as good as done. He’d already ordered the additional steel, already hired more men. The entire damn village knew about it. They were expecting big things, expecting production of the new steam locomotives to begin. How the devil was he going to explain that years of work had been undermined by marriage to Lady Amelia Crofton?
He stripped to his smalls. A hot bath would be good. It would clear his mind so he could focus on finding a solution to this disaster.
He just prayed his wife had left him some hot water—or at least had one of their new footmen bring some more water up to boil.
He pushed open the door to his dressing room and went stock still. The sight of his wife, naked in the bath, cemented his feet to the floor. The only part of him that could move was his jaw, which dropped open.
“Get out!” Her typically measured tones became a shriek. A bar of soap sailed past his head. She sank neck-deep below the waterline, one arm crossed over her breasts, another reaching to cover her sex.
But enough of her naked body showed through the water that he was captivated.
“Benedict, out.”
The imperiousness in her tone brought him back to his senses. And as usual, pricked enough that he needed to prick back.
“You arestillbathing?” He crossed his arms. Perhaps it would fool her into thinking he had the upper hand.
Her eyes widened, fixated on his biceps. His skin heated under the weight of her gaze.
“I like long baths,” she said, distracted.
“Your long bath is up, princess. It’s my turn.” He tried to keep his eyes on hers, not letting them drift down toward her body.
“Then leave so I can get out.”
Benedict couldn’t leave any more than he could dance a cotillion. Some primal part of him wanted, needed, her here, naked in his den. He took a towel from the chair and tossed it at her. Instinct made her grab for it, and in doing so, she inadvertently gave him a quick glimpse at her breasts, full and luscious.
“Cover yourself if you must,” he said, walking to the basin where he kept his shaving accessories. He could see her in the mirror’s reflection, but from the way she relaxed, blowing a strand of hair from her face, she clearly didn’t realize.
He studied her in every entrancing detail, waiting to see what she’d do.
She draped the towel across the bath. Damnation. He should have had smaller ones made for her, ones that didn’t cover every inch.
She was studying him too. He saw her eyes travel from his calves and thighs fully covered by his thin smalls, over his arse to his naked back. Thank the devil his back was toward her—his cock throbbed as though her roaming gaze drew across his skin like fingernails.
He looked down at the utensils in front of him to avoid meeting her eyes in the mirror. Cowardice, really. He was afraid she’d run. Afraid she’d look at him in disgust at his size, at the body shaped by long hours of manual labor.
Afraid that shewouldn’tlook at him in disgust, because then he’d have no bearings at all.
“You’re half naked.” There was a hitch to her voice.
He picked up the soap, vigorously rubbing it between his hands, trying to burn through the energy that had seized him the moment he’d walked in the room. “I’m your husband. You were bound to see me this way at some point.”
He hadn’t pushed her. Restraint had been the hardest damned thing he’d done when every fiber of his body burned for her. But she wasn’t some woman to enjoy for one night. They had a lifetime ahead of them, and while they might never love one another, he was hoping for some form of like in his marriage bed.
She didn’t answer, which in itself was an encouragement. It wasn’t a “stay” but it wasn’t a “go” either.
