“I see.”
So did he. Far more than what was proper.
He averted his gaze and cleared his throat. “Where do you keep your nightgown?”
“In the top drawer of the dresser.”
Simon crossed to the piece of furniture, opened the drawer, and pulled out the garment he sought. Cut from the finest white muslin, with lace trimming and satin ribbons adorning the edges, it really wasn’t much better than the chemise in terms of protecting her modesty. But if it would make her more comfortable, then he’d certainly not be the one to point out the obvious.
Aware that what came next might cause her embarrassment, he said, “I can help you get changed in the dark. Furthermore, I promise not to look.”
“I’m sure I can manage alone.”
“Are you?”
She frowned at the nightgown. “Not really.”
“All right then. Do you trust me?” He knew he was asking her a difficult question after everything they’d just been through, so he hastened to add, “I want to help you. That’s all.”
“If we’re to move forward, we have to start somewhere. So yes, I’ll allow you to help.”
No promise of trust, but the joyous relief her words gave him felt wonderful all the same. “Thank you.” It was a test, he realized. Most likely the first of many.
Determined to prove himself worthy, he snuffed out the light and closed his eyes. “Take my hand.”
She placed her palm in his and allowed him to help her rise.
“Now, you’ll have to guide me a little,” he told her. “Help me find the edge of your chemise.”
Taking both his hands, she placed them on either side of her, leading his fingers toward the fine hem until he was able to catch it. Doing his best to refrain from touching her, he pulled the fabric out to the sides, as far away from her body as possible, before beginning to lift it. But when he reached the spot where her hips flared out, he had no choice, and his knuckles scraped over her skin.
She chuckled.
“What is it?” he asked, surprised by the sound since neither had spoken for quite a while.
She chuckled again. “It tickles.”
He smiled. “This?”
“Stop it,” she grinned when he repeated the motion.
Simon’s heart soared. This was good. He loved that he’d managed to make her laugh. It boded well for their relationship and for the future.
Continuing his upward progress, he helped her raise one arm, then the other, while easing the chemise over her head. It caught on her ear for a second until he carefully pulled it free and managed to toss it aside. Inhaling deeply, he did his best not to think of the fact that Ida was presently standing before him without a stitch on. He desperately wanted to open his eyes, to take a small peek, but feared doing so would ruin the progress he’d made.
“Can you give me the nightgown?” he asked.
She did so, her fingers carefully guiding his until they found the opening for her head. He lifted the garment until she told him to stop, then lowered it until it was time to help her get her arms through the sleeves. It was a slow-going process, but it was also more intimate than any other activity he’d ever been a part of. With anyone. When the nightgown finally slid into place, he exhaled a breath he’d not known he’d been holding.
“You can open your eyes now,” she said.
So he did.
It was just as he had predicted. Even in the darkness, the thin fabric hid little.
Simon’s heart raced. His fingers itched with the need to reach out. A ravenous ache settled deep within him, and before he knew what he was doing, before he could even think, he’d taken a step toward her. She sucked in a breath, the sound like a siren’s call to his ears, driving him closer, beyond the bounds of all reason.
He lowered his head and was met by velvety softness.
