Katherine doesn’t leave.
“Are both kittens staying, Katia? The one in the basket. The other with claws.”
“Here to scrub His Grace’s back. I’ll make sure you don’t overexert yourself. It’s the least a good mistress can do.”
Oh, Katia has come to play. This foolhardiness invigorates me. Two can be brazen. “Strip me then.”
When servants remove my robe and nightshirt, she doesn’t avert her eyes. Her expression—that shiny black gaze with flecks of gold—pierces me.
Mr. Steele comes from my closet with a fresh shirt, black pantaloons, and a waistcoat of emerald. “Lady Hampton. I was not aware that you’d come.”
Steele’s expression stays blank until he turns to the kitten. “Lada cleans up well.”
“Lada? As in Anya’s kitten?”
Katherine’s cheeks color. “It was the first name that came into my head. I must’ve remembered.” She kneels beside the tub and lathers the brush with the French-milled soap I like. “Mr. Steele, clear the room. And will you watch my kitten?”
Steele looks at both of us. He motions to the footmen to leave. He picks up the basket with the cat and moves to the door. “Call for me when you are ready to rise.”
My faithful servant bows and leaves.
It’s just me, Katia, and hot, steamy water. The smooth bristlesof the brush lie against my chest. How they sweep over my skin takes me back to our dacha by the river, our wedding trip. Katherine did take care of me.
I close my eyes and rest against the tub. The heated copper soothes my skin and unleashes some of the tightness binding my chest.
“There. You’re smiling. This must be to your liking.”
“Well, you haven’t tried to drown me. That is good.”
“Chilly. Does it feel chilly to you?”
Beads of sweat are on my brow. “I’m fine.”
“Not good enough.” She lifts from my side and goes to the fireplace. “The room should be very warm for you.”
The steam and the scent of lavender open up my nostrils. The constant pain begins to dull, helped along by the sight of Katherine bending over in front of my hearth—her slim waist made noticeable by the apron ties, her wide hips flared by her stooping position, and that round bottom. Something I’ve always admired.
“Katia, I … I thought I said our bet was no more. St. Peter might not accept a gambler.”
She turns and faces me. “He doesn’t need to take you now. And you hired me.”
“I what? Must be a translation problem. Could you say this again in Russian?”
Katherine floats behind me and kneels. The vixen’s charcoal-roughened hands land on my neck, loosening knots. “The Duke of Torrance hired me, or you won me. That means you get whatever you want,” she whispers.
Her palm caresses my chin. From a pocket, she pulls a razor.
There isn’t time to fear what madness has taken her. “At least I’ll be clean-shaven for eternity.”
“Jahleel, what are you babbling about?”
“You’re killing me with kindness, slitting my throat with your sweetness.” I bang the copper and vibrate with the echo. “But if this is all to lull me into a false sense of security, the tub will be efficient for catching my foul blood.”
Katherine doesn’t respond. The next thing I know, she’s put suds on my cheeks and started shaving me. When she’s done, she wipes the silver blade on a towel and says, “There. Handsome and clean. That’s my Duke of Torrance.”
Yours? “Oh, you want something. And we know it’s not me. Tell me why you are—”
Her hands slip into the water and find the small of my back. The pressure is just right. I can take a deep breath without pain. “Katia, you remember?”
