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He stood up and walked to the table. To her surprise, she watched him lift her gold chain first, examine it, and then finger the lapis beads before he picked up the brooch. He half-turned toward her. “Is this the one?”

“Yes.”

He grunted, turning it over as he began to speak. “The family jewelry was broken apart during the war and donated to further the northern cause.”

Aimee nodded, drawing up her knees and hugging them. “Your sister said as much.”

“There are some stones my father put by. With your leave, I will get two of them added to this brooch.”

Aimee flushed. “That would be lovely,” she said simply. “I think Freda would like that.”

He frowned. “And what of you, wife? Should you like that?”

“O-of course!” Aimee stammered, wondering at his expression.

His gaze fell. “I should have had it done before,” he murmured. “I am not good at such … attentions. Not like you.” He lifted his hand, and she saw he was showing her the signet ring upon his finger.

Aimee felt her heart lurch. “It fits?” she asked breathlessly. He nodded. “I’m glad.”

He dropped his hand and glanced about. “Should I leave you to your bath now?” he asked, his tone gruff.

“Stay if you wish it,” she answered uncertainly, though if that was the case, she had no clue what she was supposed to do with him. He gave a brief nod and dropped back into the chair next to the fire. He did wish to stay! Aimee gazed at him in something like astonishment. He had not shown much partiality for her company thus far.

A rap on the door made them both jump, and Golda sailed in carrying a small bottle of milky looking fluid. “Your father’s warehouse sent over a new one, milady,” she said, pulling out the stopper and sniffing it. “Smells like roses.” Then she caught sight of Lord Kentigern and gave a violent start. “Oh, you did make me jump, milord!” she berated him before something occurred to her and she gave him a swiftly assessing look. “Happen you’ll find this more of a treat than me.” She thrust the bottle toward him. “Here.”

“Golda!” Aimee protested.

“What is it for?” Lord Kentigern asked, taking the bottle from her and sniffing it.

“For applying to her ladyship’s skin after bathing,” Golda answered swiftly. “It keeps it supple and sweet-smelling.” She snatched up one of the large drying cloths from the chair and approached Aimee with it, shaking it out.

Seeing as her servant had stepped between her husband and the bath, Aimee made haste to rise out of the water and was enveloped in the large sheet and wrapped about with it. Golda fetched the second sheet from the chair and wrapped it about Aimee’s long hair before leading her in front of the fire and swiftly departed.

Aimee looked after the rapidly disappearing servant with an open mouth. “Gol –” The door shut firmly behind her. “Oh.”

“It seems Mistress Golda expects me to attend on you this evening,” her husband said with a quirk of his lips. If she didn’t know any better, she would almost think he was amused by the notion.

“You don’t have to …”

“Never let it be said that I shirk my duties.”

Aimee stared at him. The lurking gleam in his eye indicated he was jesting. “Well, but –” she started to protest, but he was already pouring a drop of the scented liquid into his hand and rubbing his palms together.

“Come here.” He widened his legs so Aimee could stand between them, and she shuffled closer, still clutching at her sheet. He reached for one of her hands and placed it on his shoulder. At the feel of that solid muscle under her fingers, Aimee’s heart gave a squeeze. “Lift your foot.”

It took her an instant to register his words, but when she did so, she found it immediately engulfed in his large hands. “How’s that?”

Aimee gave an approving murmur as he stroked his thumb over the arch of her foot. “Nice,” she admitted cautiously.

“Your father sells this stuff?” he asked. She nodded. “I thought he was a spice merchant.”

“That was how he started out,” she agreed. “But he soon expanded. Now he imports all sorts of wares, including scented oils, balms, and lotions.”

“Mmmm. Have you ever traveled with him?”

“Not since I was small. We visited the lands of my mother, but I do not remember it as well as Ursula.” Her voice wobbled as he stroked his fingers up over her ankle and calf, tickling the back of her knees. His touch was light though his fingers were rough and calloused. “My father has not traveled the routes for many years. Not since he established them and hired dependable delegates.”

“Other foot.” He poured more from the bottle, and she stood on her other foot as he repeated the firm, light strokes.