Was that arousal?

Marie’s words came to mind. Was this the thing that would make it easier to endure penetration? Her cheeks flamed brighter.

You do not wish mere comfort, you want the same pleasure you witnessed.

Indeed she did, but at what cost? She needed to focus on the future that would come after she had yielded her innocence. Of course, she might conceive, making it very difficult to discard her, but not impossible.

She was still pacing and stopped when a trickle of sweat ran down the side of her face. Her skin was unusually sensitive. She realized how grimy she felt, the day of packing having left its mark.

Turning around, she went to the only things she had left in the room. A clean chemise and surcoat. After picking them up, she turned toward the door. The knights were still there, and they frowned when she opened the door.

“I am going below to bathe.”

One of them snapped his mouth shut quickly and considered her words. Bridget did not linger in the doorway. Striding forward, she descended the stairs but heard their boots hitting the floor behind her. Each footfall felt as if it pierced her. It was an effort not to wince. Only prisoners were guarded, and this lack of trust grated against her pride.

She moved faster, seeking out the privacy of the bathing room. It was next to the kitchens to make it easier to have warm water placed into the tubs. Theirs was a simple life with no time for hauling water to the upper floor. Such would be a selfish act. Her mother had raised her to be a good steward of the estate, thinking of the overall well-being of everyone instead of her own comforts.

The kitchens were built along the back of the house, a separate building to reduce the risk of fire. But wooden troughs were built between the walls of the kitchen and the bathroom. A pull on the bell cord and water could be dumped into one of the troughs in the kitchen, which would spill into one of the large tubs kept in the bathing room. There were three tubs and two others used for laundry. Bridget could feel the heat ten paces before entering the doorway. A splash made her stop. There was no way to keep her eyes from falling on the very bare shoulders of the man in one of those tubs. They were wide and covered in thick muscle.

“Who has come to help me?”

Curan sounded amused, and he turned with a grin on his lips. Surprise flickered in his eyes. His attention shifted to the two knights behind her and then onto the clothing draped over her arm. His lips twitched, and something flickered in his eyes that reminded her very much of Tomas when he looked at Marie.

“So you’ve come to help me as a wife should? How delightful. My back welcomes your sweet hands.”


Chapter Three




She didn’t have to remain.

Oh, yes you do, or he will call you coward, and it shall be the truth.

Bathing a guest was a time-honored trait of hospitality. Bridget was surprised her mother wasn’t in the room. She worried her lower lip. Considering how unhappy Curan was with her mother’s insistence that he return to London, maybe it was no surprise that he was bathing alone. Women might be legally chattel, but annoying the lady of the house was not a wise choice unless you enjoyed being overlooked by the staff.

“Unless you are too timid, Bridget.”

Challenge coated his words along with an arrogance that sent her temper back into flames.

“That is not a word I have heard used to describe me before.”

He turned his head and eyed her. The scrutiny needled her. Walking over to one of the clothing racks in the room, she laid her things on it. Set near the fire, the rack would allow the garments to be warmed while she bathed. A pair of britches was already there, along with a creamy shirt. Her gaze lingered on the male clothing for a moment.

“Good. I’ve little tolerance for timidity.”

“Is that another warning I should heed?”

Pausing to roll up her sleeves, Bridget kept her eyes on the fabric. She refused to worry if the man’s ego was bruised by her question. He was the one tossing out barbed comments, after all. She refused to buckle in the face of a few harsh words. A desire to show that to him refused to allow her to maintain a demure silence.

“It is not.”

There was a hint of remorse in his tone. But when she raised her eyes she found him watching her. Heat teased her cheeks almost instantly. Her poise deserted her for a moment, her eyelashes fluttering and breaking their connection. She detested the way she responded to him. Forcing herself to look straight at him, she refused to appear submissive. Let the man see that she was not some marzipan bride who would be easily molded to suit his ego, so perfectly molded into the ideal of beauty but with no strength.

This defiant gaze allowed her to view him completely. He had dark hair that was shiny from the water and curling gently across his forehead. There was nothing boyish about him. Not a hint of weakness anywhere on him. His shoulders were cut with thick muscles. Beginning at his wrists, his forearms were corded. That same condition continued up his arms, where his biceps rose into thick display. His chest was wide and had a sprinkling of dark hair across its expanse. She moved her gaze over his square-cut jaw to discover his eyes glittering.

More heat surfaced in her face. She glided toward him, reaching for the soap neatly laid out next to the tub. Bathing guests was a tradition because keeping fleas out of the house was a Herculean task that fell to the women. It was easier to control the pestilence by seeing to the scrubbing of all their guests.

She had assisted her mother many times, but today she paused before beginning the task in front of her. Touching Curan, even the idea of it, still caused a quaking inside her. Sending her hand along his shoulder, she hoped that the first contact might banish the anticipation, but it did not. Instead, she had to tighten her fingers on the soap to maintain her grasp on the slippery bar. A faint hint of rosemary arose from it. He leaned forward to allow her to wash more of his back.

Marie’s lessons suddenly surfaced above the strange quivering inside her, capturing most of her attention. The courtesan had never rushed. Drawing a deep breath, Bridget slowed her own motions, taking more time to smooth the soap across his shoulder blades. She made several lazy passes, making sure to work up a good lather before setting the bar aside and taking up a cloth. Even through the fabric, she felt the heat of his body. Her fingertips suddenly became more sensitive. They wanted to discover what he felt like when there was nothing between them at all.

Soon enough …

It was stunning how quickly her body responded to that idea. A flush of heat poured over her. No hint of night chill was left anywhere on her body. She was warm from head to toe, even longing to remove her outer dress.

“I enjoy your hands on me, Bridget.”

She fumbled the cloth, tightening her fingers to keep it in her grasp. A tiny gasp crossed her lips, and she looked at him to judge if he had heard it. There was no way to tell from the back of him. He stretched his hands out to the foot of the tub so that she might reach all the way down to his lower back.

“I believe I shall take to bathing twice a day.”

His words were arrogant, but her temper did not flare up. Instead her attention was captured by the hint of huskiness in his tone. She had heard it in Tomas’s voice, too. That bit of knowledge filled her with confidence. It was an odd feeling that combined with the quiver that touching him produced. She leaned over to work the cloth down his spine, and her senses filled with the scent of his skin.

It was dark and very male. What surprised her was the way she enjoyed it. Her nipples hardened even further. They ached behind her stays. Only this time she knew exactly what the little points craved.

The touch of his lips against them.

She trembled and hurried through the last few motions of washing his back. Becoming prey to lust would not assist her. She longed to have that last lesson with Marie. Maybe the courtesan would have given her instructions that would have enabled her to control her responses.

But that was not to be. So she reached for a small jug and pushed it beneath the surface of the water to fill it. Curan made a soft sound of enjoyment when she poured it over his back to rinse the soap away.

“Now my hair.”

He remained in place, with his head bent over the water.

You have washed many a head of hair, you ninny …

Not on a man she longed to touch, however. After pouring more water over his head, she set the jug aside. Her heart seemed to be working faster than it should be. Her breaths came in short gasps, too. Anticipation twisted in her belly so tight, she felt as if it would snap her in two.

“Come, Bridget, I believe you said you were not timid.”

His tone was still husky, but the mocking amusement mixed with it did stoke her temper. The flames burned away enough of her unsteadiness to allow her command of her hands.

“I did not realize you were in a hurry, my lord. Forgive me for taking up so much of your time.” Her voice was perfectly mild and polite. A true credit to every tutor her parents had paid to instruct her. She might have been talking about the laundry for all the emotion in her tone. If he wanted to treat her like a toy, she would give him the personality of a wooden top.

His face turned in an instant, his dark eyes stabbing into hers. He captured her hands that were reaching for his hair. His fingers curled easily all the way around her wrists to clamp them in a grip that felt like steel. Hunger danced in his eyes. And he tensed, as though he were going to rise. Her breath caught in her throat while she waited to see what he would do.

“I suppose toying with you means that I deserve the same in return.”

“I do not know what you mean.”

His lips pressed into a hard line while he considered her.

“Maybe not. Then again, maybe you are an accomplished female when it comes to twisting men.”

She dropped the soap. It sent water splashing up into his face. He shut his eyes quickly to avoid having the strong lye soap burn them. Any other time she would have been mortified to cause such concern to a guest. Yet for the moment, she was quite pleased.

“I have done no practicing on any men. I have never even bathed one before without my mother present, sir. You are the one who bid me enter else wear the title of timid.”

He released her wrists and drew his forearm across his face. But when he opened his eyes they glittered with amusement. A soft male chuckle filled the chamber.

“I suppose I have been in the company of men too long and forgotten that women do not enjoy being teased. Still, I find your tenacity enjoyable.”

“You were being insulting, my lord.”

He laughed at her words. This time it was a full sound of amusement. One hand disappeared into the water and retrieved the bar of soap.

“Possibly. Maybe I was merely admitting that having your hands on me twists my emotions.”

She almost dropped the soap again. Something crossed his face that fascinated her, something hard and hungry. The quiver inside her responded to it and increased tenfold.

He looked down again, but the hands that rested on the edge of the tub were gripping it. She stared at the white knuckles for a moment before drawing a deep breath. So strange. Yet so intoxicating. Reaching over the edge of the tub, she began washing his hair. It was silky-soft and thick. She had to work the soap into a lather and curl her hands to find his scalp. When she poured water over his head to rinse it, he shook like a large hunting hound. He scraped a hand down his face and opened his eyes before she had time to reach for a dry cloth for him.

His face reflected his dislike of being blind. That made sense. A man such as he most likely did not allow his guard down very often. He took the cloth from her hands anyway and dried his face with it. But when he pulled it away from his face, his lips were sitting in a mocking grin.

A second later he stood up. Water ran down his body, glistening in the firelight and turning him crimson. She couldn’t keep her gaze from tracing his long legs or from looking at his cock. It stood tall and proud, thicker than Tomas’s and longer, too.

“Aren’t you going to wash the rest of me, Bridget?”

He was toying with her again. She raised her eyes to his, determination making her bold.

“It is a truth that I have never washed the front of a male guest. My mother would never allow such. Yet who am I to argue with a baron?”