by Julia Latham
“Can we not feed our minds, our happiness, too? I think that is much of your problem, Adam.”
He swallowed his food and waited warily.
“You are not happy,” she continued.
“I am content,” he said, feeling foolish for being tense. Although he did take satisfaction in using her own word back at her. “Happiness will come later.”
“You cannot live your life like that, or happiness might never come. You have to be happy in the moment, as well as content. Let me help you learn that lesson.”
He frowned at her. “One cannot learn to be happy. One has to make such a reality happen.”
Softly, she said, “And happiness will happen when my father is dead?”
“Nay, not happiness,” he said. “Justice.”
“And that will make you happy.”
“Aye, it will.”
“What if you do not receive the justice you expect?”
He watched her intently. Again, she seemed to know more than she’d revealed. Or was she simply following this silly line of reasoning about happiness?
“I will make it happen,” he said with conviction.
“You cannot control other noblemen or the king. What if after all you’ve done, you cannot succeed?”
He leaned toward her across the table. “I am strong-willed, my lady. I can make anything happen.”
And in that moment, their conflict was forgotten, and Adam knew his words could refer to the simmering desire between the two of them. She blushed in the candlelight, creamy skin, pink cheeks, and eyes so bright and green he could see a summer’s day in them.
There was another knock on the door, and she rose to her feet, bumping the table in her urgency. Two menservants carried in a wooden bathing tub, followed by more servants with steaming buckets that were used to fill up the tub. Florrie’s face shone with more pleased excitement than Adam knew he’d ever inspired, he thought wryly. One man handed her sewing supplies, and she beamed at him as if he were her savior.
And then they were alone and her smile faded as she looked between him and the tub.
“I cannot leave you unprotected,” Adam said, “but I can turn my back and finish eating. Will you trust me?”
She nodded quickly and began loosening the laces at her neck before he’d even turned around. Adam faced the wall in disgruntlement, not certain if she had really learned to trust him—or she was simply desperate to bathe.
He continued to eat, almost able to ignore the rustling of her clothing. After all, she’d washed herself every night in water nearby. He was used to it, he firmly told himself.
Then he heard a splash, and a low moan of pleasure. He jabbed himself in the lip with his spoon.
“Oh, Adam, this is…heavenly,” she murmured. “Thank you so much.”
He put down the spoon for fear it would shake in his hand. He had to think about something else. “So you offered to mend my clothing. I understand that women normally sew much of the day?”
“Aye, there is a whole chamber in the castle for sewing. With so many residents, ’tis a never-ending chore. I am very good with the loom, too,” she added with obvious pride, “and I’m known for the patterns I can create.”
He thought of her doing such domestic things, and it made a soft portrait that pleased him—better to think of that than her naked so close to him, hands full of soft soap, rubbing her body…
“What else does a woman do?” he asked too forcefully.
“A woman must supervise everything domestic that happens within the castle, from the brewing to the butchering. Of course there’s always wool to be carded and spun. I have been taught the use of herbs as well, so people come to me for healing. And then there is so much to do in the gardens or in the dairy.”
“I am tired just listening to it all,” he said with amazement. “Anything else?”
“Well, my sisters never cared much for the business of running the castle, so when my father was gone, I consulted with the steward and made all the decisions, including anything involving our soldiers.”
He was so shocked, he looked over his shoulder, and saw the back of her head and her wet, glistening shoulders rising from the tub. He quickly turned back to the wall. “You—women learned to manage the business of the estate?”
“Of course. The men are often gone to London, waiting on the king’s pleasure. It was usually months before my father returned. And once, on a tour of his other properties, he was gone fifteen months.”
“And he wants to put you in a convent?”
“He has an heir to see to his commands now,” she said with no bitterness, but a sigh in her voice.
“Claudius Drake.”
“Aye, you’ve mentioned that you researched my family well. Now that he is married to my sister Matilda, he lives with us. I do not like him.”
“But I thought you wanted everyone to be as happy as you are,” he said with cynicism.
“Claudius should be happy with all that he has received—a wife, a second child on the way, his future as the marquess of Martindale. But he seems…greedy for more. When my father isn’t looking, Claudius eyes him like a hungry wolf. Matilda once confessed to me that he’d…taken her innocence before their marriage. She thought it was because he loved her so, but I secretly suspected it was to ensure that he received the marriage—and the dowry—that he wanted.”
“Why, Florrie, who could have guessed you could be so cynical?”
She hesitated. “Is it cynical not to lie to oneself? ’Tis simply the truth as I see it. But it does not pertain to me, so I have put it from my mind, hoping that Matilda does not suffer.”
“And is she suffering?”
“As I said, she is with child again,” Florrie said wryly.
He smiled. “It does not sound like she’s suffering to me.”
“The children will be within a year in age. That can be difficult for a woman.”
“And you know this how?”
She blushed. “I…have heard it said.”
“Now on this you will have to listen to me. Your sister wanted this marriage, and you want her happiness. It seems like she gave herself every opportunity.”
“She wishes to see her husband more.”
Now she almost sounded sullen. Florrie sullen? She seemed to have interesting relationships with her family.
“Tell me of your other sisters.”
“Agnes is married to a viscount and Christina is married to an earl.”
“How illustrious.”
“Christina, who is closest to me in age, has only been married less than a year. She lives near London. Perhaps I can see her before I return.”
To the convent.
The unspoken words lingered in his mind. And they made him angry with her family. “Are you finished with your bath?”
She gave a loud sigh. “I cannot soak in it longer?”
“Only if you want to share it with me. ’Tis my turn to bathe.”
She gave a little squeak, and with a grim smile, he began to remove his tunic.
Chapter 13
Shocked, Florrie glanced over her shoulder and saw that Adam was already pulling his tunic over his head. She stood up in the water, and even though he was keeping his promise not to look at her, she almost fell reaching for a bucket of fresh water to rinse herself. She dumped it over her head, letting the warm water take away the last bubbles of soap. After wrapping a linen cloth around her body and putting another about her hair, she held on to the edge of the tub as she stepped out.
She almost gave another foolish squeak when she saw that Adam had removed his shirt. She should have looked away—but she couldn’t. She’d seen his naked back more than once. Now in the light, she could see scars she hadn’t noticed before, a slash mark on his shoulder, a puckered ridge along his bicep, and more. He had fought hard for his life—and for the lives of others. That made him so appealing to her.
Yet tonight they were alone, indoors, pretending to be man and wife.
And he was about to bathe right next to her.
Perhaps it had not been so wise to do her own bathing right beside him. Had he felt as uneasy as she now felt?
“D-do you not want fresh water?” she asked.
“’Twill take too long.”
“Very well. I will keep my back turned,” she promised. “Please do not look this way, for I must dress.”
He nodded, but his attention was focused now on the tub. He was loosening the laces that held up his breeches. She whirled away and went to look for the clean smock she’d laid out. She pulled it over her head before removing the towel beneath, and only then did she feel a bit better.
She heard the splash of water as he entered the tub, and then his sigh of contentment.
She shivered, feeling all strange inside. This was desire again, she knew. She could not escape it where he was concerned. He was lying in water that had only recently touched her own body. It was…wicked…and too exciting.
She had to stay out of his way. He had a dangerous look in his eyes whenever she only wore her smock around him. Sitting at the table, she toweled her hair dry, but the damp ends made long wet marks on her thin garment. She shivered.
“Go warm yourself before the fire,” he said.
Without thinking, she glanced over her shoulder at him. His upper body didn’t fit into the tub, so she had an almost safe view of what she’d seen before.
“You were not supposed to look at me,” Florrie said primly.
“You’d already had plenty of time to dress.”
She said nothing else—she sounded petulant enough as it was. Quietly, she limped to the hearth, carrying Adam’s comb, and began to work it through her hair in the fire’s warmth.
She was directly in his line of sight now, and she knew he watched her. Water rippled softly as he soaped his body. Her flesh felt feverishly hot, and her hands trembled as she dried her hair. She’d never imagined that she could feel even more aware of him. She wanted to look at him, to see if it truly was his gaze making her feel so unsettled. Struggling against her urges, she deliberately stared at the embers of the fire, then added a few more twigs. But still, she wanted to look at him.
At last, she did. And he was watching her, his hands slowly soaping his chest. His eyes, usually so impassive, seemed to smolder with intensity. She couldn’t break away, only helplessly let herself be caught. She almost said she would leave until he was done, but he would only vault from the tub to stop her, to keep her safe. And she did not want to see him nude.
Though he’d seen her in such a state.
But she was not a woman to ignore things and hope they’d go away. She had to talk, but couldn’t bring up the feelings so tense between them.
“You…seem at ease with this situation,” she said at last, almost strangling on her words.
He arched a brow. “At ease?”
She nodded before he could go on. “Though you were sheltered growing up, you have been a man on your own. Have you been…naked around other women?”
He stopped washing himself and just blinked at her. “Are you asking if I have been intimate with women?”
She didn’t think she could blush any hotter, but it now seared her cheeks. “Nay—aye—oh, I do not know what I mean. We need to talk about something, or…or…”
He sat forward. “Or what?”
His voice was low, almost gravelly.
She shivered. “Please.” Her word was but a whisper.
At last he leaned back again and worked the soap down one arm. “If talking will help this…awkwardness, then by all means. Aye, I was sheltered, and saw few women as I was growing up. But once I began to work beyond the League compound, there were women available to me.”
“Of course there were,” she murmured, embarrassed. “There will always be such women who need the coin to survive.”
“I did not pay anyone to bed me.”
She glanced quickly at him. Though his smile was tight, it was there.
“I—I did not mean to insult you,” she said.
“No insult was taken.”
Now she found herself too curious, and though she turned to sewing to keep her hands busy while her hair dried, she had to ask, “So women simply…offer themselves to you? When you do not even know one another?” She could not imagine it.
“There are women who do not like to be alone,” he said slowly, “women who do not have your confidence, or your ability to be content. They need reassurance.”
“And you provided it?” Ooh, she should not have spoken, for she sounded almost…catty.
He gave a low laugh.
Before he could speak, she quickly said, “Nay, do not respond to that.”
“I am a man, Florrie. There has never been a woman long in my thoughts. So when one who appealed to me suggested an evening in her arms, I did not object. It did not happen more than a few times. Though it satisfied a physical need, it did not make me happy or content, all the things you prize so greatly.”
“Love would do that.”
He said nothing.
She could not help it—she looked at him, needing to see his expression. “You have never been in love with any of these women?”
He only shook his head.
“Do you want to be in love someday?” She hurried to add, “I only ask because marriage is something a man pursues, unless he enters the priesthood. For we women, ’tis more difficult.”
“It can be just as difficult for a man, especially if he has little money or property to offer in dower.”
Oh, she had not imagined that he might be poor. No wonder the League took him in, and he stayed even after he knew the truth of his parents’ murderer.
“I guess ’tis not so different between men and women,” she murmured thoughtfully.
“Do you not want to be in love, Florrie?” he asked.
She smiled. “’Tis not to be. I have known that most of my life.” She took a deep breath and put on a smile, even though she didn’t look away from the fire. “So you have heard what I do with my days. When you are not training, what do you like to do?”
“Besides look for available women?”
She gasped, feeling prim, even as she heard his low chuckle.
“I enjoy educating myself,” he said. “There is much knowledge to be had in the world, and I have been fortunate that the League has granted me access to it.”
“Books,” she murmured wistfully. “We only had a few. I am looking forward to reading more of them in the—”
“Do not say it,” he interrupted.
She looked at him again, and found him watching her solemnly.
“I cannot imagine a woman as vibrant as you imprisoned behind stone walls forever. Every time you talk about your future, something inside me grows dark with anger that your father is forcing such a life on you.”
“I can make any life a good life,” she said quietly.
“I hope that my future actions enable you to make your own choices.”
“You mean by killing my father?”
He said nothing, although she could see a muscle clench in his jaw.
“I do not think that will make you happy and content, Adam,” she said, lifting her chin. “But I cannot make you see that. And as for my father deciding my fate, if he were not there, it would be Claudius, a man I distrust. And would I be better off if he insisted I remain to be handmaiden to his wife, my sister? I think not.”
Something in his gaze softened. “Florrie—”
Suddenly, someone pounded on their door. Before she could even draw in a breath, Adam vaulted from the bathing tub. She saw his naked buttocks, water streaming down his legs, even as he pressed himself against the door to listen.
He motioned brusquely for her, and she caught up a linen cloth as she passed the tub. He grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him. She should be afraid, she knew, but he was there to protect her. She realized she trusted in his protection implicitly. The thought was more frig
htening than who was at the door.
She was pressed up against his wet back, but she pulled the cloth up between them, holding it to his hips with her fingertips, trying not to touch his smooth flesh, hoping he’d wrap it about himself. But he ignored it.
“Who is there?” Adam demanded in a harsh, cold voice.
“Ye’ve had the bathin’ tub long enough,” a man said. “’Tis me wife’s turn.”
She felt some of the tension leave his back. He even took the cloth and wrapped it around his waist, making her feel a little better.
Adam said, “The servants are coming back for it when I leave our linens in the corridor. ’Twill not be long.”
“See that it is not!” The grumbling faded down the corridor as the man stomped away.
Adam turned around to face her, opened his mouth, but said nothing, and she realized his gaze had dropped lower. She’d pressed so hard against his back that his wet flesh had dampened her smock in two circles over her breasts, allowing her to see the vague shadow of her nipples—and he could, too.
She gasped and fled across the chamber to the fire, where she plucked her garment away from her skin and prayed the heat would dry it quickly.
“So we are safe?” she asked over her shoulder.
“It appears that all we have to fear is an angry, dirty wife.”
The cloth rode low on his hips. He held it bunched at the front, as if he was hiding—
She turned away. “I will not look as you dress,” she said, leaning even closer to the fire, so she would at least have a reason for her red face. “Then I will wash our garments.”
“Let me rinse my body and shave first.”
She kept her back turned as he got into the tub to remove the last of the soap. But once he was moderately covered in a cloth again, she watched as he used a small hand mirror of polished steel that the servants had provided, standing over the tub to soap his face. With a dagger, he neatly sliced away the last of his dark beard, making him look younger—and letting her see the dimple in his chin. Even that made her feel all strange inside.
She did her best to ignore him as she washed out her two dresses and the other smock. To her surprise, he took each from her one at a time, and squeezed the last water out of them far better than she could have, then laid them across the table and chairs positioned near the fire. The muscles in his arms bunched and flexed as he moved, and she thanked God he did not lift his head to see her mouth agape at the splendor of him. How could anyone think only women were beautiful?
