“One of love, respect, admiration. Honesty. Devoid of secrets.”
“People seldom share everything.”
“But this isn’t some trifling thing, Matthew. It’s the ugly truth of how I came to be.” She rubbed her hands briskly up and down her arms. “I told you earlier how dirty I feel, tainted. I took yet another bath this afternoon and failed once again to rid myself of the filth. It inhabits me.” Tears gathered along her lashes, and it was as though a storm pounded against him. “I’m ashamed. Ashamed that he’s part of me. Ashamed that I haven’t the strength to cast him off. That he continues to haunt me. How can I burden a husband, a family, with all that?”
He thought he knew her, understood, and he realized her devotion to those she cared for was far greater than any he’d ever known. She couldn’t shake off what she’d learned of her father because of her realization regarding the price her mother had paid and her worry for those who had yet to become a part of her life. She humbled him with her unselfishness, with her ability to always put others first.
She was struggling to adjust to what she now knew of herself, thought herself different because she wasn’t the result of a fairy tale, but of a nightmare. Yet she couldn’t see that the heart and soul of her remained the same. Because the maggot had not only touched her but her world, and in so doing, he’d coated her with his filth, and it had gone so deep that she couldn’t wash it off. But he knew how to rid her of it.
Shoving back his chair, he stood. “Where do you store your tub?”
Clearly taken aback, she blinked up at him. “I have a bathing room. Why?”
“I’m going to bathe you, and when I’m done, you’ll be so clean your skin will squeak.”
Fancy didn’t know whether to be horrified, wary, or intrigued as Matthew draped his jacket over the back of the chair, removed his neck cloth, unbuttoned three buttons, rolled up his sleeves, made himself at home within her small kitchen area, and began heating water. She decided on intrigued with a hint of wariness. “You can’t be serious.”
Settling his hips against the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest, and she fought not to notice how the action made his forearms appear as though they’d been cut from stone. “When I came out of the mines, I was covered in grime, so much so that every crevice and fold was filled with dirt. It was the one thing about working down there that I abhorred. I became very skilled at bathing thoroughly, and when I was done the water was murky.”
“But I’m not literally covered in dirt.”
“No, but you feel as though you are. You’ve confided that your own efforts have failed to yield results. So where’s the harm in letting me give it a try?”
“Through my clothing?”
Uncrossing those lovely arms, he approached her slowly as though she were a skittish mare that might bolt at any unexpected movement or sound. He stopped just shy of his chest brushing over her breasts, and her blasted nipples immediately puckered and strained toward him. He held her gaze with raw honesty. “My mouth has known a good deal of you intimately. You must know I will not take what you are not willing to give.”
But without her clothing, could she refrain from giving him everything? She trusted him more than she trusted herself. Danger hovered, but if he could rid her of the awful sensation of being mired in muck, she thought she stood a chance of coming back to herself. Ever since Dibble’s arrival, she’d felt lost, floundering. She wanted more than anything to be again on a steady course.
She nodded. With a smile of understanding and gentleness, he leaned in and bussed a tender kiss over her lips.
“Knowing what you do about my past, how can you stand to touch me?” she whispered.
“Because I don’t see him. I see only you. And when I am done, you’ll see only you, too.”
He turned away from her, and it took everything within her not to grab him, pull him back, and walk into the circle of his arms. Not until she felt clean, although already she felt less dirty. Just because of the way he looked at her, as though she were as she’d always believed herself to be: worthy of love.
“I’ll begin filling the tub.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond but went into her bedchamber and carried on through to the bathing room. She turned on the tap, watched the water come through the spigot. It was an improvement to how they’d taken baths at their mum’s, dragging in the tub from the shed and filling it by bucket loads from the kitchen sink. Mick had been researching how to get heated plumbing into his buildings, but had been unable to make it available as of yet. She was rather certain a time would come when everything would be more convenient.
Hearing the tread of heavy footsteps, she backed up against the wall and watched as Matthew came in holding the huge pot and poured the steaming water into the bath she’d prepared. He made several more trips while she fluttered uncharacteristically nervously around her bedchamber.
Finally, he announced, “It’s ready.”
She wove her fingers together. “I think you made the water hotter than I did. I could just bathe myself.”
“You’ve done that twice already today. It didn’t help.” He held up one hand, flexed his fingers. “I have magic here.”
“The next thing I know you’ll be performing on the street, competing with the Fire King.”
He laughed, deeply and richly, then sobered. “I don’t share them with just anyone. Only the most special of ladies.”
Her heart warmed. He made her feel as though he cared for no one as much as he did her.
He set aside the pot he’d been holding. “I’ll unfasten you.”
Standing at the foot of the bed, she turned and grabbed the intricately carved poster, presenting him with her back. His hands were slow and steady as he loosened her lacings, while hers had begun to grow damp with the slightest bit of trembling in anticipation of his touch grazing over more than cloth. “You should probably remove your waistcoat and shirt so they don’t get wet.”
She didn’t much like the hint of breathlessness in her voice, but when he pressed his mouth to her spine at the base of her neck, the hint disappeared completely as her ability to draw air into her lungs deserted her.
“What a wise woman you are. Can you handle the remainder of your clothing or shall I see to it?”
“I can handle it.”
She mourned the loss of him when he moved away. “I’ll give you a few minutes and then join you at the tub.”
Nodding, she listened as his footsteps heralded his departure. Then she dashed to the tiled room, quickly shed her clothing, piled it in a corner, and sank into the incredibly warm water, hotter than she’d ever had the patience to make it. Carting in heated water had never been her favorite task, and she usually did it only long enough to get the water comfortable. She would have to rethink the value of the effort because this was lovely.
Hearing a slight scrape, a bump, she grew still and waited. She thought she should have been nervous, but she’d never not felt comfortable around him. And he had done deliciously wicked things to the most private and intimate places of her body. She wasn’t hypocritical enough now to tell him he couldn’t touch, especially when she loathed her very skin. She’d nearly scrubbed it raw that afternoon.
He was so quiet she barely heard him when he walked in. His waistcoat was gone but his shirt remained. He placed a stack of books against the wall and set a lamp on top of them. “You didn’t let down your hair.”
“It doesn’t need to get wet. It takes forever to dry.”
“Mmm. We’ll see.”
He disappeared and the light above went out, leaving her in a room barely lit with shadows dancing around. When he returned, the shirt had been discarded and she found herself staring at a smooth, finely chiseled chest as he crouched before her and offered her a glass of wine. She did wish he’d left the light above on. Some of the dips and shallows were lost to the shadows, and she couldn’t see them as clearly as she’d have liked. Beneath the water, her fingers flexed in want of a touch. She
had to calm them before lifting one hand from the water, focusing on the stem to wrap them around, rather than the breastbone over which they longed to trail.
“I’ve never had wine in the tub.”
“It’ll help you to relax. I always enjoy a bit of scotch while bathing.”
“It seems rather decadent.”
“Exactly.”
She warmed at the low word that seemed filled with promise. Taking a sip of the wine, she positioned her arm so it rested on her breasts, providing them with a bit of cover from his wandering gaze. She didn’t think anything farther down in the tub could be seen too clearly, although it was silly to be modest now when he’d seen everything so very closely the night before.
Had it been only a night since her world had collapsed around her? Perhaps she was being unfair to believe she could recover so quickly.
She watched, mesmerized, as he dipped one of her soft linen cloths in the water at the far end of the tub. His muscles flexed as he squeezed out the excess dampness.
“We’ll start with your face.”
Gently he touched the linen to her forehead. “And where will you end?”
He grinned wickedly. “With your toes.”
Tenderly he skimmed the cloth around her face, along her nose, over her mouth, across her chin. Then he studied her as though he were to take an exam the following day and would be required to draw a likeness of her. “I see no evidence of him.”
She nibbled on her lower lip before taking another sip of the wine.
“You don’t have his chin,” he said quietly. “You look exactly like the woman in the photograph behind whose skirt you were hiding.”
Her smile was small, tentative. “My mum.”
He nodded. “You’re not as old, of course, but all the lines are the same.”
“I’ve been told on numerous occasions that I’m her spitting image.”
“Believe it.”
“But he had to have given me something.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Maybe it’s something deep within me, something that can’t be seen.”
“Your spleen perhaps.”
With a choked laugh, she looked at him, at the twinkle in his eyes, and felt the tiniest spark of joy.
“Definitely not your heart, sweeting.”
Although her heart was beginning to feel as though it wasn’t hers any longer, was beginning to feel as though it might belong to Matthew. He reached for the milled soap, settled it in the palm of his large hand, and dipped it in the water, avoiding her raised knee, avoiding touching any aspect of her. Then he was rubbing it over the cloth, saturating it with the fragrance wafting up as a result of his actions.
He seemed at once intrigued and awed. “So this is why you always smell like oranges.”
“That, and I have one every morning for breakfast. When I was little, I’d stick my finger in the pulp and dab it along my throat, like it was perfume.”
“Imitating your mother putting on perfume?”
“No, she would never spend coins on something so frivolous. She’d put a spot of vanilla behind her ears. Mick brought her an expensive bottle of perfume once. It just sits on her dresser, never used. I think she believes it to be too precious because one of her children gave it to her.”
“She sounds like a remarkable woman, your mother.” With the cloth covering his palm, he glided it over her neck and shoulders, massaging as he went, and she feared she’d never be able to take another bath without reliving these sensations.
He took the cloth only to where the water lapped against her breasts. He didn’t dip there, even though she wouldn’t have objected. He closed his hand around her arm and lifted it from the water. She watched as his jaw momentarily clenched and his eyes shuttered. “You abraded yourself.”
“I scrubbed too hard,” she whispered, “but it made no difference.”
“It’s not harshness that’ll do the trick. It’s tenderness.” He washed her arm with such deliberate care that she nearly wept.
Remarkably, when he was done, she felt as though the skin were pristine. Wherever he touched, she felt renewed, unsullied. Taking the now empty wineglass from her, he proceeded to wash her other arm. “You’re very good at this.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about doing it.”
A jolt of surprise hit her. “You’ve thought about washing me?”
Folding her fingers over his hand, he brought them to his lips and pressed a warm kiss there, all the while holding her gaze, challenging her. “I’ve thought about doing a lot of things with you.”
He’d left her other arm lying along the lip of the tub. Lifting her finger, she grazed the tip of it from his collarbone to the center of his chest and knew victory when his eyes slid closed.
He hated that this strong woman was doubting herself, hated even more that he was having to work so hard not to take advantage of the situation. His true motive had been to make her feel clean again, but when she touched him with little more than the tip of a finger, it was all he could do not to join her in the tub. He’d even keep his trousers on. He just wanted to take her in his arms and hold her close.
Instead he set that lovely hand back on the edge of the tub and moved behind her. “Sit up. I’ll get your back.”
“You’re determined to wash all of me.”
Every bloody inch, and for some spots, he wasn’t averse to not using the linen, but rather his tongue. The water splashed in minute waves as she brought her knees to her chest, leaned forward, and wrapped her arms around them, placing her cheek against them, revealing the delicate expanse of her back. “I suspect you weren’t able to reach here earlier.”
“No, not all of it.”
Setting the linen aside, he rubbed the soap between his hands until it nearly slipped from his grasp. After putting the soap within easy reach, he spread his hands wide and laid them against the center of her back. Slowly he glided them up and over her shoulders, down and across her hips. Her low moan caused him to smile. “Like that?”
“Very much. I have a feeling it’s very, very dirty and is going to need you to go over it several times.”
It was the most lighthearted thing she’d said since the early hours of the morning, and his chest expanded with pleasure and triumph. Easing up, he rested his lips against her ear, relishing the feel of the damp tendril that had escaped her bun catching in his whiskers. “Feeling cleaner?”
“Remarkably so. You touch me as though he doesn’t matter.”
“He doesn’t. You are your own woman, Fancy. I knew that the moment I first walked into your shop and saw you.” With the pads of his thumbs and fingers, he kneaded her shoulders and back, her skin slick and like silk beneath his touch.
She groaned. “I’ve never experienced anything like that before.”
“The other ways I’ve touched you . . . have you experienced them?”
Turning her head slightly, she looked back with a mischievous smile on her face that brought him more joy than anything else in his life ever had. “I’d accuse you of taking liberties, but I’m afraid it would make you stop.”
“I won’t stop until you tell me to.”
“Then we’ll be here until dawn.”
“The water will grow cold. It’s already cooling.”
“But you’ll warm me, won’t you?”
In ways he shouldn’t. “I’ll always warm you.”
“Are you dirty, Matthew?”
His breath hitched, his lungs froze. Danger lurked on the horizon, and he ignored it. “I certainly can be.”
She gave a little laugh, twisted slightly, and reached back for him. “I want your entire body to wash all of mine.”
“Fancy, my resistance to you is weakening by the minute. I want you to know that to me you are no different today than you were yesterday. But if I shed my trousers and climb into that tub—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips. “I know. But I want to feel clean inside and out. I want to be clean all over.”
&
nbsp; She’d never been quite so brazen, so bold. But then neither had she ever wanted anything as much as she wanted him. Not just his hands, but every inch of him.
He made the past not matter, only the present, only the future. While she knew that lords wanted their wives untouched, she was no longer certain she was going to follow that path.
Not because of the man who’d sired her. Matthew had the right of that. Dibble was inconsequential, nothing to her. He’d planted his seed and moved on. He had no claim on her. And even if she disagreed with Matthew’s assessment of her chin, she knew it didn’t matter. The love that had surrounded her as she’d grown up had mitigated anything at all that had to do with the man who’d come to her door with his ugliness. She’d allowed viciousness to seep into her, but Matthew had countered it with tenderness and care.
And he was the reason she was questioning her future, that this moment felt perfect and right. She knew that no matter what tomorrow brought, she would not regret what she felt now.
She watched as he unbuttoned the fall of his trousers. As he shoved them down and stepped out of them, she caught sight of his feet and realized why he’d been so quiet entering earlier. He’d removed his boots. Lifting her gaze, she stopped it halfway up, having caught sight of something more. “Aren’t you magnificent?” she asked, her voice low and raspy.
“Are you referring to me or my cock?”
With firm thighs, toned stomach, corded muscles, he reminded her of marble statues of the gods. “Do I have to choose?”
His laughter echoed around the room as he stepped into the tub, the water creating waves as he lowered himself and took her in his arms so the entire length of her was pressed up against him. “When we leave this tub, your hair is coming down.”
She barely had time to smile and nod before his mouth captured hers and disintegrated the last bit of grime that had been clinging to her. Nothing mattered except for him, except for them.
His hand traveled along the length of her back, over her bottom, along her thigh, hooked beneath her knee and draped it over his hip so he could settle more intimately against her. And she welcomed the feel of him. The water had begun to cool, but now it seemed so much hotter. She felt hotter, warmed to the core.
The Earl Takes a Fancy Page 24
