He dipped behind her, his lips perilously close to her ear. She could feel the warmth of his breath, the heated press of his body scandalously close to hers. The devil insisted on teasing her so!
“Kitty,” he finally said.
There was a hint of bemusement in his tone. A touch of curiosity and something unidentifiable. Yet her body reacted shamelessly, that peculiar heat curling from her toes all the way to her throat.
“Allow me to assist with drying your hair.”
A subtle tremor flowed through her limbs. “I… My hair is the least of my worries.”
As if to mock her words, rivulets of water trailed from her forehead down her cheeks and neck. The icy water still soaking her strands dripped onto her face and throat. And a mortifying sneeze slipped from her.
“I would hate for you to fall ill…or worse, meet death because of a false sense of propriety. We are alone. No one shall ever know how we assisted each other. We’ll share a secret, Miss Danvers, and quite a wicked one, too.”
“You have my permission.”
He removed the pins from her hair, tumbling the wet, heavy coil over her shoulders down to her lower back. A towel was pressed to her strands, and he attempted to dry her thick mass with brisk movements. His economic movements reassured her, and some of the tension eased from her frame.
“Do you need help in undressing?”
It was impossible for her to remove her carriage gown without aid. How would she reach the hooks and small buttons of her various garments? Kitty had never had a reason to attend to her own dressing. Even now, with their finances so dire, their mother allowed for the hiring of a lady’s maid, whom all her girls shared. The proper appearances had to be maintained.
No one will know…
“Yes,” she said so softly, it was a wonder he heard.
Awareness of her vulnerability seeped into every crevice of her being. In silence he unfastened her gown, and the heavy, sodden garment dropped to the ground. She was suddenly petrified to face him, though she remained in her stays and petticoats. Never had she been in such a state before a man.
“There is another matter that we must discuss.”
Her entire body quaked when he slowly, oh so slowly tugged at the laces of her stay. “And that is?”
“There is only one bed.”
That was the last thing Kitty expected the duke to say.
Her gaze jerked to the small but seemingly sturdy bed flushed in the far corner of the cottage. One bed…one bed…oh! Then she considered the two small padded armchairs by the fire in the parlor. With his leg bothering him, it would be selfish to even think for him to retire in one of them. But might she push the two chairs together and find some sleep atop its lumpy cushions?
“Are you thoroughly wet?”
She snapped her head around to meet his regard. The deep blue of his eyes glinted with wicked knowledge and mirth. For an alarming moment she’d thought he referred to the strange dampness she could feel between her thighs, where that unladylike ache resided.
Fighting another dreaded blush, she turned away from his too-knowing stare and faced the armoire. “Yes, all my garments are dreadfully soaked.”
“Should I then remove your stays…and petticoats?”
She was stricken to silence and was aware of nothing but the hammering of her heart. Dear God. Kitty closed her eyes. And there will be no marriage after this.
She tried to think logically. The air was chilled and the fire in the hearth barely suffused the room with warmth. She was sodden through, and it would be impossible to remain in this clothing. He was being so matter-of-fact about it…except his voice had a low, raspy quality that did utterly odd things to her heart. How it tumbled and flipped with frightful intensity.
How do I dare? The wildest improbabilities darted through Kitty’s thoughts. “Yes,” she finally said. “I certainly do not wish to catch my death.”
He jolted, then faltered into remarkable stillness. Clearly the duke hadn’t anticipated her response. They stood silently, breathing together. Her body felt incredibly alive, every sense feeling somehow keener, sharper. A bittersweet longing flooded her. She braced herself against the rioting, foolish needs with a long, steady breath.
His hands tugged at her stays. Her lids fluttered closed, her heart a thundering roar in her ear. I am three and twenty, she reminded herself fiercely. Not a silly miss.
It did not work. The shivering sensation low in her stomach i
ntensified and felt as if she were falling…endlessly.