"A bath?" she echoed. "I've changed my mind--you can have me after all. " It was meant to be a joke, but it was a poor choice of words.
His eyebrow lifted again. "Kind of you," he murmured, "but I think I'll decline the sacrifice. "
She could feel her face redden. "I was being facetious," she said stiffly. "But the thought of a warm bath is quite. . . wonderful. Thank you. "
"My pleasure," he said. "Or not, as the case may be. "
"When. . . when do things start tonight?" He was wrong. The better she felt the more difficult it was going to be. An hour ago she'd been numb. She was coming back to life now, and the thought of what lay ahead of her was daunting.
"Late. I believe your part involves the thrust of midnight, so to speak. " He ran a careless hand through his thick brown hair, frowning at her. "You know they won't let you change your mind. They'll hold you down if you tell them no. "
"I won't change my mind. " She had no choice. Back out to wander the streets of Venice like a lost soul? She'd end up raped or dead.
He shrugged. "So be it. Marcello is waiting for you. Don't let him give you any trouble. He's a surly bastard. "
She was being dismissed. She rose, no longer as shaky as she had been, and he stayed where he was, watching her. She'd already gotten used to the fact that gentlemen didn't rise when she did. As a governess she was only slightly higher than a servant, but it still felt strange to have him lounge there insolently.
He was no longer the same man, she reminded herself, moving past him. But then his hand caught her wrist, halting her, and heat ran through her entire body, like an electric shock. She looked down at him, schooling her expression.
"You really don't know what you're doing, Miss Strong. "
"No, I don't. If I had experience of all this I'd be of no use to you and your degenerate friends. "
He released her, and she resisted the impulse to rub her wrist. It had been a light touch, and it burned. "Get some rest, Miss Strong," he said. And turned away from her to stare into the fire.
Marcello was beyond surly. He was more like a guard than a servant, and when he ushered her into the dark dressing room he was clearly impatient. But the copper bath was there, steam rising from the water, and she didn't care, barely noticing that he locked the door behind her.
There w
as a bright fire blazing in the fireplace, and the room was positively warm. She pulled off her clothes, her fingers clumsy in her hair, dumping them on the floor. Everything, including her chemise, when she usually kept that one for bathing. It wasn't until she slid into the hot water that she put her face in her hands and wept.
She stopped as quickly as she could, stiffening her shoulders. She didn't want to waste the warm water with foolish regrets. There was rose-scented soap, and she ducked her head under the water then scrubbed her hair with the soap. She washed every inch of her body twice over, until the water was growing cool, and then she lay back, resting her head on the edge of the tub and closing her eyes. She wanted to stay there forever.
She heard the lock in the door, but she was too sated with pleasure to pay attention, until the door opened. She started to sit up in panic, then realized that her breasts would be exposed if she did, so she sank lower in the tub, glaring as Alistair Rohan strolled into the room, closing the door behind him.
"I thought you would have been done by now," he murmured.
"If you'll go away then I'll finish," she snapped.
He leaned back against the door, surveying her lazily. "Oh, don't mind me. It's nothing I won't be seeing in full in about twelve hours. "
"Go away. "
"No," he said in a sweet voice. "But I'll give you a towel. "
She put out her hand, trying to keep the rest of her under the rose-clouded water. He pushed away from the door and came to stand over her, and she suddenly felt hot, so hot she wondered if the water would start to heat up around her once more. She took the towel and waited for him to move back.
He didn't. She glared up at him. "Go away," she said again.
"Don't waste your breath, my love. I'm not going anywhere. Here, I'll hold the towel for you. "
Even in the shadowy light he could see her glare, and he laughed. "Very well, I'll back off. A few feet. But we're going to have to talk, sooner or later. "
He really would stay there until she gave in. It was difficult, holding the towel in front of her as some kind of blanket, then trying to angle herself out of the tub without getting her hair wet all over again.
Author: Anne Stuart
She slipped, and he was there to catch her, lifting her out, the towel a thin layer between them, his hands on her naked back as he held her.