“Lady Kassia?”
A plump gray-haired woman approached her and proffered a deep curtsy.
“I am Margaret, my lady. The duke told us to expect you.”
“I am so pleased you are here,” Kassia told the woman with a tired smile.
Margaret clucked around her, much in Etta’s manner, and Kassia allowed herself for some minutes to be cosseted. She was led upstairs to a comfortable chamber, where another fire burned.
“For you and your lord,” Margaret said.
There were fresh reeds on the stone floor and a tapestry of vivid colors covering one wall. A large bed was set upon a dais, and there were several high-backed chairs surrounding a small circular table.
“I believe I have died and gone to heaven!” Kassia exclaimed.
“I will kiss the duke’s feet,” Etta said fervently.
“I will have the wenches bring you hot water for a bath,” Margaret continued placidly. “My husband, Sarn, will assist your lord to see to the horses and wagons. You need do naught, my lady, but see to yourself.”
Etta hurrumphed when Margaret started to assist Kassia out of her wet cloak, and the woman merely smiled, curtsied again, and left the chamber, saying over her shoulder, “The duke sent an entire pig for your first meal. After you have rested, my lady, we will have the evening meal.”
“Etta,” Kassia scolded her old nurse, “you are wet through! You see to yourself. I am not helpless, you know.”
Kassia was immersed to her chin in a wooden tub filled with blessedly hot water when Graelam entered the chamber.
She forgot the restraint between them, forgot she was naked, and said happily, “The duke must be the most thoughtful man in all of England! I do not even have to see to the preparation of dinner! And this room is so pleasant and so very warm! Was all as you wished, my lord?”
He smiled at her wearily. “Aye, everything is fine. I will give you five more minutes in that tub, Kassia.”
She flushed, and quickly ducked her head underwater to wet her hair. When she emerged from the tub, Graelam was wearing his bedrobe, seated in front of the roaring fire. She quickly toweled herself dry and wrapped a small linen towel about her wet hair.
“I was very dirty, Graelam,” she said, eyeing the bathwater.
“I called for clean water,” he said, not turning.
Kassia heard the heavy footsteps outside their chamber and scurried to pull on her bedrobe, drawing the belt tight about her waist.
She was combing out her hair in front of the fire when Graelam said from the tub, “We will have our meal here this evening. Tomorrow we will go to the tower.”
Kassia paused a moment in her combing and said tentatively, “I should like to see everything, my lord. I fear I was too tired today to appreciate England’s capital.”
“Aye,” he said, closing his eyes, “it has been a long time since I was here. I remarked changes. We will see everything you wish to see.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. “Do you wish me to assist you, my lord?”
“Bring me a towel,” he said, rising.
She tried to avoid looking at his body, but failed dismally. Her fingers itched to tangle themselves in the thick mat of black hair on his chest, to stroke over the velvet smoothness of his back. It had been so long! Her mind warred with her body, and in that moment she hated him for teaching her pleasure, for teaching her body to respond to him. Her eyes fell to his groin and she felt heat suffuse her loins. But he hated her, she reminded herself, forcing her eyes upward. She met his dark gaze and gulped.
“The towel, Kassia,” he said, holding out his hand.
She thrust the towel at him and quickly turned back and sat before the fire.
She knew he had seen the desire in her eyes, and she wanted to kick herself. She heard him say very calmly from behind her, “I will part your sweet thighs, my lady, and caress you until you scream with pleasure, if you will but admit, finally, the truth to me.”
She wanted to yell at him, to plead her innocence yet again. But it would do no good. Why not simply tell him what he wanted to hear? She froze at the thought, for she knew what the result would be. He would possibly forgive her, but he would never trust her. He could never really care for her if he distrusted her. At least, she sighed, there would be peace of a sort between them. From the corner of her eye she saw him remove the towel and stand quietly, stretching in front of the fire, oblivious of his nakedness. His manhood was jutting outward, and she gulped, quickly turning her face away from him. He would slake his desire in another woman’s body. The thought made her jump to her feet, the pain of her spirit shimmering in her eyes.
“Graelam, I—”