Tom’s dark eyes flickered with something akin to awe, and he licked his lips.“Well, there’s no need for any of that, now that we know where we stand and all, my lord.”
“Do we?”Grayson asked, his brow lifting.
Tom nodded, then shot him a shrewd glance.“Of course, my lord—as long as you don’t hurt my girls.”
“I assure you that I have no intention of distressing the young women,” Grayson said.H released his grip, and Tom’s feet slid back to the floor.
The old man managed to look pensive for a moment as he studied Grayson, then eased himself away.“I’ll just leave you to your bath and wash the dishes in the morning, then.”
“You do that,” Grayson said, as he watched the fellow back out of the room.He waited until Tom had disappeared into the gallery, then leaned against the wall himself and released a harsh breath.He had pushed his weak body too far, but it had been worth it to establish his authority.He was no bully, but neither would he allow some lackwit to run roughshod over him.No oneran roughshod over him.
Gradually his breathing slowed to normal, and Grayson turned his attention to his long-delayed toilette.Stepping forward, he halted abruptly as he realized no servant would be in to clear the room.With a low oath, he retrieved his wineglass and blew out most of the candles.Taking up a candelabra, he walked through the darkened rooms and down to the kitchen.
Eyeing the facilities bleakly, Grayson nonetheless stoked the dying fire, found the buckets, filled them and hung them on hooks over the growing blaze.Dragging a brass tub from its place in the buttery, he positioned it near the hearth, but when he reached for the hot water, he burned his fingers.
Swearing vehemently, Grayson felt like abandoning the whole business and waiting until tomorrow, when, by God, he would get some staff here.But having gone this far, he refused to forgo the pleasure of a good soak—and a scrub.His hair needed washing, and he did not intend to let himself go to seed, like some of his peers.
This time he managed to fill the tub without further injury, and he was soon stripped and ensconced in the hot water, a sliver of soap in hand.Grayson fingered it idly.From its texture, it appeared to be homemade, and he pictured Kate forced to toil over a steaming vat of lye.Cursing again, Grayson lifted the sliver to his nose and breathed in the faint scent of mint.Kate’s.
It smelled positively delicious.Grayson wondered if he could find some fine French soap with just the same fragrance.Although he was not accustomed to buying such personal items for any woman, even a mistress, he did not pause to contemplate this sudden change in his habits.He decided to have his secretary check into the matter.
After cleansing his hair, Grayson leaned back and let out a low, ragged breath.He had pushed himself too hard today.Too much standing and walking had made his weak muscles ache and his shoulder hurt.Sinking deeper, he let the heat soothe his smaller pains, but when he closed his eyes, he had another cause for discomfort.
Erotic memories of his last bath, at Kate’s hands, assailed him, making his breath catch and his body tighten.As he had been half out of his mind at the time, he could not be sure what had been real and what he had conjured from his fevered imaginings.But he was certain she had washed him, and the thought banished the simple pleasure of the tub.
Seized with the urge to repeat the exotic ritual when he was in possession of his wits and a fully functioning body, Grayson could only grind his teeth in frustration.He had never been one to keep his desires leashed, but until he discovered his temptress’s identity, circumstances forced him to do so.
Although Grayson tried to recapture his initial enjoyment of the relaxing water, it was useless, for he would never again think of bathing in quite the same way.He groaned as he realized that more than one of his personal habits had undergone a change since his first meeting with Kate.
Even more disturbing was his growing certainty that nothing in his life would ever be the same again.
Chapter Seven
Kate rolled over and stared at the ceiling.Although she had gone to bed at her customary hour, weary after a long day, she was tossing and turning hopelessly.Try as she might, sleep would not come, for whenever she closed her eyes, she was taunted by visions.
Visions of Grayson.
Despite her best efforts, Kate kept seeing him sprawled in her papa’s bed or arrogantly at ease in the drawing room, as if he had been born to such surroundings, as indeed he had.Worse yet was the jarring image of him in the kitchen, his coat off and his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal the dark hairs on his arms as he had helped her and made Lucy do her part.
Releasing a low moan of irritation, Kate finally swung out of bed.Naturally, she was drawn to the marquess.He was the first man to enter her life since she had grown to maturity.Not only was he incredibly handsome, but he gave off a heat that seemed to melt her insides and made her do things she never thought to do.
And if all that wasn’t enough, there was the way he took control.His assumption of absolute mastery was seductive, but it frightened her, too.The temptation to give up some of her burdens—or at least share a few of them—was very great, although Kate knew that she dared not.
Despite his claims to the contrary, the man might be gone tomorrow.Or the next day.Or the next.Even if he searched for Lucy’s beau, eventually he would be off, back to London and a world so far removed from her own that it might as well be the moon.
The knowledge shook her, deep in some part of her that only Grayson seemed able to touch, and Kate shuddered.The bed held no ease, so she got to her feet.
Perhaps some tea would help.The brew had comforted her since the days after her father’s death, when she and Mrs.Gooding shared a pot in the kitchen during the nights she couldn’t sleep.
Some nights the change in their circumstances had born down on her so heavily that she nearly collapsed under the weight of it.Only Mrs.Gooding and a hot cup had bolstered her, giving her the strength to face her struggles again.
Mrs.Gooding was gone now, but Kate could make some tea.The night was pleasant, so she did not bother to cover her old nightgown or her bare feet, but headed toward the kitchens and the companionship of a fickle one-eyed cat.
But when she reached the threshold, Kate stopped, her steps halted by the flickering of firelight.Why was it burning so brightly this late at night?She told herself that Tom might be finishing up the dishes, but it was too dark for that.
Blinking at the sight of a single candelabra on the old table, she moved forward, drawn by something she could not name.And before she saw anything more, she felt it: the heat, the moisture, and the subtle aura of a male presence.
Grayson was there, before the hearth in the old brass tub, his elbows resting casually on the sides and his head thrown back.Although he had asked her about a bath, she had never expected him to go to all this trouble.She should have, for he was unpredictable.
