After dismissing Demelza, she hurried to her chamber to fix her hair, and wash and put on some clean clothes. Then she would examine Merrick’s arm and make sure he’d done no further damage.
When she was ready, and wearing a soft, plum woolen gown with a gilded leather girdle about her hips, she took her basket of medicines and went to Merrick’s bedchamber. She wondered if he’d be asleep. He had to be utterly exhausted after his efforts last night. Not wanting to disturb him if he was sleeping, she didn’t knock, but quietly eased the door open.
To find Merrick immersed in a large wooden tub full of dirty water, his muscular arms draped over the sides, his head lying back against the linen cushioning the edge, his hair wet and damply curling, and his eyes closed, the dark lashes resting on his sun-browned cheeks.
CHAPTER TEN
SHE COULD EXAMINE THE CUT ON his arm as long as he stayed asleep, Constance reasoned as she crept into Merrick’s bedchamber, averting her eyes from the water and what lay beneath.
When she reached the tub, she picked up the lump of soap from the stool beside it and inhaled its scent. She recognized the spicy smell from when he’d held her and kissed her.
Her gaze wandered to the bed, and the memory of her dream and Merrick’s invitation. Her heartbeat quickened, and so did her breathing as warmth suffused her body. If they wed, she would share that bed. With him. And do more than sleep.
She looked back at Merrick—whose eyes snapped open.
She dropped the soap. Trying to collect her scattered wits, she bent to retrieve it. “You’ll fall ill if you stay in that water,” she said, her embarrassment making her peevish.
“Then I won’t,” he agreed, starting to rise.
God help her, he was as naked as a newborn babe—but very much a man.
She quickly turned away. “I came to examine your arm and make sure you have no other hurts,” she explained as she heard him step from the tub, water dripping.
“I’m uninjured.”
“Your notion of uninjured and mine may differ.”
“Then examine me, if there’s nothing else that will content you.”
She’d made this stew, so she had to eat it, she told herself as she turned to face him. In spite of her efforts, she couldn’t prevent the heated blush that flooded her skin when she saw him rubbing himself dry with a small piece of linen while making absolutely no effort to hide any part of his body.
She commanded herself not to be so foolish, and approached him. “Let me see your arm.”
His face expressionless, he held it out to her.
“You didn’t do any more damage, thank God,” she noted. She ran a studious gaze over his magnificent body, trying not to focus more attention than strictly necessary on certain parts.
“Do you see anything that displeases you?”
She glanced sharply up at his face, but he seemed perfectly serious. “You look otherwise unharmed,” she replied.
He went to his chest and threw open the lid. Since she was obviously not needed here, there was no reason to stay….
“What of my men and those who helped? Were they all fed?” he asked as he pulled out some dark woolen breeches and started to dress.
“Yes. Beatrice did an excellent job. I left her to organize the food.”
“She seems a clever girl, when she stops talking,” he remarked as he tied the drawstring.
Constance bristled in defense of her cousin. “We cannot all be as quiet as you.”
“I speak when I have something to say,” he answered, and she had the feeling he’d given that response before.
However, she had no particular wish to get into a discussion about his conversational skills, or lack thereof. “Have you asked Sir Jowan about his mason?”
“Yes. He’s agreed to send the man over to give his opinion. Sir Jowan’s son didn’t seem pleased by his father’s generosity,” he remarked as he put on a shirt and a pair of scuffed black boots. “I gather young Kiernan doesn’t like me.”
His voice betrayed no particular interest or concern—but his eyes were something else. “I suspect he wouldn’t like any man who was betrothed to you.”
