He turned back. The robe clung to her, damp enough that the white fabric revealed the slope of her shoulders, the rise of her breasts, the narrow fastening at her waist, the lines of her hips.
Before she could see how badly the sight had struck him, he forced his gaze upward. Soot streaked the gold near her temple.
“Your hair is filthy.”
“What a gallant observation.” Her brows rose. “If you must know, the brazier smoked viciously. I had to coax it to life, and it objected to persuasion.”
“You were in the bath. Why didn’t you wash it out?”
“Because I can barely lift my arms.” She rolled one shoulder and winced before she could hide it. “A side effect of blackmailing this cabin into comfort, I’m afraid.”
“What about your maid?”
“Elsie is seasick. Utterly defeated. She took one look at the bucket, announced that Neptune was personally persecuting her, and lay down with a vinegar cloth.”
Tristan crossed to the hearth rug, dragged it before the tub, then picked up a towel and folded it over his arm.
“Sit.”
She frowned. “This was not part of the bargain.”
“Consider it a captain’s order.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Suspicion warred with exhaustion. Exhaustion won, but he could see that her diplomatic objections had been lodged for future use. She lowered herself slowly onto the rug, robe gathered carefully around her, and leaned back against the tub.
Tristan took the kettle from the hob. “Why did you wrestle with the brazier? It is summer. We sail south. It will grow warmer by the day.”
She sighed. “One of the reasons I want Naples. I hate the cold. Cold rooms. Cold beds. Cold mornings where you see your breath before you see your future.” Her mouth curved faintly. “Cold houses that smell of damp no matter how often you air them. And British men. Pale skin. Cold blood.”
His gaze dropped to his forearm, skin darkened by years of sun and salt. Cold-blooded was not a charge he had ever had to answer. If the ocean could testify, it would swear to the opposite.
“And Italian men differ from British men?”
“I certainly hope so.” Her voice acquired a careful lightness. “I plan on marrying one.”
An Italian husband waiting in Naples. Tristan already wanted to kill the nameless bastard. But they had a bargain. Until they reached Naples, she was his.
To prove it to himself, he moved behind her and began removing the pins from her hair. A thick coil slid over his hand, then another. Then the whole mass spilled down, long and lushand astonishing in the candlelight. No doubt, dry and unbound, it would brush past her hips and skim the backs of her thighs.
“Your hair is so long, I could rig a topsail with it,” he said, pouring water down the strands.
He meant to do the task efficiently and be done with it, but his hand moved higher almost without leave. His fingers found her scalp beneath the heavy fall of hair and began to work there, slow circles at her temples, then at the base of her skull where tension had gathered hard as a knot.
Her spine straightened against the side of the tub, away from his hands.
“You really needn’t—” She stopped, knotting her hands in her lap. “This is an alarming amount of kindness to introduce without warning.”
She tried to smile, but it failed somewhere before reaching her mouth.
“I do not know whether I am meant to thank you, repay you, or begin preparing for the hidden clause.”
Something cramped beneath his ribs, sudden and ugly, as if her quiet confusion had found a bruise he had not known he carried. She could negotiate contracts, but kindness without price left her stranded in unfamiliar waters.
Who had taught her that care required a ledger? No. He didn’t want to know. The past was weight. Her past, his past, any past. A man who started hauling other people’s wreckage aboard soon found his deck too crowded to fight, his hold too full to float. He had no business wanting to know what had shaped the woman sitting between his knees.
“Just lean back and close your eyes,” he said, fingers curling so as not to pull her closer himself.
She gave a throaty laugh. “You are very good with your fingers. Next time you bargain, do not forget to include your hair-washing abilities.”
