Page 66

“Can I get you anything else, milady?” Golda asked, fetching her soap scented with musk and cloves.

“No, you have thought of everything, Golda.”

“Here’s drying sheets for you,” she said gesturing toward a chair. “Shall I return in a half hour?”

“That would be perfect, thank you.”

No sooner had the door closed, then it seemed to open again. Aimee craned her neck around. “Golda?”

“It’s me,” a gruff voice rumbled.

Aimee’s eyes widened, and she withdrew behind her curtain. “I am just taking a bath,” she said needlessly.

She heard a huffed breath, then a dry: “So I see.” Something scraped along the ground which she realized after a moment was a chair by the fire.

Quietly, Aimee rearranged her curtain so she could peek through it at him as he threw himself down into the chair, staring moodily into the fire. She cleared her throat. “All is well with you, my lord?” she ventured.

“I want you to buy another gown,” he said heavily. “In my colors.”

The breath stuck in Aimee’s throat, and she clutched at the canopy. Like hells she would! When she made no verbal reply, his head swung around, and she realized she was on his blind side.

“For Beres Caple,” he elaborated.

“It would be quite impossible on such short notice,” Aimee forced herself to reply. “No tailor would accept such a commission.” She had aimed for a light tone, but even to her own ear her voice sounded strained.

His eyes narrowed. “For enough coin, I think you will find they would oblige.”

Aimee shook her head. “Not Mr. Fulcher,” she said resolutely. “He hates being hurried.”

“So then, find a different tailor.” Aimee’s fingers tightened on the edge of the wooden tub, but she kept her mouth closed. “Aimee?”

She gave tiny nod. She would tell him she had failed in the task! There was no way on this earth that she was wearing his colors again. Grabbing her washcloth, she started enthusiastically splashing around in an attempt to put the conversation to an end.

Aimee scrubbed her neck and then thoroughly soaped and washed out her hair, all the while avoiding looking in his direction. As she squeezed the water from her locks, she ventured a sneaky glance his way and found him stretching his legs out in front of him and scratching the side of his face. Was he going to just remain here, then?

Why was he still sat there? Why didn’t he just go? She could feel hot color creeping up her neck even at the thought of lying to him. She had a horrible suspicion he would be able to tell. “Was there something else you wanted to ask of me?” she heard herself ask with a slight edge to her voice. His head turned sharply, and the soap slipped through Aimee’s fingers. It made a thud as it hit the bottom of the tub.

“It so happens,” he answered slowly, “that there is.”

She waited but he seemed to be debating what he was going to say next. “What is it?” she asked at last, unable to bear the suspense.

“Outside of the bedchamber,” his harsh voice grated over the words. “Call me Konrad.”

Aimee stared at him. “Outside of the bedchamber?” she repeated in surprise.

He gazed steadily back at her. “Yes.”

“Surely, my lord,” she could not stop herself from protesting. “You mean the other way around?”

His lips thinned. “That’s the way I want it.”

“Oh.” Aimee regarded him doubtfully. In the most intimate setting, he wanted her to use his most formal title. It made no sense to her. Unless … Unless he merely wished there to be a public show of informality between them that did not exist in private.

Her poor heart throbbed, and Aimee lifted a hand to it almost to comfort herself. Then she remembered she was not in love with him anymore and lowered her hand. She no longer cared.

Lord Kentigern cleared his throat. “Freda gave you a brooch, I hear.” Aimee blinked, but before she could answer, he growled, “Can I see it?”

“It’s on that table over there.” She lifted her arm out of the water to point at a side table. “Next to my beads.”