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and the still, dark forms left sprawled in the corridor as he’d taken her with him. Why? she wanted to ask, but could only make soft choking sounds.
Kneeling beside her, Colter efficiently and matter-of-factly began peeling away her garments, heedless of buttons and laces, until she was clad only in her silk shift and hose. He lifted her cold feet, rubbed them briskly between his hands, then rose and brought back a blanket to pull around her.
A knock on the door brought hot water and clean clothes, and he motioned for the uniformed maid to leave them. When he came back to where she sat before the fire, he brought Celia a glass of brandy, thrust it into her hands and ordered her to drink it all.
“It will put some color in your face. Jesus, you look like a bruised ghost. You’re all right, Celia. When it’s safe, I’ll take you home. For now, no one will ever think to look for you here.” A faint smile crooked his mouth, and his dark blue eyes were unreadable as he stared at her. “I think I rather like your silence. It’s refreshing not to deal with your sharp tongue.”
While she glared at him, he rose again and returned to her with a hairbrush in his hand.
“Your hair is snarled. I’m not much hand as a lady’s maid.”
She took the brush, sat still with it in her hand, the brandy a warm glow in the pit of her stomach. It was all such a haze now, the brandy helping but not erasing the images that streamed through her mind in an unending repetition of fear and struggle and shock.
With a shaking hand, she finally lifted the brush to pull it through her hair, but it snagged on a bound coil and she couldn’t pull it. Tears started in her eyes at the sudden sharp pain.
When Colter held out his hand, she put the brush into it. He moved behind her, unfastened the intricate curls and ropes of hair atop her crown, and then drew the brush through with long, sure strokes. She sat there, numbed by the heat of the brandy and the fire, by the touch of his hands on her in careless concern.
She wanted to ask why he’d rescued her, how he’d even known she was in danger, but wasn’t at all certain she wanted to hear the answer.
Shuddering, she slowly became aware of his hands in her hair instead of the brush, of the leisurely sweep of fingers combing through the heavy mass to lift it from her neck, fisting it in one hand. It was sensuous, a relaxing moment of comfort. Surprisingly gentle.
Then he was pulling her to her feet, turning her into him, his hand on her back a steady pressure.
“No, don’t move away,” he said softly. “There’s not anywhere for you to go tonight. And you don’t really want to, do you.”
She wanted to say yes! but her throat was still too sore to speak. Only mangled sounds were able to escape as he pulled away the blanket, let it puddle on the floor at her feet as he removed the last of her garments, the shift a pale drift atop the blanket. Cool air made her shiver. His hands were firm against her shrinking flesh, hot and far too intimate.
Despite her resistance, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the tub, lowering her into it until the water level was over her breasts.
It was infuriating, but her attempts to keep him from washing her were futile. He easily evaded her slaps at his hands as he dragged a soapy cloth over her face, then down her throat to her breasts. It was a vivid reminder of the last bath, when he’d made love to her and she’d been foolish enough to think he meant more by it than just the moment.
But this was no time to remember that. He was touching her intimately, his hands moving over her with brisk efficiency. He held her squirming body still, his grip gentle but firm as he scrubbed the cloth over her back.
“Be still, princess. I’m not much of a hand at this,” he muttered when she tried to twist away. “You may not know it, but you’ve got scratches and bruises all over you. Bloody ones, at that. While you don’t think I’m much of a gentleman, those men were certainly not. You look like hell, pardon my bluntness.”
She turned to glare at him, and he lifted his brow as a wolfish grin squared his mouth.
“What did you expect? A nice lie? There’s a mirror by the wall that would tell you the truth soon enough,” he said calmly. “And I seem to recall you stating a decided distaste for liars. Ah ah, no splashing about. You’ll get my evening clothes wet and Beaton will be put out about it. A gentleman lives in terror of his valet, you know.”
If she could speak, she would tell him that he was certainly no gentleman!
He continued to talk to her while he bathed her, so that she barely winced when he cleaned the cuts that were indeed bleeding. Why hadn’t she noticed before? There were bruises that would be quite ugly by morning, and several long scratches on her arms that looked rather deep.
But I don’t remember getting these, she thought with a vague frown as she allowed Colter to scoop water over her shoulders to rinse away the soap.
Perhaps it was the brandy, or the hot bath, or even his gentle—if a bit too familiar—touch that soothed her, but by the time the bath was finished, she was almost relaxed.
He lifted her from the tub, wrapped a thick towel around her body and carried her from the sitting room into the bedroom where he put her on the wide canopied bed shrouded by heavy draperies. There was an inevitability to it, to his touch, to what came next and to her own response to him.
Yet tonight she needed this, needed to feel something other than fear, needed to feel…needed to feel what he was doing now, with his hands on her body. Oh God, yes. It was as if she’d been waiting for this moment since the last time.…
21
Celia sighed softly. His hands were much more gentle than she remembered, though his caresses were hard and almost painful, thumbs digging into tender skin to rub away the soreness. Fingers spread over her bare skin, kneading flesh with an expertise that was unexpected. How had he learned such a wonderful skill?
The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he shifted, and his hands moved from her shoulders down to the small of her back.
“Your muscles are so tight,” he said, and his voice seemed to come through layers of gauze, muffled by her hair and the steady rhythm of her blood in her ears. “You need to relax. You’re safe now, and you know that. No one will find you here.”
