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The screen moved. ‘No! Just give them to me.’
‘And have you stab yourself in the back? Let me see, Decima, I might be able to untie them.’
Crimson with embarrassment, she turned her back and mumbled, ‘All right.’
The screen panel shifted and she could feel the heat of his body right behind her. There was the brush of linen against her shoulder. He must have shed his coat before carrying the water. Decima shut her eyes as the image of Adam standing there in shirtsleeves and breeches filled her mind.
His fingers caught in the laces, pulling and twisting. ‘You had better cut them,’ she muttered.
‘No, almost…almost got it. There.’ The knot gave with an immediate lessening of the pressure, but not content with that he began to loosen each of the criss-crossing strands. Then he stopped, his hands resting either side of her ribs. ‘They do go all the way down,’ he murmured.
‘What?’ Decima gasped. If he didn’t take his hands away in one second, she was going to turn round and…
‘Your freckles. I wondered if they went all the way down and they do. Here.’ His fingertip touched lightly across her shoulders, across the nape of her neck, trailed lightly down the dip of her spine.
Decima shuddered at the touch, her mind reeling at his words. Her freckles? He found those disfiguring brown marks attractive?
Then his lips replaced his hands and she was pulled back against him, his hard thighs supporting her, his mouth trailing tiny kisses across the soft skin of her shoulders. His aroused body was branding her buttocks with heat through her flimsy chemise and she gasped at the feel of him and the primitive urge that coursed through her to press herself back, rub herself like a cat against the evidence of his arousal.
His hands lifted to cup her breasts gently, his palms cradling the soft weight, while his thumbs touched the hard peaks of her nipples, which were thrusting shamelessly through the fine fabric.
‘Decima.’ His face was buried in the curve of her shoulder, his voice harsh and muffled against her neck. ‘One of us is going to have to step away from this. Now.’
‘I know,’ she murmured, her voice shaking. ‘I know, and I do not think I know how to.’
Chapter Nine
Adam drew in a deep breath. He had never had a problem with self-control before. It seemed he had never found himself in a position where his conscience was in direct conflict with his deepest desires. And just at that moment his desire was to carry Decima through into the bedchamber and bury himself in her soft, strong, innocent body.
With an effort that was painful he brought his hands away from the tantalising weight of her breasts, stepped back until her clothing no longer brushed against his body, and back again until he could put a shaking hand on the screen and draw it closed on the image of her standing there, almost naked, quivering for him.
He shut the door into the dressing room and stood looking round at his bedchamber, at the wide bed with its dark green velvet throw. What would she look like stretched on that velvet, her hair loose, her eyes wide with innocent longing? With an oath he flung open the door and strode out onto the landing.
‘My lord?’ It was Bates. Damn. Adam looked down at himself. The soaked buckskins did nothing to hide the state of agonising arousal he was in. He yanked his shirt out, ran a hand through his hair and walked into the room.
‘How are you feeling, Bates?’ Hell, Pru was there, too, still curled up in the chair, her eyes wide as she took in his appearance. Her gaze flickered to the groom’s and they both looked studiously away.
‘Very well, thank you, my lord. The leg aches, but Pru—Miss Staples, that is—fetched me something from the stillroom that helped. I was just wondering if you’d help me shift position a bit. I’ve slid down.’
‘Where’s Miss Dessy, my lord?’ Pru asked.
‘Having a bath.’ He bent to help Bates, grateful that his back was turned to the maid’s scrutiny. ‘She is using the tub in my dressing room because it is deeper and she got rather chilled outside.’
He shook out the pillows quite unnecessarily, controlling the urge to talk on, justifying himself.
‘Of course, that’s why you can’t go and get changed,’ Pru said in a tone that suggested she accepted his explanation—just. ‘I had better go and give her a hand.’
Adam froze. Had Decima had enough time to compose herself? Had he left stubble burns on the soft skin of her throat? ‘I think she has everything she needs,’ he said finally, straightening up. Either Decima was going to confide in her maid or she was not, but he was not going to say anything to provoke the girl to hurry off in search of her mistress any sooner than necessary.
‘I’ll go and set her clothes out then, my lord.’ Pru got to her feet a little unsteadily. Adam thought of telling her she should still be resting, then decided he would be chancing his luck; Miss Staples would no doubt enquire if he thought he should be helping her mistress to find her change of underwear.
Both men watched her make her way out. Adam could feel Bates’s eyes boring into him. ‘Well?’ he demanded irritably. It seemed to be his day for justifying himself to the staff.
Bates shrugged. ‘Not my place to say, my lord, but, as you’re asking, I’d say that trifling with virgins isn’t your usual kick. Bit risky, that.’
‘I am not trifling—’ Adam broke off. It was exactly what he was doing. It was not his intention, but it was certainly the effect. ‘Damn you, Bates.’
‘As you say, my lord.’ Bates was never so compliant unless he was deeply disapproving—and he was usually acute enough to be right, which was why Adam tolerated the not infrequent censorious comment. This was different.
