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“She was swimming,” the reverend explained, “as she always does. She’s been swimming at Ness Cove since she was no more than two years of age. But seems she swallowed a little water and could not catch her breath. She would have drowned had it not been for the viscount.”
She closed her eyes briefly. That explained his disappearance and his oddly rumpled appearance that day. It seemed she had entirely misjudged him.
And it seemed she had an apology to make.
***
Twelve years of war and his instincts never failed him.
Cillian’s uncanny knack of being able to anticipate his enemy’s moves before they reacted made him hideously efficient at warfare.
Yet somehow, from his position in the copper bathtub, he didn’t hear her enter the room until she made a strange squeak sound.
He snatched the cloth covering his eyes and flung it aside, hearing it slap wetly upon the floor. His gaze met Ivy’s and her eyes rounded.
In an instant, the warmth from the water lapping at his aching body was replaced with cold dread. His once relaxed muscles tightened. Cillian curled his fingers into the edge of the tub until his knuckles hurt.
She glanced at his hands, then down, then back to his face. Her cheeks blazed pink.
She’d caught him. His one great pleasure in life and she’d found him. He didn’t care about his nudity. Hell, he’d get drunk and climb a statue of King Alfred naked just as her brother did and worry little for what everyone saw.
But he wasn’t wearing his eyepatch.
The horror working into her expression was even more patent when she began to fumble over words. “F-Forgive me. I didn’t know that you were, uh...” She gestured to the bath. “No one told me...that is...your valet only said you asked not to be disturbed and I thought...” Her throat bobbed.
She thought he’d have no compunctions about being disturbed by his wife.
She thought wrong.
“Get out.” He said the words through gritted teeth. Uttered them as a firm, sharp command. With no softness or understanding.
He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. The moment the color drained from her cheeks, leaving her looking vaguely haunted. She twisted and fled without a word, her delicate footsteps explaining why he hadn’t noticed her entering the room before it was too late. The only inkling she’d escaped was the door clunking shut.
Damn it all.
He rose swiftly from the bath, snapped his eye patch over his face then snatched up a towel from the back of a chair and looped it around his waist, clasping it in one hand. Leaving a trail of wet footprints that nearly had him slipping as he hastened after her, he caught up with Ivy not far down the hallway from his bedroom.
“Wait.” He grabbed her arm.
She whirled and the pink returned to her face in an instant. Her gaze flicked up and down him, lingering for a moment on his chest until it landed upon his face.
Upon his eyepatch.
He swallowed. She knew.
Knew what it was like. Knew how he looked without it. He struggled to forget the image sometimes even if he avoided looking at it for weeks. No doubt the gnarled scar tissue would haunt her for days. Maybe more.
But she didn’t deserve to be shouted at. It wasn’t her fault no one had informed her he was bathing. Or perhaps no one thought a husband would care if a wife interrupted a husband’s bath. Ivy had hardly committed some heinous act, after all. She didn’t deserve any of this.
It wasn’t her fault he hated her looking at his scars.
“I’m sorry,” Cillian said, the words coming out gruffer than he’d hoped. “I’m sorry,” he repeated and released her arm.
“No. No.” She shook her head. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have simply entered. I only wanted to...that is we had a visitor and I wanted to apologize for—” She paused, and he heard her long inhale. “It seems silly now.”
“Youwished to apologize?”
“It can wait.” She gave a careful smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You should return to your bath.”
