Page 90 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

Louisa flushed as she imagined the conversation she’d have with the maid. She still remembered how the conversation had gone between her and her sisters, and it hadn’t been an exciting adventure she would like to relive. She certainly hoped Diana wouldn’t need her advice on such matters because there was no way she could discuss such intimate matters with the same straight face her sisters had.

“Come, wife. The bath is getting cold,” Percival called, disrobing.

“You surely don’t mean to?—”

“You’re overdressed,” he interrupted. “Come here.”

She sighed but obeyed, allowing him to help her into the tub. It was much easier to obey him than to have him tease her until she finally gave in.

The water was warm and soothing against her skin, and as she was fully submerged, she let out a sigh of relief as all the knots in her muscles loosened.

He slid in behind her, pulling her back against his chest, and the moment couldn’t have been any more perfect. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against his chest, heaving another long sigh.

“Happy?” he asked.

She could hear the mirth in his voice and nodded. “Very,” she murmured. “You?”

“Very.”

She smiled, lifting her hand to ruffle his hair before reaching for the washcloth. He snatched the fabric before she could and tutted at her.

“I want to do it.”

“I can do it,” she protested.

“I know you can, but I want to help.”

He gently moved the cloth down her neck, then the valley between her breasts, and then her abdomen and lower, but when her breath hitched, he moved the cloth away from her heated core.

Wretched man.

He washed her slowly and methodically, letting him pamper her. But when she offered to do the same, he tried to deny her.

“That is not very fair,” she protested. “You bathed me.”

“Because it is a husband’s pleasure to do so,” he answered smugly.

“It should be a wife’s pleasure to do the same.” She pouted. “I also have a right to your body.”

He smirked, handing her the cloth. “You do indeed, wife.”

She turned to face him, her face turning red at the intimacy of what she wanted to do.

“Have I frightened you, wife?” he asked.

“No. I was just wondering where to begin.”

He barked out a laugh, and her tension dissipated.

She moved the cloth as methodically as he had, not letting herself linger too long anywhere. When her hands dipped lower to his abdomen, she tried not to let his proud, jutting member intimidate her, moving the cloth over him.

He had never let her touch him there, and now that she had, she marveled at the velvet-smooth yet steely hardness.

“If you keep teasing me like that, we might not get out of the bathtub.”

She smiled and pulled back, putting the cloth away.

He cupped her face in his hands, his eyes searching her face. His thumb caressed her scar, and he placed a kiss on it, shocking her.

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