Page 29 of The Duke Says I Do
He stepped up to the screen and struggled to ignore the blue gown flung over the top. Because if he thought about it, he’d picture Portia wearing nothing. That peachy skin wet and shining as she washed. “I brought you a shirt and some trousers to try on. The shirt should fit. I’m hoping the trousers do, too.”
“Thank you.” Her voice sounded muffled. Water splashed as she washed. He smelled the soap that he always used. Cedar andsandalwood, transformed into the most alluring scent on earth, now Portia used it.
It was all too bloody intimate for words, damn it.
“I’m going to wash and change in the dressing room. I’ll see you in the sitting room when you’re ready.” Not the bedroom. He desperately needed to get her out of the bedroom.
Granville retreated before the urge to stay overcame him. He picked up the fresh hot water from the sitting room and carried it into the dressing room.
It was a relief to change into something dry. The interval on his own offered a much-needed opportunity to remind himself that he’d promised Portia her safety. He couldn’t jump on her and have his wicked way.
His good intentions lasted precisely ten seconds after he entered the sitting room. In male attire, Portia looked completely scandalous and completely desirable. His pulse, which had almost settled back into its usual steady beat, surged into a dizzying rush. Every drop of moisture dried from his mouth, as he took in the delectable sight.
He hadn’t expected the loose shirt to spark lascivious thoughts. But when he’d chosen the garment, he’d given no thought to how a generously curved woman might fill out a shirt designed for a man’s angular shape.
The soft linen revealed too much of the body beneath. Her breasts were luscious trussed up in a corset and concealed under a modest frock. Now they pressed against the clinging material in unconfined glory.
She turned at an angle to tuck the shirt in, revealing graceful hips and a richly curved rump. By God, he’d been right about her legs. In narrow trousers, her legs were works of art.
Portia wasn’t paying him any attention as she faced him again. Instead, she was plucking at the buttons on his trousers. “They won’t do up. I’m the wrong shape.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” escaped before he could stop himself.
She glanced up and blinked. “Stop it. I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
Surprise held him still. Surprise and pleasure. “You’re not frightened?”
“I’m nervous. It’s not the same.” She tugged unhappily at the braces holding the trousers up. The long shirt covered her stomach and protected her modesty. It was his problem that he couldn’t help thinking about what lay under the linen. The path to paradise. A path he couldn’t follow without a parson’s blessing. Not to mention Portia’s consent. “I really shouldn’t be here.”
“Blame Jupiter,” Granville said, happier now he learned that he didn’t suffer alone.
The dog glanced up at the sound of his name. Then as if realizing that nothing of interest occurred, he stretched out near the fire.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I used your hairbrush. I had just about enough pins left to put my hair up.”
She’d plaited her golden hair and wrapped it around her head. She looked like a saucy milkmaid. In his clothes.
“You’re welcome to anything I have.” He meant every word.
When she dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand, her breasts shifted against the linen. “Thank you. But I can’t cross the square like this.”
Granville’s hands curled at his sides as if he shaped that lush flesh. “Come through and choose a coat and hat. That will cover a multitude of sins.”
Even if he couldn’t stop thinking about sin. In conventional clothing, Portia was a temptation. In masculine attire, he saw far too much of her body. Desire threatened to snap the tight rein that he placed on it.
He held the door open to allow her to precede him into the narrow room. She passed close enough for him to catch her scent. Portia, with a hint of sandalwood and cedar. His soap never smelled that good on him.
Granville gestured to the row of coats hanging on pegs along the wall. “Royal blue will bring out the color of your eyes.”
She shot him a questioning glance, as she rolled up her sleeves to uncover slender wrists. Dear God, he really was in a bad way if the sight of a woman’s wrists put him into a fever of lust. “You’ve noticed the color of my eyes?”
His snort was derisive. “Of course I have, Portia. Even before kissing you became my new obsession.”
“Oh,” she said. He waited for more, but she stared at the coats. “P…perhaps we should finish getting dressed.”
“Yes, perhaps we should.” At the very least, he needed to get her out of this confined space before he did something he shouldn’t.
He dragged down the blue coat and a black one for himself. Then he tugged a couple of hats from the upper shelf.
