Page 102 of The Lord Meets His Lady
“Not a single cloth in the cottage?”
She tried an innocent smile. “They seem to have disappeared, milord.”
“Just like that. Every one of them. Gone.”
“It’s awful, isn’t it? And you forgot clean clothes too.”
He checked the table where he normally set his garments. “So it would seem.”
“Wait. There is something on the table.” She ducked out and stepped back in the scullery, a cloth in hand. “Here.” She tossed the linen.
He caught it and the cloth fell open in his hands. “It’s a dishcloth.”
“So it is.”
“Barely enough to dry one arm, much less the rest of me.”
The corner fire crackled. Orange light glistened on droplets racing over the ridged muscles framing his navel. He pinched two corners of the cloth, warming to her game.
Her mouth twitched. “Whatwillyou do, milord?”
A satyr’s smile was her answer, the white slash kicking up her pulse a notch. In one loud swoosh of water, Lord Bowles stood and set the white rectangle modestly at his abdomen where a bulge pressed the cloth.
“Again, you have me at a disadvantage.”
“What can I say? It’s laundry day.”
She stayed as she was, hip against the doorframe. Blood thrummed in her veins. He stepped out of the tub. Water splashed everywhere. Her skirts got a light drenching, and she laughed. Her lungs expanded, craving more air. Lord Bowles stood before her in the doorway, his wet lashes spiked and beautiful.
Her gaze dipped to the scrap of linen. “Aren’t you going to dry off?”
“Not here.”
“That leaves walking naked through the cottage.”
His mischievous smile was his answer. The scandalous image of Lord Bowles striding naked to his chamber was perfect. Were sex, friendship, and laughter possible with the same man? With Lord Bowles, she could believe it.
“Don’t cover yourself on my account. I’ve already seen your bits and pieces, milord.”
“So you have.” He pulled a dirty apron off the scullery table and sidled back into the doorway. “But a man has his dignity.” He tied the apron behind his back, letting the dishcloth drop.
She covered her mouth, trying to hold back giggles. “You’re going to wear my apron.”
Lord Bowles took a half step forward, and her spine jammed the doorframe. The motion thrust her breasts high, the full curves just touching him. The harder she breathed, the more her breasts skimmed his chest in the tight confines.
“You’re going through an awful lot of trouble to keep your parts hidden,” she said, her voice whispery and low.
“So I am.” Hands at his side, Lord Bowles exerted the subtlest pressure, rubbing against her, a new dark light in his eyes. “Tell me. This new arrangement where weenjoyeach other, does it include you sleeping in my bed?”
“Marcus,” she chided, her head tilting away from him.
The rubbing stopped.
Lord Bowles strolled into the kitchen to grab a candleholder with a lit taper off the table. Her head rested on the doorframe. Her skin was tight, and her breasts were heavy. Twin spots of wetness bloomed on her bodice. The corners of her husband’s mouth curled sadly when he caught her brazenly watching him. She expected a saucy quip about helping him dry off.
Instead, he walked away.
She inhaled sharply.
