Page 54 of Suddenly a Bride
He turned to face her, wondering if this had anything to do with her mistress. “Aye?”
“Have ye seen Lady Blackwell?”
“Nay. I suggest you ask Mrs. Haskell.”
“I already did, and milady has not been down yet. But when I try her door, ’tis locked, and she doesn’t answer.”
“Knock louder.”
“I did! I’m worried for her, milord. ’Tis not like her.”
For a moment, he wondered if the earl’s plan could be for him to fall in love with his wife—and then lose her. The thought brought a strange feeling of bleakness and a need to hurry. “Very well, I shall go up with you. The door must be stuck, and she’s probably sleeping soundly.”
Lucy only whispered, “But she wouldn’t do that.”
When they stood before the door in the tower, Edmund lifted the latch and gave it a solid push, expecting difficulty. When it gave way easily, he stumbled forward into the room before he could catch himself.
Gwyneth was taking a bath before the hearth, her damp hair piled on top of her head. He slowly straightened and stared at her. She was obviously ignoring him, because she raised one arm to soap its length. Water and soap bubbles slid down her shoulder to her chest. His gut tightened as he realized he could see one pert nipple glistening.
The door shut behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to find Lucy gone. Then he knew this had all been planned.
Gwyneth gave a start and, wearing a trembling smile, glanced over her shoulder. She wasn’t quite as good at seduction as she wanted to be, and something inside him softened.
“Edmund, what a lovely surprise so early in the morning.”
His feet were rooted to the floor, but he managed to speak. “Hardly a surprise. This is a trap.”
“A trap?”
She tipped her chin and ran the wet cloth down her neck. He watched its progress, unable to look away, even when the cloth slid through her hands and landed with a plop in the water. She frowned and fumbled for it.
“A trap implies evil intent,” she continued after a moment. “There is no evil intent here. I just haven’t seen much of you these past days.”
“And you wanted to make sure I sawallof you.” To his dismay, his voice had gone hoarse.
She smiled tentatively. The water lapped at the upper slopes of her breasts.
“Very well, you may leave if you must,” she said softly. “But I’ve accidentally left my towel on the bed. Could you bring it to me first? Oh, and would you throw another couple of logs on the fire? I feel chilled.”
Suppressing a groan, he deliberately kept his eyes on the hearth as he walked to it. With his back to Gwyneth, he built the fire higher, all the while listening as she dripped water from the parts of her body he was trying not to imagine.
He walked to the bed, picked up the towel, and turned around to hand it to her. She looked all soft and beautiful sitting there trembling before him, soap bubbles covering her body like clouds crossing a summer sun.
She was the perfect weapon to use against him, with her large doe eyes shining with hope. More and more she seemed too honest and innocent. But he couldn’t know for certain. Elizabeth had been far too good at disguising her true self when he’d courted her.
This cruel contest between him and the earl seemed more pointless than ever before. He’d needed the money, but why had he felt the need to best a cruel old man? The only escape he could see was to give back the dowry and annul the marriage. But the thought of how she would look when he told her the truth sickened him.
Gwyneth couldn’t breathe enough air. She was stunned by her own audacity, trembling with wonder that it might actually work. Finally she raised her gaze to see Edmund staring down into the tub. For just a moment, she saw the desire in his eyes. Then he shuttered them and dropped the towel onto a stool beside her. He braced his hands on the rim of the tub and leaned over her.
“This was cheating,” he whispered. “Don’t do it again.”
He gave her a quick kiss, straightened, and left the room.
Cheating?This was hardly cheating. This was desperation, and she wasn’t done yet. Not when things seemed to be going so well.
~oOo~
When he reached the winter parlor, Edmund sank into his chair and tried to pretend the image of Gwyneth was not the only thing he could see emblazoned on his mind. He was almost glad when Nell brought him a missive that had just arrived from the constable in Richmond—until he read it, of course. Harold Langston, the youngest son of the earl, was back in Yorkshire, in the Richmond jail to be precise; another puzzle for the plot that was Edmund’s life of late.
