Page 65 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
Her bath seemed to take forever. He heard her leave the tub and begin to towel herself dry.
“Gareth?” She sounded hesitant.
“Yes?”
“My dressing gown is too filthy to wear. Could you get a nightdress for me? They’re in the chest beneath the window.”
When he opened the chest, he inhaled the smell of roses. His hands shook as he lifted out a linen gown. The material was fine and thin, with lace sewn about the bodice.
What was his problem? Though he couldn’t lie with Margery tonight, surely she was beginning to depend on him. She trusted no one else to see to her. Soon he would win her to wife.
He turned around and saw her standing before him, wearing only a cloth wrapped about her body. Her wet hair fell in wavy curls to her waist. She had long supple legs, delicate shoulders and arms. She crossed her arms at her waist, which pressed her breasts so high, he thought they’d spill out.
As Gareth stared at her, dumbfounded, she said, “May I have my nightdress now?”
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Margery tried not to smile as Gareth dropped the garment. He quickly picked it up and handed it to her, his eyes glowing in the candlelight.
Her anger at this whole situation was returning, along with the recklessness that made her long for pleasure before she was forced to choose a husband. The look on Gareth’s face just fueled the emotions that coursed through her.
She took her nightdress and disappeared behind the screen. For a moment her thoughts returned to Sir Humphrey, and she shivered at how close she’d come to forcibly becoming his wife.
Margery had needs of her own, none of which would be fulfilled in her marriage vows. She dropped the towel and pulled the nightdress over her head. Soon she would have memories of passion that didn’t involve Peter Fitzwilliam.
She mulled over what she would do. Should she approach Gareth and blatantly kiss him again? He was a man; she didn’t think he’d refuse her offer a second time. She imagined his shocked stare, and then his wondrous eyes would heat and?—
She gave a little shiver. She could persuade Gareth to enjoy himself, at least this once.
Taking a deep breath, she came out from behind the screen. He stood beside the bed, his jerkin discarded, his shirt hanging loose at his neck. Her mouth fell open in surprise and rising anger. Did he think seducing her would be so easy? All right, she had meant to kiss him—but she would not be so quickly won.
Gareth said mildly, “Would you mind if I used the tub before I leave? I am covered in mud from my toes to my ears.”
Her lips moved for a moment, but nothing came out. This wasn’t going at all as she expected.
“Use my tub?” It came out like a squeak. “But…the water is dirty.”
He shrugged and drew his shirt over his head, then leaned over to drop the garment on a chair. His bare chest was enough to take any woman’s breath away.
Gareth smiled. “You were mostly cold and wet, not dirty—unless you hadn’t bathed in months.”
“I take frequent baths,” she said, frowning. She should look away, but he was half naked, and he was standing right beside her bed. He still had yellowish green bruises from his first battle with Sir Humphrey, and there would probably be more after today.
She blatantly stared at him, at his broad, muscular shoulders, narrow hips, and heavy thighs. He wore a codpiece over his hose, and she blushed as she realized her interest.
He grinned as he walked toward her. “So may I use your tub, or would you like to stare at me for the rest of the night?”
Margery groaned and closed her eyes, knowing her face was bright red. “Forgive me. I do not normally—I mean I never— Oh, just use the tub.” She turned away and covered her face.
He had the audacity to chuckle as he moved behind the screen.
She threw herself on the bed and covered her head with a cushion. But she could still hear him—the splash of the water as he entered the tub, his tuneless whistle.
She and her husband would most certainly have separate chambers. She wanted to control how much time they spent together.
But listening to Gareth splash about in the water, she imagined sitting before the fire with her husband each evening, climbing into bed together, doing…intimate things in that bed together. And waking up in each other’s arms.
But then she would grow close to her husband, and he would sleep with a maidservant, or whatever men were wont to do. She couldn’t bear to have her expectations crushed, so she wouldn’t have any expectations at all beyond a civil, comfortable relationship—more like a partnership.
