Page 46 of A Bride for the Icy Duke
And, it seemed, for the period just before one’s bath.
“You sent me the water meant for your bath,” she accused.
Confused by her tone, he frowned. “Do you have an objection. You were cold, Lydia.”
“As wereyou.”
“I,” he said dryly, “am more likely to recover.”
“Because you are a man?”
“BecauseI have done much the same thing on several occasions in years past.” He raised a brow. “How many times have you ventured into the rain for long periods at a time?”
He saw the truth across her face before she admitted to a thing. “Not… often,” she confessed.
“It is a small kindness,” he smirked, and gestured her back to where her bath would by now be waiting, steaming and ready. “And the least I can do, considering I am the reason you went out there to begin with.”
She came to his side and took his hand. The gesture shocked him enough that he did not protest as she leisurely led him back through to her bedchamber.
This room held many traces of her. A painting she must have procured on the wall—or perhaps it was one she had painted herself of the estate and the land it held. The fact of it made Alexander’s throat close. Her books were neatly piled on the bedside table, and she’d even had a tray of tea and cake brought up.
And there, behind the screen, was the bath.
She peeked up at him, eyes hooded and hot. “I have a suggestion. Don’t disregard it out of hand. I want to bathe together.”
His chest tightened. There was pleasure—and the intimacy borne of the act—and there was intimacy in and of itself. Yet,beyond that, the idea was unbelievably erotic. A chance to see her in all her naked glory; a chance to be with her, skin to skin, in the hot water…
He throbbed at the thought.
She glanced down at the tent his cock had produced in his robe. “I am so glad Marie taught me to look for the bulge…” she muttered, and he almost asked her what she meant, but she loosened the tie at her waist, and he forgot what his words might have been.
If he had ever imagined his perfect woman—and he hadnotdone, thinking for so long that Helena was his ideal in every respect—he would undoubtedly have pictured Lydia.
Full, rounded breasts above the soft swell of her belly. Flared hips, and the most perfect thighs. She was dimpled in all the right places, soft everywhere he desperately wanted to touch her…
“Lydia,” he rasped. “You should think about this—”
“Touch yourself. Show me what you like.”
He tilted her chin up. “Then get on your knees and I'll teach you.”
She tugged at the belt of his robe, and the entire thing fell from his shoulders. The room had by this time fully emptied; therewas no witness to them but the crackling fire. Her gaze traveled across his body, and he wondered what she thought. This was the first male body she had ever seen, beyond—he presumed—statues.
Did it please her?
He realized now that he desperately wanted to please her. Almost more than anything else. The force of his desire shocked him.
Then again, he had already established he had no self-control when it came to his wife.
“Do all men have this form?” she whispered breathily, laying a hand on his chest just as she had done at the lakehouse. Only this time, her palm came to rest against skin. His pulse pounded beneath her hand. Below, his erection swelled almost viciously, to the point of pain.
“Not… precisely.” He took hold of her wrist, making sure to hold her gently. “If you want this, let me take the lead, Lydia.”
“Doyouwant this?”
He glanced down at the evidence of his want. “I will let my body confirm that for you,” he said dryly. “But Lydia, I don’t want to—” He released a long, shuddering breath. “You said you had never been with a man before.”
“I have now,” she said, her smile dimpling.
