Page 80 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
“I thought you were…” she stopped herself. “I didn’t know what to think. Disappearing into the woods each night, I ask you, who does that?”
“People who wish to bathe privately and who own a bathhouse on their land,” Tristan said.
“The very kind I had overlooked,” Christine replied.
She felt his silence. His gaze upon her. Water dripped from him onto the stone. Her mind blazed through images of where upon his person that water had touched. She wanted to trace one of those droplets with a fingertip. She wanted tobeone of those droplets.
“And now that you know?”
“It seems perfectly innocent, I grant you,” she admitted, “I only knew that you disappear each night, and I could not bear wondering.”
A long moment passed. Then he smiled, slow and tired. “You see what I do. Nothing more dramatic than bathing and swimming.”
“Bathing,” she repeated, trying to sound calm, “in the middle of the night. In a spring no one else knows exists.”
“It clears the mind. This place has been on this land since the Romans. I found it soothing.”
“You might have told me.”
“Why? It is my preserve. But now that you know, you are welcome to come here whenever you like.”
Christine looked at the water—a dark, steaming surface that filled her with dread. It looked fathomless. How deep was it? She shook her head, closing her eyes against a feeling of sickness.
“No, thank you,” she whispered.
Tristan moved closer. Christine listened to his footsteps drawing nearer, feeling his presence.
“Why?” he asked, over her shoulder and so close she could feel his breath on her shoulders.
“Perhaps I will keep that as my secret.”
“Do we have secrets?”
Christine began to turn before she remembered and forced herself to face away from him. “You certainly do.”
“A naked man is not the best at…hiding anything.”
Christine laughed softly, his words whispering against her neck. She felt the hairs rise, felt the chill that stroked her spine, made her squirm. Her imagination would not allow her to dismiss the sight of Tristan rising naked from the water. Glistening. Smooth. Strong.
“Swimming will relax you, especially in water this warm. It is like a giant bathtub. Try it…I will even leave the room if that is what concerns you.”
He will laugh when he learns the truth. He will make fun of me.
“I…cannot,” she repeated, “it is the water…I am…afraid.”
No laughter. No snort of ridicule.
“You cannot swim?” he asked.
“No. I never learned when I was a child. Then I lived at Gillray House, and it was too late. Once, I fell into a river near the house. I was running away. Trying to. I thought I was going to drown.”
Still no scorn. No jokes at her expense.
“Would you like me to teach you?” Tristan asked.
So surprised was she by his response that she turned to face him. He stood close enough that he could have kissed her simply by leaning his head forward a few inches. It made it easier to keep her eyes from straying where they should not. His eyes met and held hers.
I will not step back. I will not run away. You are to be my husband. I should be comfortable around you, even if it is a marriage of convenience.
