Page 10 of The Virgin and the Viscount

“Why don’t you get out of your wet clothes? You can drape them over that chair by the fire. They should dry by morning.” He pulled the chair so it sat closer to the heat of the fire. “I’ll go downstairs and see if I can find us some food.”

“Before you go…” She paused and he eyed her. She visibly swallowed. “I’ll need your assistance with something.”

He nodded.

She walked over to him, then turned and gave him her back. “Can you undo these buttons? I won’t be able to reach them all.”

Damnation. His eyes trailed the length of the tiny buttons down the length of her back. The bared skin of her neck tantalized him, tempting him to lean forward and press his lips to her pale skin. His mouth went dry, though that was foolish. He’d seen plenty of women without their clothes, had undressed several himself. This was nothing. Nothing except chaste Matilda with her paler than pale skin scattered with multitudes of freckles, like constellations across her body begging to be mapped out. He’d often wondered if they covered the entirety of her. They covered her face, her neck and throat, and what little he’d seen of her shoulders, arms, and chest when she’d worn fashionable low-cut gowns to balls.

He’d always been mesmerized by those freckles, and despite the fact that she so clearly hated him, he had fantasized more than once about tracing those sweet spots with his finger…or his tongue. His trousers grew too tight as a certain part of him swelled with his imaginings. He steeled himself with a fortifying breath and narrowed his gaze. He would not look at her skin, instead he’d keep his eyes locked on the material of her soaked dress.

What was wrong with him that he found her so physically attractive when she despised him so?

He quickly unfastened the buttons, resisting the urge to spread the fabric of her gown, or lean forward and place a kiss against the base of her neck where a few brown curls had escaped her chignon. He ignored the sweet smell coming from her skin and stepped away from her.

“All done. I’ll be back.”

She frowned but said nothing else as he turned and left her alone in the room. Tonight wasn’t going to be comfortable by any standards. He’d have to sleep on the cold floor with an erection he couldn’t do anything about.

…

Matilda quickly peeled off her wet clothes. It was a trickier task because of the added bulk of the heavily drenched fabric.

Thankfully, Sullivan had proved a gentleman when she’d needed his assistance with the buttons. She’d held her breath the entire time he’d stood behind her, waiting for him to make some comment about her overly long neck or ridiculously freckle-covered skin.

He’d said nothing and left her alone in the room.

That they’d have to share.

With only one bed. Alone.

Even with him sleeping on the floor, the very notion of them being in the same room was scandalous. Especially since she’d be completely naked. She’d catch her death if she tried to sleep in any of her soaked garments. She draped her wet clothing, careful to hide her underthings, on the chair so they would dry by the fire. Then she rushed to the bed, crawled inside, and pulled the covers up to her chin.

The sheets were cool and slightly rough against her bare skin. Her nipples pebbled against the fabric, which made her all too aware of the current state of her body. She’d never before been in a bed without wearing anything. Gooseflesh covered every inch of her skin. She’d never been anywhere but the bath naked, too, now that she thought about it.

A knock came to the door and Sullivan cracked it open. “May I come in?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“Yes.” She clutched the blankets tighter to her body.

He stepped inside, carrying a tray covered with dishes. The heady aroma of herbs and vegetables and meat followed him as he closed the door behind him. Her stomach growled loudly in response to the warm food. He set the tray down on the table next to the bed, then his eyes fell to her. His brows rose and a grin slid into place.

“Are you comfortable?”

“I’m naked.” She squeezed her eyes closed for a moment. Oh God, why had she said that? It was the truth, but there was no reason to announce it.

He visibly swallowed, then turned away from her. “Your clothes are drying?”

“Yes. I don’t know why I said that. About my being naked. I mean it’s true, I am naked, but I shouldn’t have said it. It was inappropriate.”

“Freckles, it’s just the two of us.” He still faced away from her and his voice sounded more clipped, tighter than usual. “You should eat something. It will help you warm up.”

She eyed the tray of food next to the bed. Aromatic steam wafted off the bowl, some sort of stew, from the looks of it. But how was she to hold the covers in place, as well as the bowl, and feed herself?

“I have a problem,” she said.

He removed his waistcoat and draped it over the second chair. Next he pulled off his boots. “What is the problem?”

“I don’t believe I can sit up and simultaneously hold the blanket in place and eat.”

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