“Should we be worried?” she asked softly, her voice chasing all the ugliness away.
“No,” Blake said, rubbing her back. “I shall have Bishop hire people to track him down and keep an eye on his activities. You just do what you need to do.”
Which reminded him of Stagbourne.
Blake grimaced.
Her lips brushed against his skin. “What if I just want to keep doing this?”
He groaned. How could he ever deny this woman? “Do you even know what you are doing to me?”
“I do.” She grinned at him. “It’s this thing called seduction, is it not?”
“What books have you been reading?”
“Naughty ones?”
“I believe it.”
She laughed, and Blake couldn’t help himself. It seemed he never could when it came to her. He kissed her. Nothing else mattered. Not their mission. Not Baston. Not Stagbourne. They had no business being in this moment.
He would worry about them tomorrow.
Chapter Thirteen
Steam swirled aroundthe bath as Rosilee sank deeper into the warm water, her body still humming from the memory of Blake’s touch last night. The water soothed her skin, but it couldn’t quell the storm of emotions that brewed beneath the surface. Every inch of her still felt alive, still tingled with the memory of his breath against her skin, his body pushing deep inside hers. She closed her eyes, replaying every touch, every breath, every whispered word. How was she supposed to think straight after all that?
What am I supposed to do now?
What didhewant to do?
She hadn’t been the only one to feel it, had she? It hadn’t been just physical. There had been something more, something that was there before they even kissed and lingered long after their bodies had parted. She was falling for the duke.
Or she had already fallen for him.
Yes, she’dsoalready fallen!
Her heart fluttered at the thought, and her fingers lightly grazed the surface of the water, watching the ripples dance. What did it mean for her plan now? What did it mean for them?
You don’t know if he feels the same way.
Yes, but surely . . .
No! Do not jump to conclusions, Rosilee!
She had never imagined herself in such a situation, tangled in an affair that felt both reckless and inevitable at the same time. Yet here she was, body and soul marked by a man she had once helped and now was helping her.
The door creaking pulled her from her absorption. Mrs. Prune, who slipped into the room and greeted her with a bright smile, headed for the bed to straighten the linens with a briskness that somehow matched the woman’s no-nonsense nature. The older woman cast an amused glance at Rosilee as she picked up a stray stocking from the floor and shook her head. “You remind me of the duke when he was a boy.”
Rosilee smiled. “Did he leave stockings all over his chamber, too?”
Mrs. Prune chuckled. “Socks.”
She swirled her hand in the water again. She wished she could have seen more of Blake as a boy. Him laughing. Him being mischievous. “Do you ever regret things, Mrs. Prune?” Rosilee asked suddenly, filling with curiosity.
Mrs. Prune, busy fluffing a pillow, paused mid-motion and glanced at her. “Regret? Oh, I imagine everyone does at some point, don’t they?”
“Quite right.”
