His grin was decidedly feral. “The scariest story I could think of, complete with demonic voices and an evil laugh. Diana and Lydia were appalled.” His smile faded. “But the little buggers were delighted. Demanded another. And instead of worrying about the Bogeyman being under her bed, Georgia assured meIwas the Bogeyman.”
Ashley couldn’t help a small smile. “And you’ve been telling them scary bedtime stories, complete with scary voices, ever since.” She finished tying off the bandage and rested his arm on his stomach. “I heard their governess scream the other night. You do have the most horrifying, evil laugh. I would have been quite frightened myself if I’d heard it alone in a dark room, instead of peering around the corner from the staircase. "
He lifted his arm from his face. Understanding dawned in his eyes.
“And I had only just figured out that you were my mysterious rescuer when I heard you sing at rehearsal earlier that evening. That must vex the other gentlemen at times, knowing you can sing anyone’s part, in any register.” She pulled the blankets up to his chin, making sure his bare shoulders were covered, and began tidying up.
“Noteveryone’spart.” His words were coming further apart, his eyes blinking more slowly. “Can’t hit soprano since I started needing to shave.”
She chuckled. “I’m sure that’s a great comfort to Liam, Parker, and your brothers-in-law. Not to mention those competing against you, like Lord Fairfax.”
“A pox on Fairfax,” he mumbled, his eyes closed.
There was no heat in his voice. Given the steady rise and fall of his chest, she realized he’d fallen asleep. “But Fairfax has such a nice voice.”
She updated her journal and the paper with the dosing schedule so Sally and Maggie would know when he’d last been given whiskey, and blew out the bedside candle.
* * *
Sally shook her shoulder. “Mrs. Gillespie has the water heating for your bath, miss. What shall we do?”
Ashley blinked, struggling to wake up after what felt like only a few minutes of sleep. “Bath?” She sat up and leaned her head on the back of the sofa. “Blast. It’s Saturday already?” With a groan she got up, tied on her wrapper, and went to check on Ravencroft.
He was sound asleep, not restless at all. She held the back of her hand to his forehead. Warm, not hot. She cupped the side of his neck, his whiskers scratching her thumb. Also warm. And his skin was dry, rather than damp with perspiration.
“His fever broke,” she said, almost to herself.
“Praise be,” Maggie said, opening the window curtains.
“Shall I tell them not to bring the bath?” Sally twisted her apron in her hands.
Ashley bit her bottom lip. One of her favorite indulgences since coming to live with her aunt and uncle was a weekly up-to-her-neck soak in a tub of hot water. She leaned toward Ravencroft. “My lord?” she whispered.
His breathing did not alter.
Ashley stood. “We’ll close the bed curtains and carry on as usual so no one thinks anything is out of the ordinary.” She glanced at the earl. “And pray he stays asleep.”
Within minutes they’d pushed the sofa to the side and put her blanket and pillow away, just before a footman scratched at the door. He carried the tub over one shoulder and placed it before the fireplace, and other footmen marched in behind him carrying buckets of steaming water to fill the tub, with more buckets staying warm on the hearth for rinsing.
With a furtive glance at the closed bed curtains, Ashley slipped off her night rail and sank into bliss.
* * *
David woke to the sound of water pouring, and an accompanying need to relieve himself. No candlelight or sunlight penetrated the gloom. Was it morning or night? His stretched out his hand and encountered heavy velvet. Why had the bed curtains been drawn?
The hall door closed.
He risked sitting up and pushed aside the curtain enough to peer through a tiny gap.
In time to see Ashley sit down in the tub.
Her long, dark blonde hair hung loose over her bare shoulders and back. She leaned back with a deep sigh of contentment, resting her head against the tub’s edge.
His heart beat faster. Blood rushed through his veins. He tried to slow his breathing. Surely in thirty years he had seen more tempting sights than a woman stepping into her bath, heard more arousing sounds than her soft moan of pleasure. Yet he couldn’t stop staring.
Until he heard movement and other voices, and realized her two maids were there, quietly offering a choice of soaps and scented bath oils.
He lay back, slowly so as not to make the bed creak.
