Which scent had she chosen? She’d repeatedly slathered so much healing ointment on his bruises, all he could smell was rosemary and a hint of lavender. What did she smell like?
What didhesmell like? He’d been sweating like a pig for days with this fever. But he no longer felt feverish. Gone, finally, were the chills that had him alternately huddling under the blankets and kicking them off.
He was still exhausted and felt like he’d been pummeled—because hehadbeen pummeled—but at least he now felt confident he’d heal. His right forearm no longer felt on fire, though it still throbbed with every heartbeat and he had to bite back an oath every time he bumped it and pain went searing up his arm, flaring through his entire body.
The hall door opened and closed, and he heard the gentle slosh of water. He peered through the curtain again. He didn’t see or hear the maids.
“If you promise not to peek,” Ashley quietly said, her gaze directed at the fireplace, “I will promise the same. But you only have a few moments before Sally and Maggie return.”
David sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, paused to make sure the floor and ceiling stayed in their proper places, then shrugged into his banyan on his way to answer the call of nature behind the privacy screen.
On his way back to bed, he couldn’t resist turning his head for a quick look. Ashley leaned forward in the tub, exposing the long sleek line of her naked back, her cheek resting on her drawn-up knees, her glistening arms wrapped around her shins … looking right back at him.
So much for not peeking.
They shared a grin, and turned in unison when they heard footsteps in the hall. David rushed the remaining steps and barely twitched the bed curtain back into place before the door opened.
He lay motionless, half listening to Sally instructing the younger girl on the proper way to wait on a lady in her bath, such as having a towel ready for her body as well as one for her wet hair, and Maggie comparing it with her experiences attending to customers in their bath. She seemed to delight in shocking the other two women with her nonchalant descriptions in graphic detail.
David had never thought about men wanting to be bathed by their bed partners, especially paid companions. For him, getting clean had always been simply a perfunctory, impersonal task. Yet now he could see the appeal, especially if Ashley were the one washing him.
Fuzzy memories came to mind, of Ashley bathing his fevered brow, and her soft hands gently washing his naked torso with a cool damp cloth before massaging ointment into his skin. He wished he’d felt well enough to truly appreciate the experience at the time. But if he’d been well, there would have been no reason for her to touch him in such an intimate manner.
Exhausted, he yearned for sleep that wouldn’t come, tortured by images conjured from the sounds coming from the other side of the curtain. Ashley rising from her bath like Venus from the sea, water sluicing over her silky skin, stepping naked from the tub to stand before the crackling fire, her skin softly scented and warm. The desire forhimto be the one toweling her off and brushing her hair dry caught him by surprise.
Propinquity. That’s all it was. Continual nearness to each other. The unexpectedly intimate nature of their relationship the last few days would go back to societal norms when he was well enough to leave. As soon as he was strong enough to walk down the stairs and out the door to a waiting carriage without collapsing, he would go. She would return to being an intriguing woman, his niece’s latest rescue. Miss Hamlin.
Not Ashley.
Not the woman who had knelt at his feet, agony in her eyes, worried that he was in pain from his mismatched legs. Upset that she had missed something in tending his wounds.
The woman who risked her reputation to care for him when he was injured.
He must have dozed off, as David found himself blinking in surprise when the bed curtain opened, sunlight temporarily blinding him.
Ashley reached a hand to his forehead. He stilled, letting her touch him all she wanted, while he drank in the sight of her leaning over him, dressed in a simple light green gown, her hair hanging down, loose and damp.
“Definitely gone,” she muttered to herself. She withdrew her hand, much to his regret. “The breakfast tray has been brought up. Do you want to sit at the table, or would you prefer a tray across your lap?”
“Table.” He sat up, vaguely surprised to note he was still wearing his banyan, though the belt had come untied. The small table by the window with two straight-backed chairs couldn’t have been more than six steps away, yet he felt like he’d walked six miles by the time he sat down.
Ashley sat across from him and pushed the tray closer to him. “Have whatever you’d like, as much as you feel up to.”
The tray had a cup of steaming chocolate, two soft-boiled eggs, toast, and a small jar of marmalade. Definitely a lady’s breakfast. As he reached for a spoon and the first of the eggs, he realized she had nothing except a newspaper. “You’re not eating?”
“You need to build up your strength. Sally will sneak me something from the kitchen later.” She resumed reading the paper. Not the front page or the Society news, which she set within his reach, but the Employment Opportunity advertisements. Was she planning to hire even more maids?
Not only did it feel awkward to be the only one eating, it took just a few bites using his right arm to realize that while his fever may be gone, the pain from his wound was not. He switched to using his left hand and cradled the right in his lap.
Ashley tossed aside the paper. “Oh, how foolish of me!” She muttered more words as she went to fuss with something at the fireplace, and barely glanced over when the hall door opened.
Her two maids entered, one of them carrying an armload of linens, and they quickly began changing the bed.
Everything and everyone was fresh, except him. He hadn’t shaved or washed in days, except for Ashley’s sponge baths, and his uncombed hair had to be sticking up at odd angles where it wasn’t matted to his skull.
The younger maid, the prostitute he’d defended, kept sneaking glances at him.
He refused to reach up and finger comb his hair but he did use the napkin to make sure there was no food on his face. At least his chest was not naked this time.
