“Was this January, two years ago?”
He nodded, barely moving his head.
“We had an outbreak of influenza at the academy that same winter. The girls were just returning after the holidays for the start of Hilary Term. Captain Blackthorn ended up quarantining with us, when he only intended to drop off his daughter. Our kitchen staff were the first to get sick. By the time it passed, we’d lost our assistant cook and one of our students.”
Dark days, indeed. Ashley would never forget the sound of a duke’s heart-wrenching sobs when he saw his deceased daughter. She shuddered.
“Did you get sick, too?” he rasped.
“I was the last to succumb. By then most of the staff had recovered or were on the mend. I was bedridden for over a fortnight.”
He caressed her knuckles with his thumb. “Worn out from taking care of everyone else.”
She ducked her chin. “I just tried to make myself useful.”
“I read your journal. Or I should say, journals, plural. You essentially ran the school while Madame Zavrina and other senior staff were ill.”
Rising from the bed to hide her discomfort, she fussed with things on the bedside table, tidying her supplies. “I only did what needed to be done, and delegated many of the tasks. Stretched so thin of able bodies, we all had to do things we don’t normally do.”
Ravencroft rolled out of bed. “Prettyandmodest.” Without bothering to pull on his banyan, he limped to the privacy screen.
Ashley made as much noise as she could to give him at least the illusion of privacy, putting away her containers and finding the food he hadn’t eaten yet, and arranging it on a plate.
He returned a few moments later and sat on the edge of the bed before falling backward with a groan, arms flung out to the side. A moment later, he wrinkled his nose and tucked his arms close to his chest. “Eww. I don’t think I can stand myself.”
“The kitchen staff is asleep. I can heat water for a bath for you.”
He scratched his head, his eyes closed. “Not unless you can sneak Gilroy in here. Feel like I just walked ten miles. In deep mud. No way I’d be able to haul my a—, uh, myself in and out of a tub.”
Eyeing the full bucket of water still warming on the hearth, she bit her bottom lip. “I’ll wash you.” Amazed at her own audacity, she cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “I’ve already done it several times, while you were feverish. And besides, it’s time to apply more ointment on your bruises.” She gave his leg a gentle nudge.
He scooted onto the bed properly while she filled the ewer with warm water and brought it and the basin to the bed, and quickly collected a towel, soap, and a cloth.
Right. She’d done this several times while he was fighting the fever. No need for her heart to pound or hands to shake just because this time he was awake and alert. Watching her.
“Am I going to smell like rosemary and lavender?”
“This particular bar of Castile soap is unscented. But the ointment I’m going to apply in a few minutes has a strong rosemary scent, with undertones of lavender.” She dipped the cloth in the basin of water, wrung it out, and rubbed a little bit of the soap on it. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any bay rum on hand.”
He watched her hands. “Would be an odd scent to be wafting out of your bedchamber. Someone might get the wrong idea. Like you were hiding a man in here.”
A startled bubble of laughter escaped, and she covered her mouth.
He tugged her arm down. “Don’t hide from me, Ashley.”
Considering how exposed he was, lying on top of the blankets wearing nothing but his drawers, she nodded.
Arms relaxed at his sides, he closed his eyes and let out a little sigh.
Without him looking directly at her, she was able to go about the business of giving him a wash just like she had when he’d been feverish. Only this time she touched him everywhere three times—to wash, to rinse, and then to dry him so he wouldn’t get chilled. She tried to keep a cloth between her hand and his naked flesh, but now and then her fingers would slip to the side and she’d find herself stroking him. His soft bare skin, over sleek contoured muscles. Touched the light smattering of crisp, curly hair on his chest, more felt than seen in the soft candlelight.
Having washed everywhere she could reach, she started to rise from the bed. He rolled to his side.
“Don’t forget my back.”
Looking at his long, strong, naked back, her mouth went dry. She swallowed. “You just want me to look at your bum.”
His shoulders shook with laughter. Even though he buried his face in the pillow so the sound wouldn’t carry, she felt the rumble.
