He moved to the windowsill and plucked the kitten up from where it was curled in a square of afternoon sun. “Keep your claws away from my brother,” he told it firmly, then deposited it on the pillow beside Freddie’s head.
The kitten sniffed delicately at Freddie’s face, then picked its way over his chest to curl up beneath his arm.
“He’s biding his time,” Lu said. “Keeping his claws sharp for you.”
He brushed a hand over her mess of curls. “He’s in good company then.” He moved to the stack of fresh linens one of the new maids had brought earlier that morning and changed the case onthe pillow beside Freddie’s head for a fresh one. “For you, if you want to nap.”
He felt a little foolish as he did it. She was twelve—not a small child who napped. She toyed with the embroidered corner of the pillowcase, and then looked up at him. Her bright-green eyes were suddenly, unaccountably soft.
She nodded, just once. Then she looked down at Freddie and smiled.
Peter felt his heart beating steadily against his ribs. He thought that perhaps he had done all right.
He closed the door to the room gently when he left, whistling a Spanish tune from his childhood. He had tea to fetch for Freddie. A sandwich for Lu, if she managed to stay awake for it.
And after that, he needed his wife.
Chapter 24
… the pleasures of love had been to us what the joy of victory is to an army: repose, refreshment, everything…
—fromFANNY HILL
He found her in the bath.
The great square marble tub had been built into the upstairs bathing room by one of his more profligate relations. The benefit, he’d reflected, of his forebear’s extravagance was that the tub could not be removed from the premises, and so he’d been able to offer Selina a place to wash rather better than a basin and ewer.
The air in the bath was humid and fragrant. He could see Selina’s head tipped back against the wide marble ledge, her hair curled into tiny springs by her ears. Her eyes were closed.
It struck him as mildly alarming. Surely it could not be safe to sleep in the bath.
He approached and then wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He didn’t want to frighten her. She could slip under the water and drown.
That, he supposed, wasn’t entirely likely. Still. He cleared his throat decorously from just over her shoulder.
Her eyes flew open, and she squeaked, water sloshing over the ledge of the bath and onto the tile surrounding it.
“Oh,” she gasped, sitting up. “Peter!” She glanced down at her naked form, so he, naturally, followed her gaze. “Is everyone well belowstairs? Have you need of me?”
Christ, she was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. Her pale skin was pink from the warmth, her legs long, her thighs plumply curved.
“I—” he said. “What?”
“Lu and Freddie.” He managed to find her face, which had nearly adopted his very favorite glare. “Everyone’s fine?”
“Mm-hmm,” he said, and then he sat on the square rim of the bath and took off his boots.
“Well, good,” she said. “I’ll just—finish up here.” She gestured vaguely at herself, her lips pursing.
“No need,” he said, and he picked up her cake of soap and set to work lathering it into the fine sponge that she’d laid on the tub’s wide marble ledge. When it was suitably foamed, he dunked it into the water and swirled it carefully along Selina’s shoulders and collarbone. Little streams of bergamot-scented water caressed her breasts, breaking around her rosy nipples.
“Peter,” she said, amusement and desire lacing her voice. “Your shirt.”
Water had splashed up his forearms, the white linen going transparent and clinging to his skin. He paused to roll up his sleeves, then returned to his task.
Selina licked her lips. He washed her shoulders, her arms, her long tapered fingers. “Sit forward,” he said, and when she did, he soaped her back, squeezing the sponge so clear water washed thefoam away. He trailed one finger down her ribs, stopping at the flare of her hips.
“I wanted to say something,” he said.
