He finished off his meal by stuffing the last of a hot buttered scone into his mouth. With ceremony he dipped his fingers in the water bowl and wiped them on a napkin. “I have not tasted anything so good in months. You ladies did yourselves proud. Thank you one and all for having me.”
He had not laughed or enjoyed himself so much in so long he could not even remember. “Tell me,” he went on. “Do you think I got the stink blowed off me?”
It seemed no one could say anything unfunny, and all enjoyed his question.
“Not quite yet,” Rowena said when she could speak. She leaned close so only he could hear. It didn’t matter though. Nellie, Annie, and Lizza had relapsed into paroxysms of hilarity once more. “There’s the bath that’s yet to come.”
He stared in wonder at her. The woman had totally lost her mind. She was so beautiful. She no longer pulled her hair into a tight old-lady bun but clasped it at the nape of her neck so the curls hung down her back. Long tendrils escaped to frame her face. Her eyes sparkled with merriment, a blue the color of cornflowers that bloomed across the prairie. Her cheeks flushed in the heat from the cookstove, her full lips smiled so all he could think of was how much he would enjoy kissing them. How did she manage to do this to him?
Feminine merriment filled the kitchen and curled around him like warmth on a cold day. Life should always be this way. Enjoyable, touching, peaceful. Before he could go farther down that path of thought, Rowena pulled his chair away from the table.
“Annie, is there hot water in the reservoir?”
“Yes, mum.”
“Then would you have Simmons bring some bathwater into the study? His Lordship needs to get the stink scrubbed off him.”
“Rowena,” he scolded.
Annie bobbed in his direction, smirked, then turned away before she giggled in his face. “Right away, mum.”
“And Annie?”
“Yes, mum.” More giggles hidden by a hand.
“Please don’t call me ‘mum,’ and for goodness’ sake stop calling Blair ‘lord.’ It’s so stuffy.”
“Yes, mum. Uh, Miss Rowena.”
“Rowena will do.”
“Ah, hell, so will Blair,” he said over his shoulder as she pushed his chair from the kitchen, leaving behind three giggling women.
The wheels creaked down the hall, headed toward the study and his bath. Would he actually consider allowing her to bathe him? Well, why not? They’d done practically everything else together. At least, he thought so. Damn, he wished he had the nerve to ask her if it had all been real. Those nights of fantasy, prior to their marriage. Surely no strait-laced Victorian lady would do such things, even with her husband. Yet he had learned she was not a virgin, so perhaps she had learned them from her first lover. Good Lord, what sort of woman was she? He had no idea how she was raised though, being an orphan and all.
Just what was she up to, this Victorian wife who strode into his temporary bed chambers as no self-respecting lady would, then took him to the far side of his bed and behind the screen.
“Perhaps you ought to wait to get undressed until after the water arrives,” she said in a light tone.
“I only have on a night shirt under this robe, but I’ll need help getting out of both.”
“I can do that,” she said.
“Of course you can,” he muttered.
“What?”
“I said of course you can, but I’m not sure you should. If you don’t mind, I’ll ask Simmons.”
“Why?” She strolled to his side and began to undo the sash on his robe. “Looks like the shirt unbuttons down the front. I think I can manage if you’ll sit still and behave.”
“Behave? You are the one who is misbehaving. Women do not bathe men, not even their husbands.”
“Well, sir, I am about to break that tradition. Now, are you going to sit still, or do I have to use force?”
He laughed. Could not help it. “Force? What did you have in mind?”
It was easy to see she strained to remain sober, as she untied his robe, then started in on the buttons of the night shirt. She was enjoying herself far too much at his expense, but he had to admit he was having a good time.
They were interrupted by Simmons and Grady, who trudged in carrying buckets of steaming water.
Eyes flashing, she backed off a step, never taking her blue-eyed gaze from him. “Just pour it in the tub.”
Simmons frowned at her. “Lady Rowena, he should not get in bath water. His wounds have not completely healed. They should not be exposed so.”
“Ah,” she said as if only then realizing it. Blair had the feeling she’d known that all along, but he could not figure out what she was up to.
“Still, if you’ll put the water in the tub, I’ll devise a way to see that doesn’t happen.”
Simmons and Grady exchanged glances. “Will you need help?” Simmons asked her.
“No, he’ll be just fine in my hands, believe me. I really won’t hurt him, you know.”
“Hey,” Blair shouted. “I’m in the room, if you do not mind including me in this conversation.”
Grady grinned really big, and Blair cringed. “Hello, there, Captain. Doing okay today, are you? See you picked up some of that western talk.”
Simmons snorted and covered his mouth.
“Holy mother of God. You’re all in cahoots. Do I have anything to say about this at all?” Blair studied them each in turn.
Simmons could contain himself no longer and chuckled, a rare thing indeed.
“Obviously not,” Grady finished emptying the buckets, and he and Simmons sidled out of the room, speaking in undertones.
Just before the door snicked shut, Grady said, “You make sure and holler if you have any problems at all, Lady Rowena.”
“Dammit, Grady, you git yourself back in here, right now.”
“Why Captain, you’re beginning to sound like a real Westerner. Hey? Git? Cahoots?”
Blair opened his mouth to shout something at the closed door, but Rowena placed a finger over his lips, then moved it to kiss him.
The only sound he could make was a hum, and when she came up for air, she said, “You’ve gone way too long without a proper wash, so let’s get that done first.”
He’d been too long without what he had been thinking strongly of with that kiss, but he didn’t say so. It was entirely his fault for sending her away the evening before, and she would sure as the devil mention it if he said so. Things were looking pretty good for today.
She handed him a cup of water, a toothbrush, and some powders. “First the teeth.” Nothing new there. Simmons was insistent when it came to cleaning one’s teeth.
That chore finished, she wiped his mouth as if he were a child, and he allowed it in the same manner. She dug in the drawers of his desk and came up with a pair of shears.
“What are you going to do, cut my clothes off me?”
“No, silly. Remember, I said I was going to cut your hair. You look like a long-wintered sheep.”
“The water will get cold.”
She touched the steaming liquid with her fingertips. “No, it’ll be just right by the time we finish. Now hold still.” She folded a towel around his neck and tucked the ends together over his chest.
Her fingers weaving through his hair soothed him, and he closed his eyes, listened to the snip-snip rhythm. He must have dozed off. Next thing he knew, she was trimming his sideburns, then. She announced she was finished and handed him a hand mirror.
He gazed at a much less scraggly version of himself. The hair was up off his ears, curling toward the back and around his face in a neat trim. The top was shorter, so that when it blew in the wind it would be out of his eyes.
“Not bad, not bad. I approve.”
The next thing was definitely a worry. What came next? She could never lower him into that tub.
“Let’s get these clothes off.” She unfastened the nightshirt. “Can you lift yourself enough for me to pull these out from under you
and slip this towel under?”
He nodded, reluctant to say no for fear of what she might try next. Things were totally out of his control, and it would be best for him to just go along.
Warm hands roamed over his body, removing the robe, then the nightshirt. They brushed over his bare behind when she spread the towel under him. By the time she had his things removed, his arms were shaking from the effort of holding himself off the seat.
“Okay, sit.” He dropped, harder than he wanted, and the leg protested. “Ouch.”
“Sorry, I should have helped you.”
He opened his eyes to see her holding another towel and glancing up from his bare lap, where some action was definitely taking place, with a teasing grin. Then she carefully spread the towel to cover his private parts, smoothing it slowly and deliberately with the flats of her palms. The muscles in his thighs were not the only parts of his anatomy that vibrated.
“Now you won’t be embarrassed,” she said, as if she hadn’t noticed his reaction to her touch.
“Rowena?” He grabbed her arm, fingers closing tightly around her wrist.
Apprehension roughened her features, and her eyes widened.
He let her go, lest he frighten her more. “What are you doing? Why all this?”
“I only wanted to be with you. Privately. Intimately. Have some fun together. I am your wife. Do you object?” She cocked her head. “Just to enjoy ourselves. You aren’t against that, surely.”
Long bare legs stuck out, the right one still swollen and red from the knee into the splint, every other inch of his body uncovered except for the towel. This was fun? “Well, I guess nothing could be more intimate. Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Don’t be coy. What’s going on?” He tried to keep the anger from his voice but had little luck.
She lifted her skirts and he saw her pantalets, the kind with no crotch in them, so women didn’t have to remove so much clothing when they relieved themselves. His groin convulsed, and the towel over his lap waved like a damned flag.
With a slow smile, she let go the skirts. “We are married, and you will not let me sleep in the same room with you. I enjoyed our honeymoon night, and I cannot help thinking you did too. Therefore, I see no reason we cannot have the pleasure again. So I thought a bath would be just the thing to put you in the mood. And I see it has. Unless, of course, you’re in too much pain.”
“I, uh, no. I mean, yes, I would like that.” Good God, the woman was a rarity. No self-respecting woman suggested sex to her husband.
“Do these come off?” She rattled at the wheelchair arms.
Well, why not? In for a penny, as they said. He helped her remove the heavy arms. No easy task.
“Probably didn’t design it for what I have in mind.” She grabbed a pillow. “Now, lower the back so you’re lying down.” That accomplished, she tucked the pillow under his head.
Finding himself speechless was not at all common, but with her around it seemed to occur frequently. He could think of absolutely nothing to say. This would be the most unusual and enjoyable bath he’d ever had.
Instead of climbing aboard, as he’d thought she would, she backed away, unbuttoned her dress and let it drift to the floor in mounds of blue satin, then asked him to remove the chemise. He did so with trembling fingers, being careful not to touch her breasts, though he wanted to in the worst way. This was her show, and he would let her direct it. The towel in his lap raised a bit more. Soon she had stripped herself of everything, including shoes and stockings, and stood out of reach before him. Naked.
Obviously he had gone and married himself a free-spirited woman. He had heard of that among some of the well-bred ladies of the day. It looked as if he was not the only one who would be taking a bath. The towel over his lap nodded briskly, then remained at attention.
Her exquisite breasts were firm, the skin the flushed pearlescent of a blonde, the nipples pink and rigidly pointing at him. She was blessed with goodly flesh on her bones, nice shoulders that tapered to a small waist, and sturdy hips. A thatch of pale hair peeked from between legs that were lightly muscled. She would not break easily, this one. Though this was not the first time he had ever seen her totally in the buff, she took his breath away all the same, and addled his good sense, if he had any left to addle. It appeared he must be content to enjoy the anticipation for a while longer, for she still made no move toward him.
Gaze locked on him, she smiled, said nothing. Waited. Tilted her head as if studying her approach. Ran a finger around one breast, then the other, trailing around her belly button and lower. Stopped. Slowly crossed the room, straddled his upper legs, then pulled the towel away. He was standing up like a damned flag pole. Folding the towel with great care she placed it on the floor.
Good Heavens. He was about to burst, and she was being neat with a towel. This was no fantasy, everything about this situation was real. Of that much he was sure.
She straddled him and the chair, moving forward over him, gauging exactly where she needed to lower herself. He had grown quite large and hard, so that she stared wide eyed. Even he was amazed at himself. Then she lowered her body till he barely touched that gate to paradise. She waited a moment, contemplating.
He wanted to shout at her to get on with it, but feared breaking the spell.
She bent forward and kissed him on the mouth, and as their tongues met, she came down, taking every inch of him in ever so slowly, while their tongues darted in and out. She pulled her mouth away and sat firmly, leaning back hard. She uttered tiny animal-like cries. Trembled, tightened and loosened around him, driving him to distraction.
Everything inside him beat with the rhythm of his heart. Slammed about so his head pounded, his arms and legs shook as if palsied, his stomach lurched. He’d seen nothing yet, though, for now she shifted from side to side, then forward and back, then lifted herself up and back down until he could control himself no longer. Round after round of unendurable pleasure flowed through him. He clenched his teeth, let go with a shout that surely wakened the dead in the next county, wrapped his arms about her waist and held on, head thrown back. Thought he would most surely pass out with sheer enjoyment.
The sensation was at once invigorating and decimating. Finally she collapsed with a great moan onto his stomach, limp and sweaty.
After a long moment she stretched forward until her breasts smashed against his bare chest, lifted her legs off the floor, and laid them carefully along his.
“Okay?”
“Uh.”
“Not hurting?”
“Too numb to feel.”
His breath came in ragged gasps, and he kept her hugged close until the dizziness passed. In his entire life he had never had such pleasure from the act of sex. Never.
Head tucked up under his jaw, she lay so still she must be sleeping. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and curled his arms tighter around her, lest she disappear while he slept. He absolutely could not allow that to happen.
Awakening from the doze, he trailed his fingers up her back, touched the scars tenderly. Where had she learned such ways of pleasuring a man? His mind, in the habit of wandering into dark, forbidden places, tried to drag him off into that dreadful nightmare land. He opened his eyes and stopped the evil thoughts before they took over. Crowded the ghosts back into the shadows where they belonged.
She stirred. “I want you to kiss me here.” She lowered her breast so he could do as she asked. Such sweet, satiny flesh, the nipple erect and hard against his tongue. Her enjoyment of his lavishing urged him on, and he rolled the other nipple between his fingers and suckled her.
“That’s so good. I’ve waited so long for someone.”
At long last he released her, and she rose. “That water will be cold for sure. Let me see.” She put her fingers in. “No, it’s just right. Can you sit up?”
“After that, I am not so sure I can.”
Smiling, she offered her hands and helped him, then turned the chair, lifti
ng the wooden headrest till it touched the side of the tub. “Lean back. I’ll wash your hair first.”
Despite his trying, a groan escaped when he did as she asked.
“Oh, dear. I’m afraid I’ve hurt you. Do you need some morphine?”
The pain in his leg hit like endless strikes of lightning, and stars danced through his vision. “Um, yes, please.” He ground his teeth and grabbed the arms. “God.” A storm of staggering pain rumbled and rolled, not letting up. A long moan escaped his lips, then another.
Heart hammering at her temples and nearly deafening her, she found the bottle, poured some into a glass, and added water, as she’d seen Simmons do. Tears poured from her eyes as she hurried back to him and put the glass to his lips.
“Here, here it is. Oh, Blair, I’m so sorry. So sorry I hurt you.”
He took only a sip, made a face, then leaned back. “Not much. Don’t want to go out. Not your fault. Forgot dose. That’s all.” Deep breaths came between each utterance, followed by a relaxation so sudden it frightened her.
“S’okay. Don’t worry. S’okay.” His stiffening body went limp, and though his lips moved, no sound came out.
Cupping the sides of his face with both palms, she kissed him, then went to work washing his hair. He was so beautiful, with those high cheekbones and that finely sculpted brow. A strong jaw and perfect chin, full lips made for kissing. Eyes so black the pupils disappeared. The scar on his cheek only accented the perfection of his looks. She could hardly stand to see him suffer.
Before bathing him, she slipped into the water and washed thoroughly all over, hesitating where they had coupled. How could something make one feel so good, so alive, so hopeful? All at one time? The youthful experimenting between her and Jimmy had been a great deal of fun, and he had taught her some things before the nuns caught them with each other in the darkness of her cubicle. But nothing had prepared her for the enjoyment she experienced with Blair.
He peered at her through half-closed lids, obviously enjoying watching her bathe, even in his morphine-induced oblivion.
After toweling off, she soaped a cloth and washed him, starting with his face. At his waist, she moved to his feet and legs, carefully removing the splint wrappings. They needed to be changed, and Simmons would do that, though she thought she might be able to. She took great care cleaning around the wounds that were almost healed. He became more alert as she made her way up his thighs.
Rowena's Hellion Page 18