Her eyes went wide. “Your…bath?”
He had to nibble his lip to keep from smiling. “Yes, of course.” It had taken some doing to convince the innkeeper that, as an earl, he valued his privacy and preferred that his “valet” carry the buckets up to his room. Was it so loutish of him to show her how the less fortunate lived? He did not think so. “And then later, you may brush out my traveling clothes in preparation for tomorrow.”
If he expected her to balk, or wail or cry, he was doomed to disappointment. She hopped out of the coach and with a nod and a brisk, “Yes, milord,” scuttled into the inn.
Charles stared after her. Unaccountably, his smile fell into a frown.
Perhaps he should have had her curry Seneca as well. Clean out the stall at the very least.
But the thought brought him up short. It was not his intention to punish her. Simply show her the errors of her ways. Make her regret running away.
And, if he were being honest, create some sort of wall between them so he could grapple with his untoward attraction for a woman who could never be his.
Britannia Halsey had never done a day’s work in her life. There had always been someone there to fetch and carry for her, so playing a servant was rather new. Oddly enough, she enjoyed it.
For one thing, it was fascinating to see how a kitchen worked. How the cooks and turnspits bustled around creating wonderful-smelling meals. She liked the camaraderie of the staff as well. The innkeeper’s son, Will, fed her and chatted with her as she waited for the earl’s meal to be prepared, and he even helped her set up the buckets to warm on the hearth. Britannia would not have had an inkling of how many buckets would be required, and though she’d bathed daily, it was a surprise how much effort the luxury commanded.
Most of all, she loved the freedom. As the earl’s valet, she could wander through the common rooms and listen in on conversations amongst the other travelers—some of which were ribald, indeed—and no one questioned her presence or scolded her for slouching or asked her to play the pianoforte.
Of course, there was no pianoforte here, but there was a man with a violin playing a song with bawdy lyrics. She sat in the corner tapping her toe, reveling in the realness of this scenario.
Not that parlors and sitting rooms weren’t real. They were. But there was something forced and unnatural about most social interactions in the ton. Here, men were laughing and joking, and the women on their laps were laughing and joking as well, clearly enjoying themselves.
It really was a delightful way to spend an evening.
That was, until the earl clomped down the stairs and scanned the room with a furious expression on his handsome face. His attention lit on her and his frown deepened. Thankfully, he did not bellow, but when he made his way to her corner and spoke softly, it was perhaps even more menacing.
“What in blazes are you doing here?” he asked.
Britannia blinked. “Waiting for your supper, milord.” One would think that was obvious.
Charles shot a glare around the room and his face went a little red. “Here?”
The way he said it, one would think they were in the bowels of hell itself. “It’s quite pleasant.”
He muttered something beneath his breath and then made his way into the kitchen and emerged moments later with his shepherd’s pie and ale. “Come along, boy,” he said as he headed for the stairs.
“Oh, but your lordship,” she said in a cheery voice. “I’m waiting for your water to warm as well.”
His eyes narrowed on her and then he spun on his heel, back into the kitchen, where he barked for someone to bring the buckets up. Then with a jerk of his head, commanding her to follow, he headed upstairs.
While it was a relief she wouldn’t have to carry all those buckets, she was sad to leave the common rooms. But there would be other inns along their journey, and with the freedom of a valet, she could have other such adventures.
The earl led the way into his rooms, which were probably the largest and grandest in the inn. That said, they were not terribly large or grand, but the bed looked comfortable and there was a large brass tub set up by the fire.
She knew better than to lust after that tub—it was for Charles alone. But it would be lovely to wash the dirt of the road from her skin.
He set his plate on the table and sat with a grunt. “I cannot imagine why you thought those common rooms were an appropriate place to linger.”
She stood behind him, unsure of what a valet might do. Would he sit? Would he wait for an invitation to sit? “I wasn’t lingering.”
Charles’ head whipped around. He glowered at her. “You most certainly were.”
“I do apologize,” she said in a wintery tone. Honestly. There was no call for him to behave like a savage. Even though he was a Scot. Certainly, she was his “servant” but that did not give him leave to be rude.
“Did it not occur to you that I would be worried about you when you did not return with my meal posthaste?”
Worried? What blather. “No, milord. Though I did imagine you might be worried about your pie.”
His mouth fell open, as though he intended to say something, then it snapped shut. “My pie?”
“I was diligently waiting for it to be ready for you. Guarding your interests, if you will.”
He might have wanted to say more, but someone knocked on the door.
While Britannia didn’t know much about being a valet, she was fairly certain they opened doors for earls when someone happened to knock. So she did.
And she smiled at Will, who stood there, with a coterie of servants, each carrying a steaming bucket. “Come in,” she said.
As the fellows dumped their buckets into the tub, Britannia and Will continued the conversation they’d had earlier about the local fair that was underway in Newcastle Upon Tyne. It had sounded wonderful, and if Britannia were not on a mission to get to Wick, she might have tarried a day or so to enjoy it.
She’d never been to a village fair. No doubt it would be quite an adventure.
Apparently, this conversation only fueled the earl’s testiness. His expression darkened a little more each time Britannia smiled at Will or laughed at one of his jests.
By the time the other men left the room, he was in a very poor temper, indeed.
“And what was that all about?” he barked.
Had he not been listening? “There is a fair in Newcastle—”
“I heard all that. What did you mean, smiling at him like that?”
Britannia blinked. “Like what?”
Charles muttered something beneath his breath and pushed his plate away. He’d only taken a few bites.
“Would you like something else?” she asked. “I’d be happy to go down and fetch you something more to your liking.”
“The pie is fine. I’ve just lost my appetite.”
Honestly. She didn’t understand this man at all. But she was glad she was having a chance to see this other side of him. He’d been so polite in London. Painfully polite. Detached and urbane.
This man growled and snapped and became overset at the simplest of things.
They did say the measure of a man was the way he treated his servants, so there was that at least.
“I think it’s time for my bath,” he said abruptly and Britannia nodded.
“I shall wait in the hall.”
He pinned her with a dark look, one that made her throat close. “Oh no, my lad. I expect you to bathe me.”
Her eyes widened and her jaw went slack.
Surely he was jesting.
But no. There it was, in his eyes. Determination.
“Come now,” he said, standing and holding out his arms. “Undress me.”
Chapter Five
Britannia gulped. The command had utterly thrown her for a loop.
Undress him?
How strange that a curl of excitement whipped through her belly. She resolved, however, to be as aloof and blasé as he, and stepped behind him to help him
shed his coat.
A frisson of restlessness, a coil of tension shot through her at the sight of this man in his shirtsleeves. This was a shockingly intimate tableau. She reminded herself she was his servant and there was nothing more to it. But when he turned around, so she could untie his cravat, she began to shake.
She drew in a deep breath and began working the knot.
All the while, he glared at her with a muscle pulsing in his cheek. Surely she was not so clumsy or slow to deserve that.
When she began on his buttons, he snarled something that sounded like, “Never mind,” and turned away to finish the job himself.
It wasn’t wrong for her to watch.
She was a valet, after all.
And, frankly, she was curious.
Besides, it wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen plenty of naked men in her day. If one counted today.
But oh. That frightening and dismal experience had done nothing to prepare her for this. As Charles pulled off his linen shirt, and his bronzed back was revealed, she nearly swallowed her tongue. Mr. Cole-Winston had not had muscles like that, muscles that bunched and rippled when he moved. Mr. Cole-Winston had not had a bottom like that, either. Charles’ bum was beautifully formed and tight. His legs were long and thick and, all things considered, rather intriguing.
She tried not to stare, but could not help herself.
Had she really thought naked men were hideous?
This one was like an Elgin marble. Perfect. A Greek God.
As he shed the last of his clothing, and Charles turned to the side to step into the tub, it almost seemed as though he was shielding his most private parts from her, which was, all in all, a disappointment.
Everyone knew the most interesting part of an Elgin marble was the—
“Well?” he barked as he sloshed into the water.
“Well what?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Are you going to wash my back?”
Wash his back? Touch him? She gulped. Dare she?
“Well?”
She tipped her head to the side. “If you wish.”
“I do so.” He waved to the cloth and soap Will had left on the table and she gathered them up and then slowly made her way to his side.
She didn’t even try to peek over his shoulder into the water.
Much.
Unfortunately, it was murky.
Or fortunately. Depending on one’s point of view.
Gingerly, Britannia dipped the cloth into the water and made a lather and then began scrubbing Charles’ back.
This was, again, a new experience for her. And again, a surprising delight. His skin was warm and smooth. His muscles were finely formed. She found she enjoyed washing him very much.
He, however, did not seem to enjoy it at all. His muscles were tense and he moved restlessly as she worked away on his back.
“Would you like me to wash your hair?” she asked.
“No,” he snapped, though there was no call for snapping.
“Shall I wash your front as well?”
He whipped around and frowned at her, then snatched the cloth away. “No.”
“What would you like me to do?”
She did not understand the consternation on his face. Really she didn’t. And…why did he look as though he was in pain?
“Just turn around.”
An odd command, but she did so, and then she heard him rise from the water. Her gaze flicked to the mirror and she froze as she caught a glimpse of…
Good. Glory.
He was magnificent.
And he was aroused.
She knew enough about the way of the world to spot that right off.
But why would he be aroused by his valet?
Unless…
Oh dear. She’d heard about that, too.
She peered at him over her shoulder as he dried himself with the towel and dressed in what he assumed was semi-privacy. Oh, he was a beautiful man.
Why should it matter to her if he preferred young valets over ladies of the ton? It wasn’t as though the two of them had any kind of future. But somehow it did matter, and the fact that it did matter irritated her greatly. And made her sad.
Which was ridiculous.
She was in love with Peter.
She had no business wanting any other man. Most specifically, him.
He turned around without warning, catching her gaze on him, and he frowned. “This was a mistake,” he said.
“I beg your pardon, milord?”
His lips twisted bitterly. He raked his fingers through his hair. “Oh leave off, Britannia. I know it’s you.”
Shock whipped through her. Her knees wobbled and she sat with a plop on the bed. “What?”
“I know it’s you. How could I not know it’s you? How could any man not know it’s you?”
Well, blast. She put out a lip. “When did you realize?”
“Really?” He tipped his head to the side and gaped at her. “The first bluidy moment I saw you by the mail coach.”
“You did not know then! How could you?”
He snorted a laugh. “Because I’ve met you? I know your face. Your expressions. Your smile.”
“Why on earth did you pretend you did not?”
He snorted again; this one was not a laugh. “I thought to teach you a lesson.”
She couldn’t help it. She chuckled.
He was not amused.
“You thought to teach me a lesson?” How adorable. “Is that why you made me fetch and carry for you?”
“You hardly fetched or carried anything.”
“I intended to. That counts for something. And you’re the one who stormed downstairs all growly and rude.”
“Rude? Rude? I was worried about you. You disappeared and didn’t return.”
“I was right there in the—”
“Oh, yes. I heard the songs they were singing. What do you think your father would say if he knew you’d been exposed to such language?”
She batted her lashes. “He would probably think you were the one who exposed me to it.”
It was wrong of her to be amused by his chagrin. Or not.
“I was the one who saved you from a brigand and don’t you forget it.”
There was no call for finger shaking.
“I won’t forget it. I am certain my father will be very appreciative.” She frowned at him. “Would you mind finishing?” Not that she didn’t appreciate the glorious expanse of his chest, but it was a trifle distracting.
“What?”
She waved at his person. “You are undone.”
Why he muttered, “You have no idea,” was a mystery. But he did make an effort to do up his buttons, though he got them wrong.
“So,” she huffed. “What do we do now?”
His gaze snapped to hers and his face went a little red and that muscle in his cheek began bunching again. “I…what?”
“Are you sending me back to London?” Might as well throw it out there. But she wasn’t going. If she had to, she would slip out in the night like a wraith and find some other means of making her way to Wick.
He huffed a breath and collapsed into the chair. “We both know how that would end up, don’t we?”
“Do we?” She widened her eyes in an attempt to look innocent. He was not fooled.
“At this point, it is better for you to travel with me, where you will be safe. Though we will need to hire a companion.”
“A companion? Whatever for?”
“You are a lady, remember?”
“Within the last week, I’ve been a boy and a valet. That seems to have worked out fine.”
“Has it?” He leaned forward and pinned her with a glare. “What do you think would have happened if I had not come along when I did this morning?”
She sniffed. “There is no need to belabor the point. I believe I did thank you.”
“In point of fact, you did not—”
“Well, thank you—”
“But your gratitude, or lack thereof, is hardly at issue here. You were in dire danger of being—”
“Being what?”
“Ravaged.” He scrubbed his face with his palms. “Can you imagine what could have happened?”
“I was prepared to protect myself.”
For some reason, her declaration did not appease him. “Really? And how would you have done that?”
She sat up straight and tipped up her chin. “Caesar has taught me to box.”
“Oh bluidy hell.”
“And I know where a man is most…vulnerable.”
“That you do.”
Again, she did not understand his insinuation. “Regardless, it seems perfectly obvious to me. We shall travel together to Wick, but there is no need for a companion. I can continue posing as your valet.”
“Wandering around strange inns and flirting with the stable boys?”
“I was not flirting!”
“It looked like that to me.”
“Will and I were simply being friendly.”
“And we all know where that leads, do we not?”
“Balderdash.” She turned away and stared at the door. “One would think you were jealous, the way you are carrying on.”
“Jealous?” A roar. One that shook the room. “To be jealous, I would have to want you for myself.”
The silence that fell, following his pronouncement, was a deafening one. Slowly, she turned and looked at him.
His eyes burned. His face was a mask. His hands were closed into fists.
And she saw it there. On his face, in his expression.
An unholy thrill rose up within her. Because there, in that moment, all thoughts of Peter faded. No man existed but this one. This large, perfectly-formed, glorious specimen. And she realized that her impatience with him, her restlessness in his presence all along, had been speaking to one thing and one thing only.
She desired him, this man who was not her betrothed.
It was really something of a surprise, but not nearly as surprising as the realization that he wanted her as well.
He stood and prowled across the room. He stopped just short of her, touching her with nothing but his breath.
“Britannia, I am trying to be an honorable man.”
She stood as well and faced him, toe-to-toe. “The way an honorable man pretends not to recognize a lady in distress so he can use her as his servant?”
Ever My Love: The Lore of the Lucius Ring (The Legend of the Theodosia Sword Book 2) Page 36