“How so?”
“Well, I . . . I am your— We are, after all—”
“Mmmm, yes,” he grinned. “I see what you mean.” She nodded quickly to avoid the actual words. “Yes,” he sighed. “It would be a wife’s duty to see to her husband’s needs.” Heat raced up her neck. “That is what you meant, isn’t it?”
“Y-yes, exactly.”
“Then I should like you to bathe me.”
Stunned, Catherine swung about to find the jest, but there was none. He was quite serious. He wanted her to give him a bath! “But . . . would it not be . . . be better if H-Holden or—”
“Prepare some hot water,” he instructed. “I do not have the strength to seek the tub so you will have to wash me here.”
He meant it! The insufferable cad meant for her to perform that very intimate chore. She tried to back away. “B-but I . . . I . . . I can’t! I never—”
“Catherine,” he spoke firmly and she winced. “You will do as I ask.” Slowly, she shook her head back and forth. “Yes, you will . . . because I don’t think you will like the alternative.”
She tried to fathom what the alternative could be. Perhaps she would prefer it. She eased further down the side of the bed, ready to bolt the moment she knew she was beyond reach, but he stopped her more surely with his words than any gesture could have.
“If you do not obey me in this, you may pack your things and leave.”
There was no room to argue this mandate. She had spent the last few days mentally working out her future. With no place to go, she sighed in defeat.
“Very well, Captain Kent. You will have your bath.”
* * *
Ransom was beginning to wonder if she would ever return when a tentative knock on his door made him smile. “Come in, Catherine.”
The door opened and she entered. She held her back ramrod stiff as she carried in the pitcher of hot water. One of the servants followed with another. Both were placed on a table near his bed.
“That will be all.” The girl and Catherine turned to leave. “Catherine,” he called softly. She froze.
“P-please, I—” she whispered.
“I cannot stand my own stench,” he growled to cover a certain thrill in seeing her tremble. “And I cannot do it myself.”
“Holden could do it,” she said softly.
“You will do it,” he said firmly.
Clearly, she struggled with her thoughts, but finally drew a deep breath and turned toward the table. He kept an eye on her slender back as she lathered a cloth. It seemed an overlong chore, but eventually she turned to face him.
He held out an arm. It was difficult not to chuckle as she bathed one arm, then the other without once looking at them. As she toweled him dry, he considered the next step. He waited until she returned to the basin before shoving his covers as low on his hips as he could without betraying his arousal.
“Oh!” she squealed upon turning. She clamped her eyes shut and turned away.
“I grow chilled, madam,” he grinned, fully aware of the heat escalating through him.
It took her a moment to turn back to him. She pressed the soapy cloth against his warm flesh and rubbed it across him. Ransom was glad she did not meet his eyes. It would have been impossible for him to hide the desire he knew filled them. He sighed, but not from the pleasure of his bath. In her efforts to see to him quickly, she leaned across him and her breasts pressed against him. He had set out to disarm her, but it seemed his plan was backfiring.
“Now my back,” he stated, his voice as flat as he could make it. He sat up and leaned forward. He heard Catherine take a steadying breath before she began to rub his skin. He would have given anything to know her thoughts.
“Mmmm, nice,” he growled softly. “I may have you do this every day until I can again use the bath.” He felt her hand flex as it swept his back. He grinned when she remained silent. “Then, perhaps, when I am better, I can return the pleasure.”
“No!” she squealed and stepped away. Ransom glanced over his shoulder. His eyes questioned her. “I don’t need assistance,” she stated as calmly as she could, but her eyes refused to meet his. Instead, she picked up a towel and rubbed him dry. “There, you are finished.”
She turned away to clean up the basin and soap, but he reached to stop her. She stiffened, clearly aware he was about to challenge her again. Slowly, she turned to him with eyes begging he relent.
“There is much of me unwashed,” he said, enjoying the rise and fall of her chest. He heard her gasp and she lowered her eyes.
“I . . . I cannot,” she murmured in a breathless whisper.
“I could make you, you know.” By now, he could see her extreme distress. “All right, Catherine.” He released her arm. “You’re through, for now.”
“Thank you,” she exhaled, obviously grateful. As she gathered the bath items and headed for the door, he did have one more request.
“Come help me with my dinner tonight.”
Her jaw tensed, but she nodded. Once she disappeared from his view, Ransom sighed heavily. It may have been an ordeal for her, but for him . . . it gave Hell a new name.
* * *
By the time Catherine climbed the stairs with his tray, her nerves were stretched. Being made to touch his body, even with a cloth, had been torture. She never dreamed a man could be so powerful, even in his infirmity. His body appeared to be made of pure muscle with little left to indicate any softness.
She wanted to ignore his strength, but she could not. Each time she closed her eyes she could see the heavy dusting of dark hair beginning at the center of his chest, only to disappear beneath the sheet. Broad shoulders and a slender waist haunted her. As if these memories of his bath were not enough to endure, she still had to feed him.
She entered his room after a light knock and reply. He sat up against the headboard, still without a shirt, his chest bare. “Your dinner.” She placed the tray on his lap, flipped the napkin open, and used it to cover his chest. “I hope it meets with your approval.” She spoke through clenched teeth and turned to leave.
“I fear I am weak still,” he announced. “Could you help me?”
Her temper simmered. Nearly at the end of her endurance, she whirled to stare at him. “I thought your injury was to your leg,” she snapped. “I was not aware you hurt your arm.”
“It’s not my injury, but fatigue that bids me ask for your help.”
She wanted to tell him about fatigue, but decided it was unwise to antagonize him. He seemed capable of finding all sorts of ways to torment her when she did. Resolved to get through this ordeal, she stood beside the bed and reached for the fork.
Although silent, he ate slowly and frequently used his tongue to lick his lips. She found herself mimicking his movements until she caught him grinning crookedly at her. She grew extremely careful after that. Thinking she might survive without another lapse, she saw gravy run down his chin and reached to stop it with her finger.
As she drew back her finger and reached for the napkin, he grasped her wrist. Very slowly, and without taking his eyes from hers, he drew her finger to his mouth and sucked away the gravy.
She yanked her hand away. “I think you have had enough.”
His eyes grew heavy. “I don’t.”
“You need sleep,” she went on as if he had not spoken. “And I need my own dinner.” To her amazement, he remained silent as she picked up the tray and left the room. Moments later, she stood in the kitchen with Alice calling to her.
“What?”
“I said, are you all right, child?”
“All right?” she echoed. “I might never be all right again.”
Chapter Ten
* * *
Catherine sat at her dressing table, her head braced in her hands. She didn’t think she could take much more of seeing to Ransom’s needs. For three days, she had seen to bathing him, shaving him, and feeding him. Her nerves were taut. She was beyond her damnable blushing, or so she though
t until that very afternoon—when he made a point to touch her every chance he got. She could still feel the heat on her face when she leaned to wipe the last of the lather from his face and his hand rose to cup her breast.
“Damn him!” she fumed, slapping her palms down on the small table. She was at her wits end! Under no circumstances would she return to his room, at least not alone. When she brought his dinner, Alice would just have to accompany her.
Actually, she mused, he should be well enough to come down to the table. That would take care of all this foolishness. Holden and John could help him, and it would probably do all of them a world of good to get back to normal.
When Catherine noticed the time neared for her to help with dinner, she rose and stretched her weary muscles. They were so used to being tense of late, she had to make a conscious effort to ease them. Almost ready to leave the sanctuary of her room, she heard a tap at her door. When she opened it, she smiled weakly at Holden.
“What does he want now?” she asked, her voice fatigued.
Holden’s arms were filled with a rather large trunk. “May I come in and set this down?”
She stood back and indicated he could enter. Filled with curiosity, she watched him place the trunk on the floor. “Don’t tell me, he wants me to mend his shirts,” she groaned.
“Actually, no,” Holden grinned. He flipped open the chest and waved his hand over it. “These are for you.”
Catherine moved slowly to peer over the edge of the trunk and gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my! I can’t believe it!” She dropped to her knees and carefully lifted out a gown of emerald green. Beneath it lay one of soft yellow and another of pale blue. Lovingly, she touched the trio. “I have never had anything so beautiful,” she sighed, her voice husky with emotion. She placed the gowns on the bed and ran to throw her arms about his neck. “Thank you!” she cried, letting tears of joy and appreciation flow.
“As much as I wish this idea was mine,” Holden grinned and set her to arms length, “I cannot take the credit.” She frowned. “They are from Ransom.”
She drew in a breath in surprise. “Why would he secure gowns for me?”
“I would imagine it’s because you’re his wife,” he replied. “He had me and Alice meet with the dressmaker. We hope you like them. Alice said they should fit.”
Some of the delight at the gifts fled with the knowledge of her benefactor. Even so, she could not deny how thrilled she felt to have something of her own. “I will wear one tonight and you will see,” she beamed. She preferred not to worry about anything but the kindness of her friends.
“Splendid,” he smiled, “because Ransom has requested you join him for dinner in his room.”
Catherine’s spine stiffened. “Then I see no need to wear one,” she sniffed. “I should hate to ruin one feeding the captain.”
“No, Catherine. He wishes you to join him. He has asked Alice to serve the two of you there.”
So, there would be a price to pay for the gowns. She had noticed he was getting stronger each day. It must be time for her to settle the debt he had tallied and raised with his gift. Gazing at the gowns, she recalled her argument with herself. She had known this time was coming. He told her so before his injury, and she swore to herself it would be a small price to pay for security.
“Very well,” she said. Her chin raised. “You may tell the captain I shall join him.”
* * *
“Did she like the dresses?” Ransom asked when Holden entered his room.
Holden grinned. “I think she liked them fine. Even said they were the finest dresses she’s ever seen.”
Ransom frowned and snorted harshly as he made his way about the room slowly. “I doubt that. I’m sure her father spent a fortune on her gowns in London.”
“Probably,” Holden admitted. “But don’t forget that until these she’s only had handouts since she arrived.”
The explanation was a worthy one, but Ransom didn’t care what she wore. His mind was filled with what she wasn’t going to be wearing when he took her to his bed that night. After days of her tender ministrations, his body cried for release.
Every time she came into his room at his calling and saw to some additional chore he set for her, he struggled not to take her. He wanted to be able to enjoy their coming together. He knew he couldn’t without the full use of his leg, so each time she would leave his room, he would rise to exercise it. Now he was ready.
“Any other news in town?” he asked to clear his mind of the images of his planned diversion.
“Oh!” Holden cried, slapping his hand to his brow. “I forgot.” He fished in his breast pocket and withdrew an envelope. “This came up on the steamboat for you while I was in town.”
Ransom sighed. It was from his father. He knew the bold scrawl all too well. He opened the missive. What else could he possibly have to say after his last letter? Ransom’s jaw clenched tightly. Rage filled him as he read. He wadded the letter into a ball and tossed it across the room.
“What’s wrong?” Holden asked.
“My father,” Ransom began, but had to draw a steadying breath before he could continue. “He says I should not expect Lady Sabrina Thorpe. She has run away to Spain with some fortune hunter and he is pleased I did not have to marry her, after all.”
The room became dreadfully silent. Finally Holden spoke. “Then who did you marry?”
Ransom limped toward a chair and fell into it. He leaned his head back, thinking over every moment since Catherine’s arrival. She had the ring identifying her as Lady Thorpe. Lady Sabrina Thorpe. Damn! Why hadn’t his father used her given name in his first letter? It would not have stopped his marriage to her because he didn’t know her name then, but it would have stopped the farce before he became involved with wanting her.
The fault was not all his father’s. He should have caught a few other clues himself. Like her admission she had never been to Whitehall. What young woman of the ton did not get to Whitehall, especially one whose father was a duke? As he recalled, wasn’t every unwed girl a master at playing the flirt? Catherine could hardly face him. How could she get through a coming out? And now there was the comment about the gowns.
Whoever she was, she did not come from a wealthy family. He should have known that right off, too. Hadn’t she pitched in and worked? One of London’s finest would have lived in squalor rather than clean up after herself. Or cooked. Or bartered with a common farmer.
“Well?” Holden interrupted his thoughts. “What do you think? Who could she be and why the deception?”
A terrible thought began to nag at the perimeters of Ransom’s mind. It would really be very clever. Whoever could set it up might deserve a medal, perhaps even knighthood. Ransom opened his eyes, sat up, and looked straight at his friend. “I think we had better be very careful, my friend.” His voice sounded cold even to his own ears. “We may well have a British spy in our midst.”
* * *
Ransom sat twirling the brandy in his glass as he awaited the arrival of his wife. How could he have been so foolish as to let down his guard? For years, he’d steered clear of letting his physical side overrule his logic. Then, in a few short weeks, Catherine had wormed her way beneath his protective veneer. He wanted her and initially thought her elusive behavior the result of her past sins. Now he was sure it was meant to entice.
She was very good at it, he thought, his mood growing dark. She wove her web well. Despite the danger and his need to turn her over to the American troops, he still wanted her. He fully intended to get her to admit her deceit, and to turn her in, but not before he got what she promised.
She owed him. She responded just enough to drive him beyond caution with his need. Now that he knew the rules, he would come out the winner. He checked the clock, smiled, and lifted his glass in a silent toast to his success.
* * *
Catherine was nearly delirious with the gowns she had received. She ran at once to Alice to thank her for her help in s
ecuring them. Alice talked her into a bath before donning one, and they chatted the entire time they used the kitchen for the task.
Alice selected the rich green and brought it down to her. Despite her apprehension, Catherine fairly beamed as she slipped her arms into the gown’s small capped sleeves. Drawing up the bodice, she gasped and pressed her hands to cover the expanse of flesh left visible by the neckline.
“Is this not a bit—”
“Of course!” Alice chuckled. “It’ll be perfect.”
Swallowing her trepidation, Catherine nodded. She wondered if the dress was a good idea. Ransom might think her more willing when he saw her in it. Before she could voice her objections, Alice began to prepare her hair.
“I wish I had more pins to secure it,” Catherine said as Alice brushed it back from her face.
“Don’t need ‘em,” Alice smiled. “I’ll use this ribbon and tie it.” She stepped back when she was finished. “There.” Alice looked at her. “You’re lovely, child.” Catherine’s hand splayed across her bodice. “And the dress is perfect.”
“Are you very sure?”
“I’m sure. Now, you wait here while I prepare the dinner tray.”
Catherine chose to pace rather than wait and think of the evening to come. She entered the dining room, then made her way into the foyer just as Holden came down the stairs. He looked worried. “Holden?” she called to draw his attention. “Is anything the matter?”
Holden stopped in his tracks and stared at her. She began to feel uncomfortable with the way he looked at her, but he finally smiled and postured a bow.
“Nothing’s wrong, m’lady, except that I find I envy my friend.”
She knew she blushed and lowered her head. “Thank you, Holden,” she sighed. She lifted her eyes to gaze through her lashes and smiled. “For everything.”
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