“My mum says they’re hazel.”
“They intrigue me. I hope you don’t mind my staring into them.”
There was barely enough light for him to see her cheeks turn pink. “Yours remind me of a dark stout.”
Damn, but she did delight him. “I’m not certain I’ve ever known a woman who described colors in terms of liquor.”
“It’s what I know.”
“Why a tavern? Why not a hat shop or—”
“Because men always find money for a pint. Ladies around here can’t always afford a new hat.”
Practicality had never seemed so alluring. “Why here? There are better, safer places in London.”
“People here need work. People here need a pint now and then to lessen their burdens. I thought in my own small way I could improve a few lives and make a tidy profit in the process.”
Practical and generous.
“How did you go from being a step-girl to owning a tavern? They each seem to require an entirely different set of skills.”
A corner of her mouth curled up provocatively. “You’ll find I have the cleanest steps in all of Whitechapel, in all of London for that matter.”
“I’ve no doubt, but still there is a good deal one must learn in order to effectively manage a business, any business, but this one in particular seems rather challenging.”
Interlacing her fingers, she rested her folded hands on her lap. “I couldn’t be a step-girl forever. The pay is pitiful, the work hard. When I was ten and four, I went to work in a tavern.”
His gut clenched at the thought of boorish men slapping her bum. “As a serving girl?”
“No. I spent most of my youth wearing my brothers’ castoffs. My mum kept my hair cut short, so the tavern keeper thought I was a lad. I started out washing dishes, cleaning tables, working in the taproom. By the time he figured out I was a girl, I’d proven myself to be a good worker, and it tickled him for some reason to know I was going about fooling people regarding my gender. So he took me under his wing and taught me what he knew. His wife, the daughter of a vicar, was a dear soul who believed pronouncing words properly was necessary for bettering oneself. So she gave me lessons in enunciation and grammar, which I shared with my brothers.” She lifted a shoulder. “She also believed I needed to be wearing skirts, needed to be all proper. I soon discovered even in a skirt, men barely noticed me. All my mum’s worrying that a bloke would take advantage was for naught.”
He very much doubted that, suspected the gents had come to like her for who she was, rather than what she was. Besides, she had four brothers with large hands that made powerful fists. “I think the lads all respected you too much by then.”
“I think the water is boiling,” she said quietly.
He could hear it now, gurgling in the distance. “Right.” Still his gaze lingered on her for a moment. “You’re not accustomed to talking about yourself, are you?”
She shrugged. “I’m not so interesting.”
He shoved himself away from the bed and headed for the door. She certainly had the wrong of that. He’d never known a more interesting woman.
Chapter 15
It was a mistake for him to be here. She could get accustomed to having someone to talk with. Having someone to wait on her wasn’t a hardship either, although she understood it was the circumstances that had him doing the menial chores he’d normally leave to a servant.
Still it was nice hearing the heavy thud of footsteps, watching as he labored, the way the muscles in his back, beneath his shirt, bunched and flexed whenever he lifted a bucket and poured the water in the tub. He moved with such ease, a man comfortable in his own skin. He knew who he was, what he was, which made him incredibly appealing.
“There,” he finally proclaimed. “That should do it.”
She still wasn’t certain bathing with him about was wise, but she did trust him, which was also probably not wise. Obviously the blow had knocked all good sense out of her head.
He stopped at the threshold. “I’ll close the door to give you some privacy, but call out once you’re situated so I can open it.”
“I think it should stay closed.”
He studied her for all a heartbeat. “As you wish.”
Why was she suddenly hit with disappointment?
“But call out if you need me, and let me know when you’re done. If you’re not finished in a half hour, say, I shall open the door to ensure nothing is amiss—that you’re not sleeping.”
“I’m not going to sleep.”
Words easier said than carried out once she sank into the heavenly abyss of warm water. Every muscle in her body ached and the heat seeping through to her bones made everything seem so much better. Charlie, blast him, had delivered a few hard blows, strategically delivered to the softest parts of her. Or maybe it hadn’t been strategic at all. Merely luck. He’d never struck her as much of a thinker. If he had the ability to reason at all, he’d have deduced that attacking anyone near her establishment would not go well for him, especially when he was idiotic enough to return to the tavern. If he were smart, he’d have gone elsewhere, but he was more a creature of habit and usually stopped in every now and then for a pint.
“Is everything all right?” was bellowed from beyond the wall.
“I’m fine!”
“Are you in the tub?”
“Yes.”
“Very good.”
Then he began to read in a deep, loud voice that penetrated through the thin walls of her apartment. If her brothers were still clearing up the mess, they were going to hear him. Unless Beast was able to convince him otherwise, Aiden would head up, and she didn’t need him to see her soaking in the tub, naked, with a strange man in her flat. “Open the door!” she called out.
He didn’t question her or hesitate. Suddenly the door sprang open. She only caught sight of his arm shoving it. Then he began reading again.
Lowering herself into the water as much as she was able, she hunched over and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Come in.”
Again, no hesitation. It took everything within her not to smile at his innocent expression.
“Are you not enjoying the story?” he asked, holding up The Moonstone.
“I’m not enjoying your bellowing. You may sit in here, in the rocker, but turn it so your back is to me.”
“Very good.” He moved the chair into place, keeping his eyes averted. When he was situated, he asked, “Shall I continue?”
“Yes, please.” Placing her cheek on her upraised knees, she watched the motion of his rocking, forward and back, forward and back, listened to the mesmerizing cadence of his voice as the narrator explained the origins of a diamond that would play a major role in the story. She’d already read it, but he was bringing the tale to life in a way that simply reading it to herself hadn’t. He was carrying her into a mysterious world, not so much woven by the author, but woven by Thorne. He poured energy into his reading. It wasn’t just words repeated. His voice wove around her, through her. The light from the flames on the hearth danced over his dark hair, over his shoulders, across his back.
With very little effort, he was luring her, luring her, luring her . . .
Without making so much as a splash, she brought herself to her feet, the water sluicing down her body, glistening her skin in the process. Quietly, she stepped out of the tub and slowly ambled toward him. He barely did more than lift his gaze to her when she took the book from his hands and tossed it aside. His nostrils flared, his eyes smoldered, his lips parted. Desire, want, need shimmered off him.
She settled onto his lap, not at all surprised to find herself dry. She wound a bare arm around his neck, cradled his strong jaw with her other hand. “It should be a sin for a man to be as beautiful as you.”
“I prefer handsome.”
She skimmed her fingers up his face, into his hair. “You make me want to do wicked things.”
Closing her eyes, she lowered her mouth—
“Gillie.”
—to his, gave her tongue the freedom to roam—
“Gillie.”
—to taste, to explore, to know every nook and cranny—
“Sweetheart, you need to wake up.”
No. No. No. She wouldn’t leave this fantasy behind until it came to its satisfying conclusion.
“Gillie, wake up for me now.”
The concern and worry, the edge of panic woven through his voice broke through the gossamer images. Her eyes fluttered open. He was there, his hands cradling her face. He bestowed upon her a gorgeous smile she would carry to her deathbed.
“You gave me quite the scare there for a minute.”
She couldn’t imagine him being afraid of anything. “I fell asleep,” she said stupidly, unnecessarily. How disappointing to realize it had all been an enticing dream.
“I’m sure my reading is quite boring.”
“No, it was lovely.” Then she realized she was still hunched in the bathwater, with him so near, but at least he was looking into her eyes, not that she thought he could see much if he did glance down. She should have been self-conscious and perhaps she would have been if not for that ridiculous dream.
He skimmed his finger along the back of her arm. “He bruised you.”
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“That’s not the point. He never should have touched you.”
“I didn’t give him much of a choice.”
“I noticed. I walked through the door just as you leaped on him. You have a fetching calf, by the way.”
“How do you know?”
“Your skirt hiked up and I was not gallant enough to look away.”
She was growing so warm, she was no doubt reheating the water.
“You’re not accustomed to compliments,” he said quietly.
“I don’t pay them any mind. They’re designed to turn a woman’s head and I don’t want my head turned.” Although he did have the right of it. Gentlemen, other than her brothers, never gave her any. But then she never sought them out or gave any indication she’d welcome them.
“How many bruises have you that I can’t see?” he asked.
Shaking her head, she lifted her shoulder. “A couple here and there. They’re nothing.”
“I know women who take to bed because a bit of parchment nicks their finger.”
She laughed lightly. “No, you don’t. That’s ridiculous.” And their conversation was becoming ludicrous. Not that she minded. She couldn’t recall a gentleman ever making her laugh or feel young, innocent, or silly. Her mum had always told her she’d been born an adult, too responsible for her own good, that she needed to have some fun. Work brought her enjoyment. What more did she need than that? “If you’ll return to your chair and your reading, I’ll scrub up so we can be done with this.”
“How about if I wash your back?”
Her stomach nearly dropped to the bottom of the tub. “That’s too intimate.”
“You washed my arms, my legs, my chest. I daresay every inch.”
“Not every inch.” A good many inches had gone untouched and the thought of them had heat scalding her face. She looked to the fire, seeking to regain her senses, then returned her attention to him. “I knew this was a bad idea. Move away.”
He did so quickly, scooting back until he was sitting several feet away on the floor, his eyes never leaving her. The speed with which he’d responded made it easier to breathe.
“Only your back,” he said quietly.
And she again lost the ability to breathe. “It’s improper.”
“Gillie, there hasn’t been a proper thing between us since we met. I was in your bed, naked as the day I was born. You cared for me, nursed me, and didn’t take advantage. I want only to return the favor, give you a bit of the care you gave me. Have you ever had anyone wash your back?”
“My mum. She washed me until I was eight. Then I was old enough to do it myself. Odd thing was, the last time she did it, I didn’t know it was the last time. We don’t always know when something is the last time.”
“No, we don’t. The last time my father spoke to me, though, I suspected it was the final time. I was all of fifteen when he placed the watch in my palm and handed it down to me. Although I surmised what his action portended, it still came as a bit of shock when my fears were confirmed.”
“We’ll make Charlie tell us where he fenced it. I know a good many of the thiefs’ pawns around here. Once we know who he sold it to, we’ll be able to get it back or find out where the fence might have pawned it.”
“Right-o, then. We’ll have a chat with him. Meanwhile, your bath, your back?”
She shook her head. If she let him wash her back, she feared she might want him to wash everything. “I can’t.”
He spun around on his backside and shoved himself to his feet. “I’ll be in the other room while you finish up here. Call if you need me.”
Watching him walk out, she knew she should have felt relieved. Instead she cursed herself for being a coward, for not trusting completely—not him specifically, but all men. Some man she didn’t know who’d done wrong by her mother; the man who had done wrong by her mum and planted a babe in her belly, a babe who was now her younger sister, Fancy; the men who might have taken advantage of her if she hadn’t spent the better part of her life going about disguised as a boy. She remembered how odd she felt the first time she put on a skirt, when no seams touched her intimately. She’d opened a tavern because within its walls she wouldn’t have to impress anyone. She could keep her hair short, wear shirts that didn’t hug her body, and skirts without petticoats because someone in want of a drink wasn’t looking for a fancy lady to pour it. He only cared that it was poured.
In spite of her height, in her tavern, she went about barely noticed. And a woman not noticed wasn’t likely to bring an unwanted child into the world.
But even as she had that thought, she knew any child to whom she gave birth would be wanted, regardless of which side of the blanket it came in on. She’d never understood ostracizing those born of sin. It certainly wasn’t their fault.
Although, to be honest, before Thorne, she hadn’t truly understood temptation. If she’d have been able to resist purring while he washed her back, she might have accepted his offer. But she was still quaking from that lurid dream where she’d curled up on his lap and tried to seduce him. Best to get back into some clothes before she found herself traipsing out into the other room and rubbing her body against his as though she were a blasted cat.
Because he’d asked, as she washed up, she noted the bruises on her shin, her thigh, her hip, and elsewhere. Seven total that she could see. A couple of the more tender ones were turning dark and ugly. It had been a while since she’d gotten into a proper scrape. She should have been horrified by her behavior. Instead, she felt quite proud because she was rather certain she’d given as good as she got.
Once she was finished bathing, she climbed out of the tub and dried off. Her head still hurt, a muted throbbing that irritated more than anything. She considered putting on her nightdress and crawling into bed for a few minutes, but her mother would be appalled that she’d wear such a thing when she had company of any sort, much less male. So she decided against wrapping her breasts, and selected a clean shirt and skirt. Leaving her feet bare, she clambered onto the bed.
He must have heard it creaking because he was in the doorway before she’d fully settled in, lying on her side. “You’re not going to sleep.”
“I’m exhausted. Surely it’s near enough to dawn—”
“I’ve not yet heard the lark.”
She released a tired laugh. “You’re not going to hear the lark around here. You’ll hear wagons, wheelbarrows, horses’ hooves, and squeaking wheels. You’ll hear life. Let me sleep for just a few minutes.”
“I can’t. But neither can I read to you as that puts you to sleep. So I’ll just have to keep asking you questions.” He moved to the edge of the bed and sat.
“Can we di
m the lamp?” she asked. “The light makes my head hurt worse.”
He extinguished the flame, got up, stirred the fire so it cast a bit more light, but it was far enough away that it didn’t hit her eyes directly. When he returned, he stretched out on the bed beside her. “Don’t be alarmed. I’m not going to touch you. Just trying to ensure I stay awake as well.”
With her back to him, rising up on an elbow, she glanced over at him. Staring at the ceiling with a hand shoved beneath his head, he made her mouth go dry. “At least take off your boots.”
He obliged, his action touching a place deep inside her where she’d shoved aside the notion a gentleman would ever place his shoes beneath her bed. He slowly eased back down as though striving not to jar her and shifted his gaze over to her. “So talk to me.”
“I don’t have much else to say. I’ve already told you about various liquors.”
He grinned. “Ah, yes, I remember that. In spite of the pain and the fog, I wanted to hear what you had to say.”
“That’s about all I know.”
“Tell me about your dreams.”
That she dreamed of crawling into his lap and kissing him senseless? Not bloody likely.
“There must be something you dream about doing that you haven’t yet done,” he added.
She settled back down on the mattress, slipped a hand beneath her cheek, and stared at the dark lamp. Much easier to whisper about dreams when not facing someone directly. “Have you ever been to France?”
“I have. Have you not been?”
“I’ve never left London.”
“You’d no doubt love Paris. From what I understand ladies go there to purchase their ball gowns.”
“What use have I for ball gowns? No, I want to visit the various vineyards.” She glanced back over her shoulder, but her angle was such that she could see little more than his bare feet. Why did the sight cause her stomach to quiver? “Have you seen them?”
“It never occurred to me they’d be worth my time.”
She turned back to the lamp. “I think it would be fascinating to meet the people who give us something that can bring such pleasure. I’d like to pluck a grape from a vine, toss it into my mouth, take off my shoes and walk through the soil that feeds the vines. I’d like to see how the wine is made. And taste it every step along the way.”
When a Duke Loves a Woman Page 17