haven't fainted once you are in the water."
"There is one way to find out, isn't there?" And with that, she stood and went to the tub, and dropped the plaid before she stepped in.
"You aren't going to remove your sleeping gown?"
"I will once you have left the room. It needs washing, anyway."
All Jamie could think about was her sitting in that bathtub a few minutes from, now, bare and beautiful, with her soft skin shimmering with all the richness of the finest pearls. He called to memory the image of her the night before, when she lay completely nude in her bed, eyes closed, while he pulled his sister's gown over her head and buttoned it.
That had taken a mountain of will, for it had not been easy to resist the temptation to put his mouth over her breast and to try his own method of warming her.
"I will leave you and go in search of something suitable for you to wear," he said at last.
He did not have to turn back to look at her to know she was watching him. He could feel it. He smiled. He was never one to disappoint a hopeful lass, so he gave her something to look at when he let his plaid slip as he went around the door.
Five
When Love's delirium haunts the glowing mind,
Limping Decorum lingers far behind. —Lord Byron (1788-1824), English poet. Answer to Some Elegant Verses Sent by a Friend
She might be a maiden and untouched by human hands, but one would have to be a blithering idiot not to know that she had just been given a good look at the Earl of Monleigh's well-muscled buttocks, and just a glimpse, mind you, of that part of his anatomy that lay on the opposite side.
That in itself was shocking enough (although she would never admit that she enjoyed it immensely), but the worst part of it was, she knew he had done it on purpose, just to shock her and see her reaction.
Shocked she was, but she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him know she had even noticed.
Truthfully, she was wishing by this point in time that he had walked a little slower. After all, if he was going to give her a look at his privates, why not give her a good look?
She knew he was doing his best to seduce her, by giving her a glimpse of what exactly he had to offer. Dangling his wares before her as he had, she was reminded of the fisherman who baited his hook to catch the big fish.
Only she was not biting.
By the time he returned with a dress slung over his shoulder, a slow-spreading smile on his sensual lips, Sophie was out of the tub and wrapped in his plaid. She was leaning toward the fire, fluffing her hair to dry it. He crossed the room and placed the dress, undergarments and a pair of slippers on a chair, before he thrust a comb in front of her face. Then he said, "I thought you might need this."
"A comb! Oh! Merci...merci beaucoup. I was finding it quite impossible to get the tangles out with my fingers."
He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Without releasing her, he sat down in the chair and pulled her into his lap. Before she had a chance to squeal her dissatisfaction with the arrangement, he began to comb her hair.
"Just to conserve your strength," he said.
Sophie could only manage a muffled ' 'Hmm..." as she closed her eyes and let herself be completely seduced by the warmth of the fire, the nearness of him, and the luxury of having a man who looked as good, and smelled as fine, as he did, comb her hair.
She had no idea how long his hand had been there when she opened her eyes and realized his hand was cupping her breast. Her heart began to hammer so furiously she thought for a moment it had sprouted wings and would fly right out of her chest. Her first thought was she had fallen too quickly into a comfortable place with him, and now he had closed the gate and locked it, trapping her inside.
She turned her head to tell him in so many words to remove his hand from her breast, but when she whipped her head around, her lips collided with his. The next thing she knew his hot tongue was
"There is one way to find out, isn't there?" And with that, she stood and went to the tub, and dropped the plaid before she stepped in.
"You aren't going to remove your sleeping gown?"
"I will once you have left the room. It needs washing, anyway."
All Jamie could think about was her sitting in that bathtub a few minutes from, now, bare and beautiful, with her soft skin shimmering with all the richness of the finest pearls. He called to memory the image of her the night before, when she lay completely nude in her bed, eyes closed, while he pulled his sister's gown over her head and buttoned it.
That had taken a mountain of will, for it had not been easy to resist the temptation to put his mouth over her breast and to try his own method of warming her.
"I will leave you and go in search of something suitable for you to wear," he said at last.
He did not have to turn back to look at her to know she was watching him. He could feel it. He smiled. He was never one to disappoint a hopeful lass, so he gave her something to look at when he let his plaid slip as he went around the door.
Five
When Love's delirium haunts the glowing mind,
Limping Decorum lingers far behind. —Lord Byron (1788-1824), English poet. Answer to Some Elegant Verses Sent by a Friend
She might be a maiden and untouched by human hands, but one would have to be a blithering idiot not to know that she had just been given a good look at the Earl of Monleigh's well-muscled buttocks, and just a glimpse, mind you, of that part of his anatomy that lay on the opposite side.
That in itself was shocking enough (although she would never admit that she enjoyed it immensely), but the worst part of it was, she knew he had done it on purpose, just to shock her and see her reaction.
Shocked she was, but she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him know she had even noticed.
Truthfully, she was wishing by this point in time that he had walked a little slower. After all, if he was going to give her a look at his privates, why not give her a good look?
She knew he was doing his best to seduce her, by giving her a glimpse of what exactly he had to offer. Dangling his wares before her as he had, she was reminded of the fisherman who baited his hook to catch the big fish.
Only she was not biting.
By the time he returned with a dress slung over his shoulder, a slow-spreading smile on his sensual lips, Sophie was out of the tub and wrapped in his plaid. She was leaning toward the fire, fluffing her hair to dry it. He crossed the room and placed the dress, undergarments and a pair of slippers on a chair, before he thrust a comb in front of her face. Then he said, "I thought you might need this."
"A comb! Oh! Merci...merci beaucoup. I was finding it quite impossible to get the tangles out with my fingers."
He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Without releasing her, he sat down in the chair and pulled her into his lap. Before she had a chance to squeal her dissatisfaction with the arrangement, he began to comb her hair.
"Just to conserve your strength," he said.
Sophie could only manage a muffled ' 'Hmm..." as she closed her eyes and let herself be completely seduced by the warmth of the fire, the nearness of him, and the luxury of having a man who looked as good, and smelled as fine, as he did, comb her hair.
She had no idea how long his hand had been there when she opened her eyes and realized his hand was cupping her breast. Her heart began to hammer so furiously she thought for a moment it had sprouted wings and would fly right out of her chest. Her first thought was she had fallen too quickly into a comfortable place with him, and now he had closed the gate and locked it, trapping her inside.
She turned her head to tell him in so many words to remove his hand from her breast, but when she whipped her head around, her lips collided with his. The next thing she knew his hot tongue was
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