Wicked Seduction by Jade Lee Page B

contradiction bothered her all the way into the kitchen.
    “Set the tray there. I shall make tea and . . .”
    Her voice trailed away. Once they had stepped into the kitchen, he became a blur of activity. He set the tray down, then stoked up the cooking fire. He fumbled a bit with it—as if he had not worked a fire in a very long time—but managed quickly enough. The room would be cheerfully warm very soon.
    “Thank you,” she said, secretly delighted that he would think to work the fire for her even though her uncle would call it a huge waste. They did not need the room to be hot when only the stove fire was required. But she said nothing as she turned to set the stove fire burning. The kettle was already on it, so it would heat for tea. But when she straightened from her task, it was to see him grab the large bucket for carrying water.
    “We already have water in the kettle,” she began, “but thank you . . .”
    “Is there a well or a stream?” he asked.
    “A stream just two houses down. But we don’t need . . .”
    “Please,” he interrupted. He looked both uncertain and determined. Odd, but that was what she saw: a flash of awkwardness, but a core of certainty beneath. “I should like to take a bath tonight,” he said clearly.
    She stared at him. “But I would have to wake the staff to haul the water.”
    “I will bring the water. The tub is there,” he said, pointing in the corner, where indeed a cheap wooden tub lay upside down beneath the flour sack. A harsh lye soap rested beside it.
    “But surely you cannot mean to fetch and carry your own bathwater. It is a filthy patch of mud, and everything must be filtered through sand.”
    He nodded. “It will be the cleanest thing I have done in a very long time, I assure you.”
    “But it will take hours.”
    He nodded. “I know.”
    “But in the morning, there will be—”
    “Tonight. Please.” He gaze shifted to a place somewhere over her shoulder. “I have scars, angel, that might be frightening to some.”
    Oh! Oh dear. “O-of course,” she stammered.
    He disappeared in a flash while she was still biting her lip in mortification. He had scars? Of course he had scars. But where? And how bad? And really, she admonished herself, these were not proper thoughts, but she couldn’t help herself. Mr. Frazier’s face was rugged, handsome even, with an occasional flash of humor that she found especially appealing. She had naturally assumed that his body was equally well formed. But if he had been seriously hurt, then of course he bore scars. Scars ugly enough that he wished to bathe in solitude. The very idea left her feeling deeply sad.
    She glanced at the door, wondering what she could do to help. There was little, of course, except help him with his bath. Despite his intentions, she sincerely doubted he would be able to manage on his own. The water would be filthy, as she told him. It would need to be strained and heated. That required two people, which meant she would be up for hours more and would likely soil her best dress.
    She glanced down at her white skirt. As with all her gowns, it was a castoff from Rose. Given the difference in their sizes, Maddy had added panels along the seams to accommodate her larger chest, and yet another flounce at the hem for her height. Unlike her other dresses, she had not been the one to stitch this but had paid a seamstress to do the work. With red and blue ribbons, she thought the outfit rather patriotic and marvelously simple in its design. She loved this dress, and now it would likely be ruined unless she changed.
    She was about to do that when Mr. Frazier returned with two buckets full of water. She scrambled to help him despite his objections. She quickly pulled the sand buckets down and set them where they were needed. He poured the dirty water into the sand, and beneath it, water started dribbling into a large kettle that would eventually heat over the fire. It was a task she had assisted in countless