Page 6 of Master of Games (The Duke Fraternity #4)

CHAPTER FIVE

Tabbie stared at Ironheart as he gave her a saucy smile over his shoulder.

The man had lost his faculties.

Join him in the bath? It was ridiculous. It was absolutely absurd. Not only could she not see him without his clothing, he most certainly could not see her—

He shucked his breeches off his waist and down his thighs, his rear on full display.

“Ironheart!”

“Caden,” he replied winking over his shoulder once again. “I think we’re ready for you to call me Caden, don’t you? You have now seen me naked.”

“Not by choice,” she croaked back, her body aflame. And not all of it was revulsion. In fact, a very large part was pulsing desire as she stared at his firm backside and powerful thighs, the breadth of his shoulders perhaps even more impressive than the front.

He walked over to the tub and stepped into the water, sinking down until he lounged in the tub. “Feels amazing.”

“I’m sure it does,” she whispered and then realized that the proper thing to do in this moment was to leave.

Why hadn’t she gone sooner?

She turned away from the sight of his amazing shoulders resting on the lip of the tub and started shuffling toward the door.

“Tabbie. Sweetheart,” Ironheart called. “Can you get me a cake of soap?”

“Iron—Caden. I don’t think—”

“Please. I’m not sure I can lift out of the tub to get it myself.” Her eyes narrowed. Granted he had a fever last night, but he’d also gotten out of the bed without issue. Was he putting her on?

Then again, she’d thought he might die last night. With a huff of breath, she walked over, carefully averting her eyes, found the soap that had been left a few feet from the tub and tossed it in the water near his feet. “There.”

He tried to sit up and grab it, but flopped back down again. “I’ll need it closer.”

Her eyes grew wide as she straightened up to look at him and tell him what she thought.

But as her gaze swung to him, she realized, he’d spread his knees wide in the tub and she could see…everything. Every. Single. Thing.

And it was so much more than she’d ever imagined.

She stood frozen, staring. “The male body is…” she trailed off, heat coursing through her.

“Like I said, you’re welcome to join me.”

She shook her head, her hands clutching together. “No.” Not that she wasn’t tempted. She was. And she didn’t give a fig about society or it’s expectations. In fact, a night with a rake might just quell the curiosity that she’d been trying to squash down for some time.

But she could not, in the light of day, take her clothing off in front of Ironheart.

“Are you sure? After a night up, a bath might feel lovely.”

It surely would. “I can’t.” She finally tore her gaze away.

He let out a long sigh. “The soap then? Please.”

She looked in the tub, the soap bobbing somewhere between his knees. She’d likely get the sleeve of her gown wet. “I’m sure you can reach it.”

Normally, she’d tell him to get his own damn soap. But the injury, her worry, and her fascination had rendered her into the most docile female. It was ridiculous.

“I can’t, luv.” And then, somehow, he managed to spread his knees wider. “And could you wash my legs?”

“You can’t be serious.”

He gave her a weak smile. “I am.”

“My gown. It would be soaked.” It was a feeble excuse. She knew it.

“Take it off.”

A cry of distress fell from her lips. She couldn’t…

His eyes met hers. Held. “Tabbie. Take off the top of the dress.”

She shook her head, hard enough that several pieces of hair escaped. “You don’t want to see.”

“I do.” Then he reached out his good hand. “Your chemise will be on. Your corset. I’ll only see your arm.”

To her disbelief a few tears formed in the corners of her eyes. It must be the exhaustion of being up all night, because she hadn’t cried for a very long time. But the idea of this beautiful man seeing her imperfections, it hurt deep inside.

She’d said she didn’t wish to marry, didn’t need affection, didn’t want a man’s pity. But the truth was, she couldn’t face another rejection. There had been too many.

So instead of taking off the top, she stepped up to the tub and plunged her hand and arm, sleeve and all, into the water, grabbing the soap.

“Tabbie,” he said, a note of irritation in his voice.

She met his eyes again, glaring. “What?”

“Why won’t you take off your dress?” He reached his good hand under the water, holding her wrist. “I’ve already seen the edges of your scars.”

She looked away again, this time the tears that had pricked at her eyes welled up, and danced on her lashes. One fell. “It’s different.”

“Why?”

She shook her head again, letting go of the soap, her eyes squeezing shut, forcing a tear to track down her cheek. “Even I think they’re hideous.”

His finger slid across her wet hand. “Show me. Just your arm.”

“No.”

“I won’t think they’re hideous. I promise.”

She pulled her arm from the water and from his grasp. “No.”

Then she stood up and fled the room, leaving a trail of water in her wake.

* * *

Ironheart cursed himself seven times the fool. He’d pushed too hard. He knew it.

But patience had never been a virtue of his and he wanted Tabbie to understand. He didn’t give a shit about the marks on her body.

It was time for him to change tactics or he’d risk pushing her away.

Tabbie was the kind of woman who could fill in a man’s gaps. Be his strength when he was weak, be his mind where his lacked, be his heart in a world where he’d all but forgotten how to love, if he’d ever known at all.

He’d seen how Tabbie had treated her best friend. Not only had she given generously to the other woman, Tabbie had put herself in harm’s way to protect the vulnerable Sophie and Sophie’s sister.

Ironheart didn’t know much, but he knew a woman of true quality when he met one, and he wasn’t allowing a few scars to get in the way of making her his.

He grabbed the soap and washed himself the best he could with one arm and then rose from the tub. Ringing the bell, he called a valet to come help him dress.

He could already feel his strength waning, he’d have to rest soon, but that didn’t mean he was going back to bed just yet.

He had a woman to woo, and as he’d mentioned, patience was not one of his virtues.

Leaving the coat, vest, and cravat behind, he searched out Tabbie and found her bathed and changed and sitting in the library, as she stared out at the sweeping grounds and then the ocean beyond.

To one side, on the edge of the cliffs, a small building was currently under construction. “A penny for your thoughts?”

She snorted, turning her green eyes toward him. “They do not match this beautifully sunny day.”

He took that as in invitation, and moved deeper into the library, taking the seat next to hers. “Mine either.”

“What are your thoughts about?”

“How I’ve wasted most of my life attempting to punish a father who was never going to love me.” The words were absolutely true.

She turned to him, her eyes wide. “You win.”

That made him laugh out loud. “I have to know your dark thoughts first.”

She pointed toward a building that was under construction on the water’s edge. “They are building a new tea house.”

His brow furrowed. “The construction of a tea house is dark?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

Tabbie leaned forward, her eyes on the building. “The last one burned. My mother was inside when it happened.”

His breath held in his lungs and then stuttered out of his chest all at once, the realization hit. She’d been in that tea house as well. That was how she had been scarred. “Sweetheart.”

She shook her head. “Don’t pity me. I hate it.”

“I admire you,” he whispered. “Grit. Strength. Love.”

She looked at him then, more tears shimmering in her eyes. “I never cry.”

“I showed up at your door, kept you up all night worrying. If you’re emotional, the fault is mine.” He reached for her hand then, sliding his fingers into hers.

She didn’t resist. “It’s just…” she drew in a deep breath. “I miss her, most of all.”

“I’m sure you do.” He ached for her. For what she’d been through.

“I won’t regret the scars, they forced me from the path of being another vapid debutante.”

Vapid. It was a good word for it, and one that likely could have been used to describe himself. “How did you get them, sweetheart, tell me.”

The tears started streaking down her cheeks. “I saw the fire…”

He squeezed her hand, trying not to make a sound. But words tumbled out anyway, “You rushed in to save her.”

Tabbie gave the smallest nod. “I’m lucky to be alive. The structure was engulfed by the flames so quickly.”

Everything he thought he knew about Tabbie was confirmed. She was a person who’d give everything for someone she loved.

“Show me.”

“What?” she asked, turning toward him, looking pale.

“Show me the tea house. I want to see it.”

For a moment indecision marked her features and then, with a quick jerk of her chin, she rose from her chair, still holding his hand.