Page 14 of The Rebellious Countess (The Ruined Duchess #2)

“As you wish.” He picked up his chair, stopped by the table to take a fortifying drink of ale and walked to the screen, leaving his blanket behind.

He wanted her to see him, know how much he desired her, but trust that he would not ruin her.

He walked to the screen, inhaled deeply and exhaled before he joined her on the opposite side.

Her back was to him, her blonde tresses down around her shoulders as she glanced at him and gasped.

He closed his eyes. “I’m not unaffected by you. I think you’re quite lovely and you will make some man a wonderful wife. I want you, but I won’t do anything without your consent, and I will not ruin you.”

“And if I want to be ruined?”

He shook his head. “I am not the marrying sort.”

The smile in her voice was sad. “Just the lying sort.”

“Exactly. I am being honest when I tell you I will return you to Scotland with your maidenhead intact.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded. “May I open my eyes to sit down next to the tub?”

“Yes.”

Her arms covered her breasts from his view and her knees were bent obscuring her sex, just as he had described in his fantasy. “You are the loveliest thing I have ever seen.”

“Th-thank you, but you weren’t supposed to look.”

He bit back a smile and looked at the floor. “Of course. Forgive me. I have always found you entirely too diverting.”

He positioned the chair behind her head and spread his legs wide around the tub, almost as if he sat in the tub with her and the view became too tempting by far.

He meant to steal a glimpse of the top of her breasts, but the bruising covering one of her delicate shoulders snared his attention more strongly than a trap could hold a wild boar. His hand was immediately drawn to it.

“Does it hurt?” he asked as he lightly traced the hues of blue and purple adorning her skin. “Can you wash your hair?” He was suddenly quite certain her injury would not allow her to raise her arms easily if the deep colors marring her flesh were any indication.

“No, I was going to ask the maid?—”

“I’ll do it.”

“Do you know how to wash a woman’s hair?” She looked over her shoulder and he quirked a brow at her question, then shook out his own hair.

She let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I see.” She grinned and handed over the soap.

“I need you to scoot down and dunk your head.”

“Of course.” She disappeared under the water and when she came up, her arms were no longer covering her breasts, and she rose much higher than she’d been before.

Elias tried not to look, he really did, but he was a starving man being tempted with cherries—bloody cherries. He wanted to eat all night long.

He cleared his throat. “You might want to sink down a bit. I need my eyes open for this part.”

“Oh.” If the lighting had been better, he would have probably compared the color of her cheeks and chest to be the color of his favorite fruit, but they were both saved from that imagery by the candle flickering on the other side of the screen.

He lathered the soap working the creamy foam in between his fingers before handing the bar back to her. He stopped a moment, uncertain if he could trust himself to touch her and not take her.

“If you would rather I ring for the maid?—”

“No. If I did that, our status of newlyweds would be put in question.”

“Oh.” There was a pain in her voice, and he suspected she misinterpreted his hesitation.

“I’m trying to get my body under control. You are the worst kind of temptation.”

She stiffened. “The worst kind?”

He squeezed his eyes closed. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant to say was, it is very hard not to touch you in other ways.”

“But you said you would show me, and I said you could show me.”

“I’ve changed my mind. That’s not something I can do and maintain the proper distance between us. But I will wash your hair for you.”

“I see,” she said, as she lathered up a sponge and began rubbing it across her nipples.

He hesitated, his gaze glued to what she was doing.

“I don’t want to leave you with cold water.”

He needed the cold bath. His body demanded it…or satisfaction. One or the other. He wanted the other. He couldn’t have the other, dammit.

“I will make it quick.” He put his hands in her hair and immediately regretted not calling the maid.

He’d washed his own hair plenty of times.

The feel of long hair sliding through his fingers should be nothing new, but he’d never washed a woman’s hair before and somehow this was much more intimate than he’d imagined.

She pressed her head back into his fingers, making little noises as he massaged her scalp, and he found himself hoping that bar of soap in her graceful hand would travel lower.

Those thoughts sent him straight to hell.

He didn’t know how she knew, but her hand circled her navel and the slight indentation of her stomach.

He shouldn’t watch, he told her he wouldn’t, but he’d also told her he was the lying sort, so when her hand went to the swell of her hips and down the outside of her thighs, he watched every stroke.

“Do you mind if I lean forward to wash my feet?”

He cleared his suddenly parched throat. “No.” It was all he said, the only word he could force past dry lips, and as she bent forward to scrub her toes, he looked his fill at the globes of her of arse.

It was truly formed for male hands, not small and tight, but round and full, sending all kinds of erotic images into his head.

Bending her over and spreading her cheeks wide as he stroked her forbidden entrance and buried his cock deep in her sex.

Pumping in and out of her, thrusting his thumb into the forbidden rosette as she cried out in pleasure.

“Are you done washing my hair?”

The mocking tone of her question shattered the vision. He brought his gaze up and found her smirking at him over her shoulder. She was a minx, through and through. He liked that about her. Loved the dichotomy of innocence and vixen that belong solely to Máira.

“Lean back, mo ghaol .”

She did so with her little smile in place, and her hands covering her breasts from his view once more.

He rinsed her hair, keeping the water from the delicate features of her face.

He traced the arch of her brow with a wet thumb, ran his index finger down the length of her elegant nose, to her prominent cheekbones and around the elfin curve of her chin only to focus on her plump bottom lip.

She nibbled on his flesh, and he could see his cock disappearing between those luscious lips.

She was so bloody beautiful he felt as if he could hear angels singing sonnets to her. Certainly, there had to be birds chirping, stars falling, men dreaming—all in hopes of being close to her. Bloody hell! He sounded as if he were writing a love ballad.

He finished rinsing her hair and helped her sit up in the bath, averting his eyes from every delectable curve he wanted to devour.

“I’ll get your linen.” He walked around to the other side of the screen, his legs feeling like leaden weights as he paused and let his head drop forward.

He thought of guns and swords and bloody wounds to make his cock relax. Nothing worked.

He interlaced his fingers behind his neck and looked to the heavens for assistance. The angels weren’t helping either.

“Elias?”

“Yes.” His voice was as strained as his control.

“Were you getting my linen?”

“Yes.” He grabbed the white linen folded on the dresser and returned.

Holding it up in front of him, waiting for Máira to step out of the tub and into the towel.

In another place and another time, he would dry every curve, stroke every plane, and tease every nub until the only moisture left on her body was from their mutual desire.

With that in mind, he switched places with her and pushed her to the other side of the screen.

He’d wanted her to see how much he desired her, but now, he needed to escape her curious gaze, because in the depths of her scrutiny, were the embers of lust he wanted to ignite, yet needed to extinguish.

Instantly he stepped into the tub and sank in the water, wetting his head and shutting out the noises of Máira on the other side of the screen. When he came up, he reached for the bar of soap and found her on the chair he had vacated.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to wash your hair.”

He scoffed. “I’m not injured.”

“No, but you spoke of shaving it off because you didn’t think you could get it clean. I am here to make certain that you don’t shave it.”

“Most ladies of the ton find my hair unfashionably long.”

“Most ladies of the ton are fools.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. Despite her desire to be a part of society, Máira held most of them in contempt, as she should.

He lathered up the sponge and handed her the soap, but whereas her bath had been slow and sensuous, he made sure his was quick and perfunctory.

Scrubbing his body to near pain and not allowing her to luxuriate in his locks or massage his scalp.

When it was time to get out of the bath, he waited for her to put on a borrowed night rail before taking the towel and drying himself off on the opposite side of the room divider as her.

“It’s time to get some sleep,” he announced. “We have a long day tomorrow. You can have the bed and I’ll take the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I felt the lump on the back of your head the size of a goose egg. We’ll both sleep in the bed.”

“No,” he argued.

“Fine. Then I’ll sleep on the floor with you,” she fired right back at him.

“I could tie you to the bed.”

She grinned. “I didn’t realize you were into that.”

Jesus H Christ, he’d just got his cock under control, but images of her being tied to his bed—naked—well that was enough to make a man of the Cross go hard. “Tonight we can share, but not again.” He could make it one night without touching her, couldn’t he?