He laughed aloud. “You are very entertaining, did you know that, Cecilia Rokesby?”
She rolled her eyes again, handing him the towel that had been left folded neatly at the end of the bed.
He feigned a sigh. “I would say it was why I married you, but we both know that isn’t true.”
She turned to look at him, her face oddly without expression. “What did you say?”
He shrugged as he pulled off his coat. “I obviously don’t remember why I married you.”
“Oh. I thought you meant . . .”
He regarded her with raised brows.
“Never mind.”
“No, tell me.”
But her face had already gone quite red. “I thought perhaps you were referring to . . .”
He waited. She didn’t finish. “The kiss?” he supplied.
He had not thought her skin could reach an even deeper hue, but it did. He took the two steps that lay between them and touched her chin with just enough pressure to raise her gaze to his.
“If I had kissed you before our wedding,” he said softly, “there would be no doubt right now as to the permanence of our marriage.”
Her brow wrinkled in adorable confusion.
He brushed his lips against hers and then said against her cheek, “If I had known what it meant to kiss you, I should not have allowed the army to send me away.”
“You’re just saying that,” she said, her words a mumble near his ear.
He drew back with an amused smile.
“You would not refuse a direct order,” she said.
“From you? Never.”
“Stop,” she said, batting him playfully away. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
He took her hand and dropped a courtly kiss on her knuckles. Damn if he wasn’t feeling ridiculously romantic. “I assure you, Mrs. Rokesby, I would have found time for a wedding night.”
“You need to take your bath.”
“Ouch.”
“Unless you like cold water.”
He was beginning to think he might need cold water. “Point taken. But if I might add one more thing to the conversation . . .”
“Why do I think I will be blushing like a fiend a few seconds from now?”
“You’re already blushing,” he took great joy in telling her, “and I was merely going to say—”
“I’ll be downstairs!” she called, making a dash for the door.
Edward smiled from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, even when all that was left for him to look at was the inside of his bedroom door.
“I was merely going to say,” he said aloud, his happiness coloring each word warm and pink, “that it would have been spectacular.”
It will be spectacular, he thought as he stripped off the rest of his clothing and lowered himself into the tub.
Soon, if he had anything to do with it.
Chapter 6
What the devil are you talking about? You don’t have a freakishly large nose.
—from Thomas Harcourt to his sister Cecilia
Edward had said he needed ten minutes, but Cecilia waited a solid twenty-five before venturing back to room twelve. She had been planning to remain downstairs for half an hour, but then she started thinking—he was still terribly weak. What if he was having difficulty getting out of the tub?
The water would be cold by now. He could be catching a chill. He deserved his privacy, and she certainly wanted to give it to him, but not at the expense of his health.
It was true that she had seen him in a most improper state when she was caring for him back in hospital, but she’d not seen all of him. She’d learned to be very creative with the bedsheet. She’d draped it this way and that, always managing to preserve his dignity.
And her modesty.
All of New York might think her a married woman, but she was still very much an innocent, even if one kiss from Captain Edward Rokesby had left her breathless.
Breathless?
Brainless.
It really ought to be illegal for a man to have eyes that color. Somewhere between aquamarine and sapphire, they could mesmerize a girl with a glance. And yes, her eyes had been closed when he was kissing her, but that mattered little when all she could picture was that last moment before his lips touched hers, when she’d thought she might drown in the deep blue of his gaze.
Cecilia had always liked her own eyes, taking pride in the pale green color that set her apart from the crowd. But Edward . . .
He was a beautiful man, there was no getting around that.
But he also might be freezing to death, she thought. Or rather, freezing until he was chilled, and heaven knew that could kill him.
She headed up the stairs.
“Edward?” she called out, knocking softly on the door. Then she thought—why was she being quiet?
She knocked harder. “Edward?”
No response.
A little frisson of apprehension skidded up her arm, and she grabbed the door handle and turned.
She said his name again as the door swung open, and she stepped in, eyes averted. When he did not reply to that, she finally turned toward the tub.
“You did fall asleep!” The words popped right out of her mouth before it could occur to her that she might not wish to wake him up in such a vigorous manner.
“Gah!” Edward came awake with a yelp and a splash, water flying through the air as Cecilia dashed across the room for no reason she could figure.
But she couldn’t just stand there in front of him. He was naked.
“You said you wouldn’t fall asleep,” she accused, her back firmly to the bathtub.
“No, you said I wouldn’t fall asleep,” he countered.
He was right, drat it all.
“Well,” she said, in that tone that clearly said she hadn’t a clue how to conduct herself. “I expect your water has gone cold.”
There was a beat of silence, followed by “It’s tolerable.”
She shifted her weight from foot to foot, then gave up and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She wasn’t angry; rather, she didn’t seem to know what to do with her body. “I shouldn’t want you to catch a chill,” she said to her feet.
“No.”
No? That was all he was going to say? No?
“Er, Cecilia?”
She made a little sound of acknowledgment.
“Do you think you might close the door?”
“OhmygoodnessI’msorry.” She ran back across the room—which was not a terribly graceful endeavor given the close confines—and slammed the door shut with considerably more effort than was warranted.
“Are you still here?” Edward asked. Cecilia belatedly realized that he could not see her. His back was mostly to the door, and the tub was far too small for him to comfortably twist around.
“Er, yes?” It came out like a question. She had no idea why.
There was a short pause, during which he was probably pondering how to best reply to such a ridiculous response. In the end, however, he just asked, “Do you think you might hand me the towel?”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Fastidiously keeping her back to the tub, she edged over to the bed and grabbed the towel. From there she only had to reach her arm back to hand it to him.
He took it, then said, “I do not say this to embarrass you—”