Moreover, he was quite certain Pitagowan didn’t have spares on a night like tonight. It was the first night of Hogmanay, after all, and the inn was filled with guests.
All the worse yet, he couldn’t bring himself to confess the need to conceal himself from the woman who was supposed to be his bride. That wouldn’t make a bit of sense, now would it? As far as Pitagowan was concerned, they were betrothed. So, in the end, he said, “Don’t worry about it, lass, I am fine.”
“But I must insist,” she said, standing.
“No,” Callum said more firmly, although having said as much, he still wasn’t certain how to handle the bath—a surprising quandary, considering that only a few hours ago he hadn’t any notion for how to assuage a blushing bride. And, aye… she was blushing—a very lovely shade of pink that he would dearly love to heighten…
Unfortunately, this was neither the time or place.
On the other hand… dirty as he was, he didn’t intend to crawl into that bed beside her with a week’s worth of stink on his person, and, in truth, if they were going to make this marriage work, there wasn’t any point in concealing himself from her. In fact, if he had his druthers, they’d share the bath together, but it only seemed proper he should offer it to her first. “Would you like to take the first bath?”
“Oh, no!” she said quickly. “Thank you. I can wait.”
“Sadly, I cannot,” Callum confessed. “There’s only one bed and I’d no’ repulse ye with my scent.”
“Y-yes… I-I… understand,” she said.
And then, for a very, very long awkward moment, they simply stared at one another—an odd form of checkmate—until there was nothing left to be done, but to show her his bum…
Chapter 8
Truth be told, Elizabeth wasn’t sure why she’d declined the bath—wasn’t that that best, most efficient way to get them both undressed?
Indeed, it was.
And still, she didn’t know what to do.
Should she stay?
Should she go?
Should she turn her back to him?
Or maybe ask if he needed her help to undress?
In the meantime, there was a bath going to waste; and nevertheless, she wasn’t entirely prepared when he shrugged off his shirt and tossed it over to the bed beside her.
She opened her mouth to speak, not at all sure it was a protest, and then closed it again as he began to fumble with his trousers. The heat in her cheeks began to blaze.
“You might like to turn your head,” he said with a hint of a smile, and she did, at once, focusing her attention on the door, half anticipating it to fly open and to find Mrs. Grace’s disapproving gaze behind it. At the instant, though she hadn’t yet done a bloody thing to initiate her plan, she felt guilty as charged—or rather, as she might be charged. She was behaving like doxy, no less. Would he think her one if she did what she wished to do?
Lordy, she hadn’t the nerve
Where now her fearlessness?
Where now her mettle?
Unwittingly, her gaze fell to the ribbon of tartan peeking out from beneath her sleeve, and she fiddled with the cloth, discombobulated.
“It rather surprises me that your cousin would allow you to travel so far alone,” he said conversationally.
“Oh, I’m not alone,” she reassured, and then she heard him slip into the tub, and immediately thereafter heard him heave a contented sigh. Sweet lord, the sound was nearly as intoxicating as the whiskey in her belly, though she wished now that she’d asked for more—at least then she might have the nerve to finish what she hadn’t yet had the courage to start.
“You’re not?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I came with my chaperone—Mrs. Grace. If it’s acceptable to you, she would like to stay on to help… when we… er… arrive… home.”
“Aye, well, tis ye’re home now, as well,” he said with a thickening burr, and then he heaved another sigh as he slid more fully into the tub.
“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” she said.
“It is.”
He sounded so sure…
Trying desperately to rein in her nerve, Elizabeth nipped at her bottom lip, making it burn over the self-abuse, nervous, but loathed to confess it. She had always considered herself to be far more… fearless. It was infinitely more difficult than she had ever supposed… to speak to someone whilst in the same room… and not… look into their face—while they were loitering in a bath. But this wasn’t such a shocking thing, was it?
It used to be in the olden days… the lady of the house would bathe, not merely her husband, but his guests as well. It was really very innocent—except… it wasn’t. At the moment, she very definitely had an ulterior motive—did he suspect?
By now, the steam from the bath was beginning to thicken in the room… or mayhap it was merely that she felt overheated. The fire in the hearth must be blazing hot, and yet, she couldn’t seem to find it within her to even glance at the hearth, since that happened to be on the very same side of the room with her now naked groom.
Unexpected, though he found it, Callum was enjoying her company, despite himself. She was endearing, he decided, as he stared at her lovely, round backside.
He couldn’t help himself; he grinned, and then, the very act of doing so was startling, because it was the first time he’d smiled so genuinely in eight long months.
Ye gods, they were handfasted now, married according to common law. He hadn’t lied to her, and indeed, he would allow her the time and space she needed to decide on her own if she wished to remain at Dunmore, and more importantly to remain as his wife.
Lachlan, too, would respect whatever decision she came to, and Callum had every intention of leaving her chaste until they could all get into a room together to decide their fates.
The problem was… Callum wasn’t a saint, and though she was no longer revealed before the fire, he could still spy the tantalizing outline of her fine form beneath the diaphanous gown, and he fought a battle with his demons to confess as much.
In the end, he decided she needn’t know, since it would indubitably embarrass her. But God help him, she had a fine, fine form… a narrow waist his hands ached to cradle… a pert, round bottom that offered him an intriguing view of the shadow beneath… the very sight made him dizzy, and it wasn’t only from the heat of the water…
Really, despite her bashfulness, he sensed an inherent strength in the lass, evident even now in the set of her shoulders. Having committed herself to their union, she didn’t dress herself and leave in protest of his nudeness. Nor did she rail at him for having availed himself of the tub. She simply accepted the truth, and, just as he had, she’d honed in on the most favorable outcome.
Nay indeed, he wouldn’t rush her, nor push her into anything rash, but that didn’t stop his body from hardening, nor did it ease the discomfort of his sudden, unreasonable desire.
Bloody hell… here he was… on the eve of a new year, enjoying a nice, hot bath… in the company of his lovely new bride… and still he was honor bound to keep his todger to himself—hell and damnation.