“No, you mustn’t.”
He paused. “But did you not request I visit your rooms every evening? It was part of the arrangement.” He kept his tone light. It wasn’t confrontation he sought. There was something about this agreement she had made that was important to her, and he wanted to fulfill every expectation she had until he could figure out what it was she truly wanted.
Her hands fluttered in the water as if she wanted to pluck the pitcher from his hands, but then she must have realized how exposed it left her and scrambled to get her hands back in place.
He regretted the loss of the glimpse but tried to keep his eyes on her face.
“I did, but this is not what I had in mind.”
He smiled gently. “I see. What is it you wish me to do?”
The question was unfair, but he couldn’t help it.
She paled, and he set aside the pitcher to stand.
“How about this?” he asked as he positioned himself behind her. “You’ve had a long day of travel, and you must be starving. If I help you to rinse your hair, we can enjoy the meal Cook has prepared that much more quickly. That seems practical, doesn’t it?”
She hesitated, but she’d turned her head just the slightest to follow him about her.
“Yes, it does,” she replied.
He picked up the pitcher from his new position. “Tip your head back.”
She did as he asked, and carefully, he poured the warm water from the pitcher, moving slowly so each part of her hair was rinsed clear of soap. He tried not to think about how it felt to have her long locks fall through his fingers or how it made him want to coil a fistful of it in his hand as she writhed beneath him.
He finished quickly after that thought sprang through his mind and stood, pacing away from the tub.
“Are you able to reach the towels?” he asked, politely looking away.
“Yes, thank you.”
He heard splashing behind him but kept his gaze on the small table where he’d lain the food tray. He pulled the metal domes from the plates and steam wafted up. He set them aside and drew out the napkins and cutlery, setting the table with exquisite care. Because as long as he focused, he wouldn’t think of his wife behind him, the towel caressing her naked body, finding all the hidden places he wanted to find.
With his tongue.
He coughed and reached for one of the wine glasses on the tray, quickly filling it before downing a swallow.
The noise of the towel was replaced by rustling, and he knew she must have donned her nightdress.
“You may turn about,” she finally said, and of course, he spun about as quickly as would seem normal.
She’d not only donned her nightdress, but her dressing gown wrapped so tightly around her he worried it would cut off blood to her head.
He gestured to the table behind him.
“Let us eat then.”
She eyed the table as if it were a monster of fairy tale origins ready to gobble her up. He sat, pulling a napkin onto his lap and reaching to fill her glass. Eventually, she made her way over, taking the seat opposite him.
They ate in silence for several seconds before he realized she wasn’t eating at all. She merely pushed her food around on her plate.
“Are you not hungry?” Concern surged through him. Had the journey made her ill? Had something else happened to upset her?
Her fork clattered against the plate at his question, but she recovered it quickly.
“No. I mean yes.” She shook her head. “I am hungry.” But she didn’t take a bite of food.
“Then what is it?” He reached across the table to place his hand over hers, but she snatched her hand away before he could touch it.
He looked up, and her gaze had him straightening. Her eyes were ferocious. Her jaw taut. He prepared himself for the retribution he so rightly deserved for what he had said.
But no words of scorn and admonishment came. Instead, she asked him something far worse, so cutting his heart clenched in his chest.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” The words were guttural with emotion, and they stopped him dead.
His lips parted, but no sound emerged as he couldn’t break his gaze away from hers. There was no sadness in the question, no pity. She wasn’t trying to play his emotions with theatrics. She was utterly serious, which meant she asked the question from experience.
She wasn’t used to people being nice to her, and when someone demonstrated such attention, she found it fearful.
His hand still lay on the table where he had reached for her, and he carefully drew it back to rest in his lap. He toyed with his napkin as he gathered his thoughts.
“Eliza, I am sure you know what they call me in society.” He paused to look back up at her. She hadn’t moved, her eyes as piercing as they had been. She sat so still, like a rabbit sure she’d been spotted by a predator. He pressed on. “I earned the moniker the Jilted Duke because I was foolish enough once to believe myself in love with a woman who betrayed me. When it came time to see to the duty of the title, I created a plan that would save me from the embarrassment I had suffered previously.” Now he did lift his gaze and met hers full on. “I sought a wife of unfortunate appearance, so I would not be in danger of falling in love with her.”
She didn’t so much as blink as he repeated the words she’d accidentally overheard the previous night. He waited, giving her the opportunity to speak, but she did not. He thought her lip trembled ever so slightly, but it firmed again, and he wondered if it had only been a trick of the candlelight.
He went to speak again but stopped. For a moment that night so many years ago came back to him, and he thought he could not tell her everything. How could he risk being so vulnerable again?
“Go on.” The words were soft, the Eliza he knew seeping through once more.
It bolstered him, and he made the decision quickly. “I was wrong in selecting you, Eliza. I had not accounted for your wit and charm. I find both immensely enjoyable.”
He had hoped his words would soothe her, but she didn’t move. She might have turned to stone for all he could tell.
“I find how you treat the staff commendable and surprising. Not many members of the ton treat servants with such respect.” He thought of waking to Carver’s timid tray of coffee and toast that morning. “You seem to have won over the staff of Ashbourne House rather quickly. I believe those here won’t take long to fall under your spell either.”
Silence fell again as they studied one another.
Finally, she said the words he dreaded.
“I don’t believe you.”
They cut as he’d expected they would, but he accepted them for the truth they were.
“I didn’t expect you to.” He wasn’t about to stop being honest with her now. “I had hoped you would give me time to regain your trust.”
She watched him, but she didn’t speak again.
“I want to show you the ocean, Eliza. I want to teach you how to swim. I want to take you into the village and show you the sweets shop I visited when I was a boy and where the shopkeeper would sneak me lemon drops when my mother wasn’t looking.” Was there a softening about her jaw? He couldn’t believe it, but he desperately wanted to. “I don’t deserve a second chance from you. I didn’t deserve a first chance. But I’m begging you now. Please take pity on me and give me one more chance.”