A bath filled with water.
A bath with someone in it.
Someone with dark hair tousled and damp, and shoulders astonishingly broad.
And then, she was sucking in her breath because the someone was standing up—and his body was long and lean and distinctly masculine. Her eyes took in his tautly muscled back and trim waist, down to the firm haunch of male bottom, dimpled on each side.
Oh my!
The someone was stepping out of the tub and turning around, revealing the sort of sculpted form she’d seen only among the Greek and Roman statues of the British Museum. Except that those marble gods lacked the light dusting of hair on forearms and legs. They had none curling about their chest, nor the darker line, angling downward, leading to…
For a moment, Cornelia stopped breathing altogether.
Taking a towel, he rubbed vigorously through his hair, then over every part she’d catalogued.
Minnie, with the piece of matted fluff still clamped in her jaws, gave a muffled yelp, protesting at the strength of her mistress’s embrace.
As the object of her attention wrapped the towel around his waist, he looked up—directly into Cornelia’s eyes.
“What the hell are you doing out there?”
When Burnell opened the window, Minnie leapt straight through, skittering across the slick floor.
Wasting no time, he grabbed Cornelia beneath the arms, pulling her in. Instinctively, she placed her hands on his bare shoulders.
“Dear God, you’re like ice!” He jerked away. “And your skirts are sodden.”
Yanking the window closed, he looked at her as if she were a madwoman. Cornelia could hardly blame him.
“It’s c-complicated.” She struggled to keep her voice from emerging as a squeak. He’d just caught her looking at him in the altogether. Spying on him while he bathed. Ogling his naked body.
He was partially covered now, but she’d seen everything—and there had been quite a lot to see.
She ought to be mortified, and she was. But, rather than scooping up Minnie and exiting the room, she was simply looking at him, in the soft light of the lantern, his skin glistening damp.
He held up his hands. “Don’t try to explain. Whatever it is can wait. First off, you need to get out of those wet clothes and into this bath. It’s the quickest way to warm up.”
Cornelia clutched her arms to her chest. “I’ll do no such th-th-thing.” Though the room was wonderfully warm—a light steam rising from the bath—her teeth were chattering. “P-please stand aside. Minnie and I will retreat to my bed chamber.”
He scanned about, giving a start as he clapped sight on the bright-eyed terrier.
“Dear God! What’s in her mouth?”
He bent down, peering at the bedraggled, drool-soaked scrap hanging from one side of the dog’s jaw. “Is it…still alive?”
He was treated to a low growl and a flash of fang.
Burnell stepped back. “It’s all yours. Forget I mentioned it.”
He glanced at Cornelia. “Come on, scoot around. I’ll unhook those buttons, and pull the laces loose on whatever’s holding you tight under there. Then, I’ll leave you be. I promise.”
He looked sincere enough, and the bath did look inviting. Nodding, she turned around. The circulation was returning to her fingers, making them throb horribly. Even if she managed to reach her own buttons, she wouldn’t have a hope of unfastening them.
His breath teased upon the nape of her neck as he wrestled with the tiny pearls closing the back of her bodice. She was conscious of how close he was standing. All that covered his nakedness was the towel, and she was all too aware of what lay beneath that meagre covering.
“Damn fingers aren’t made for little fancies like these.” He let out a grunt of frustration. “Ah, there we go. The next one’s coming easier now.”
Cornelia couldn’t help but imagine what his fingers were made for…
His knuckle grazed her bare back, just above the rear yoke and an image rushed upon her of him brushing his lips to her neck and shoulder, whispering in her ear, telling her where else he wanted to kiss her...
She was startled from her reverie by his hands resting firm on her shoulders.
“All done. You should be able to wriggle out under your own volition from here on."
His voice drifted over from somewhere near the door. “There’s a fresh towel on the stand and, don’t forget, lock this behind me. You’re only two down from your bed chamber, with the linen cupboard between, so you should be able to scoot back safely enough, if you take a good look before committing yourself to the corridor.”
With that, the latch clicked shut behind him.
Cornelia caught a glimpse of herself in the misted mirror; someone she only half recognized looked back.
Chapter 11
Standing before his mirror, Ethan wrangled with his bow tie for the fifth time.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
God only knew what she’d been doing outside the window when he’d been bathing. However much she might secretly want to see him in the buff, risking life and limb crawling along that ledge seemed an extreme way to go about it.
Hell, she’d only to ask if she wanted to while away a few hours doing something other than playing cribbage, or charades, or whatever kept the rest of Studborne’s guests amused while stuck inside.
As for having that dog of hers tucked under her arm…
It was a story he looked forward to hearing—and just the tonic he’d need after enduring an evening listening to Lady Pippsbury murdering the dictionary while extolling the virtues of her daughters.
In point of fact, he’d been indulging in a little masculine musing the whole time he’d been in the tub—and Mrs. Mortmain had played a starring role. Not that he’d ever be letting that slip.
He doubted she was anywhere near the prude she made herself out to be, but she mightn’t appreciate knowing what he’d been imagining her doing to him while he lay back in that gloriously hot water.
Discovering that she’d been looking in on him while he’d been satisfying that particular fantasy had shaken him up alright. As to how long she’d been out there, he could only speculate, but he was pretty sure she must have seen him get out of the tub.
His concern had been to get her safely inside and warmed up, but he had to admit that pulling her into his arms—albeit briefly—had stirred his blood right up again. That, and knowing she’d been watching him.
The thought appealed to him on a whole other level—and she’d enjoyed it, he was mighty sure. She’d been a married woman, after all, so it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen a man in all his glory before.
Anyways, he’d kept himself gentlemanly, for which he had to congratulate himself. Not that it had been easy. His hands had been shaking so much unfastening her damn buttons, he’d almost given up and high-tailed it out of there.
He couldn’t help wondering how she might have reacted had he dropped a kiss on those pretty shoulders. Most likely, he’d have gotten a slap across the face for his trouble—and he’d have deserved it, too, having promised not to take liberties.
He’d gotten out of there just in time, or he wouldn’t have been able to hide what was going on under his towel.