Chapter 29
Ben desperately needed to shed his tattered clothing. To plunge his face into the washbasin. To slump across his bed and not rise for a very long time.
The problem was, he couldn’t take his eyes off his wife.
He tried not to hover too closely while a cluster of maids prepared the tub in her room and she worked to remove the pins from her hair.
However, after coming precariously close to losing her—his heart still stuttered when he imagined what could have happened had he not journeyed to Watley Hall when he did—he found himself anxious to remain in her vicinity, assured of her safety.
The small smiles she gifted him in her vanity mirror each time their reflections met offered a balm, of sorts, to his jagged nerves. They only took the edge off, though, leaving him with a deep-rooted need for more closeness. More reassurance.
“The bath is ready, madam,” her lady’s maid called to her from beside the tub, pulling Ben’s eyes away from the mirror and making his shoulders stiffen. The time for lingering had come to an end, for he could hardly stay and gawk while the maid assisted her with so intimate a task.
His chest twinged in protest as he took a languid step toward his own bedchamber. But when Violet rose from her seat and approached the bath, it was to give her lady’s maid a wave. “Thank you, Edith. I can manage from here. You’re free to retire.”
Edith bobbed a curtsy and was gone from the room within seconds, motioning for the others to follow her. It was late, after all, the maids having been roused from their beds when he and Violet had at last returned from seeing Arabella settled at Meadowleigh.
The door clicked shut behind the final chambermaid, leaving the room quiet and still save for the wisps of steam drifting up from the bathwater.
We’re alone. The thought hit him low in the gut, sending a spark flickering through his veins.
Because yes, he needed to leave her to wash her smoke-tinged hair while the water remained hot, to soak her weary limbs and rest. However, there was nothing forcing his immediate departure.
No reason for him to go deprived of what he craved as much as his next breath.
He reached her in three strides, pulling her into his arms and lowering his lips to hers.
A split-second’s hesitation hit him as he realized he hadn’t been careful, hadn’t asked for her approval.
Yet her lips returned the pressure almost at once, her fingers sinking into his nape, the delicious heat of her body curling into him.
His hands twined at the small of her back, savoring the plush softness beneath his palms. All his. All returned to him safe and well.
He’d intended the embrace as a farewell gesture before he left her to her bath. A taste to keep him going until he gazed upon her again. But the more he took of her, the more he wanted.
Logically, he knew she was real, knew she was unharmed, knew she could go to sleep in her bed and still be there when he peeked in the next morning.
His body, though, cared nothing for logic.
His heart insisted he take one more stroke of her tongue, one more caress; except one more was never enough.
“Violet.” He broke away from the kiss before it was too late, pulse thundering, voice as raw as if he’d inhaled another mouthful of smoke.
God, he sounded unhinged, her name scraping from his throat like an admonition.
An appeal. He didn’t even know what he was asking.
For her to remind him of their harrowing day and bid him goodnight?
For her to sink her nails in deeper and never let go?
She remained with her hands around his neck, her voice a soft command. “Stay, Benedict.”
Stay. The word hit him between the ribs, causing his breath, his fingers, to freeze in anticipation. Stay.
“Don’t make me pull you in this time while you’re still clad in your trousers.” She quirked a brow before lowering her eyelids, lashes gently fluttering. “Get undressed and come into the bath with me.”
Suddenly, the shadow lingering in his mind—of noxious smoke-filled corridors and ravaging flames—was pushed aside by memories of water splashing onto the floor as Violet moved atop him. Memories of the slickness of her wet skin, the fullness of her breasts within his palms.
No amount of logic or weariness could prompt him to refuse such an invitation.
He spun her in one deft motion, pushing the mass of unbound hair over her shoulder so he could obtain full access to her back.
The tub beckoned, the wafting steam enticing them to enter before the water cooled.
Nonetheless, he couldn’t resist taking time to press his lips to the dimple in her nape before setting to work on the tapes of her gown, drawing the tattered fabric from her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.
Next came her stays, a garment he unlaced while dropping a kiss against each exposed shoulder. Claiming her as his to revere. His to protect.
With the stays cast aside, he got to his knees, gliding his hands along her legs until he found the ribbons that held up her stockings.
One by one, he slipped them free, rolling away the delicate material until all that remained was the silk of her skin.
And as he cradled her foot to slide the final stocking off her toes, her arms rose to the neckline of her shift, rendering it, too, a puddle upon the carpet.
He silently returned to his feet, breath catching at the view.
Milky white thighs, the plump globes of her arse, the perfect ridges of her spine.
He could gaze upon her symmetry for hours, exploring the contours of those globes, tracing along the column that ran from the cleft between them all the way up to her neck.
But then, she turned to face him, and his wits were truly lost. Yes, he’d both touched and tasted her before, but never without some sort of obstruction. Never had she stood before him so gloriously naked, allowing him to see her rosebud nipples, her curved hips, the golden curls between her legs.
He heard himself make a sound. Beautiful.
It didn’t do her justice, but it was the only word he seemed capable of producing.
He didn’t have time to invent a more fitting alternative before her hands were upon him, pushing away his coat and waistcoat.
Tugging the shirt over his head. Unfastening the buttons at his fall.
Prior to this moment, she hadn’t seen him fully unclothed, either.
No one had. But any nerves that cropped up were assuaged by an overwhelming sense of rightness.
A feeling that he and Violet belonged like this.
Together. Unshielded. For whatever unknowns arose from intimacy, there was safety in it, too.
With his trousers and stockings kicked aside, he took her hand, her appreciative hum ricocheting straight to his cock. He was already in a state of increasing arousal, his previous exhaustion swept away like driftwood in an ocean swell.
But first things first.
He stepped into the tub and helped Violet in after him, settling against the curved edge and guiding her to sit between his thighs.
The water was wonderful, sending a deluge of comforting heat into his overworked muscles.
However, the sensation couldn’t compare to that of Violet’s back resting against his chest, the ends of her hair drifting through the water to tickle his abdomen.
For an instant, he closed his eyes and simply let himself feel. Until all at once, she slid forward to dunk her face below the surface, popping back up with her curls plastered to her head and rivulets pouring down from her jawline.
It took a great deal of restraint not to spin her around and lick the droplets from her lips.
Instead, he contented himself with reaching for the soap and massaging it through her scalp.
He dragged it across her shoulder blades and down her back, across to her belly.
Allowing her to return the favor until every bit of dust from their ordeal had dissolved into the bathwater, and his cock had grown painfully hard.
She straddled his lap, her back arching, presenting her breasts to him like the most delectable gift.
It would be so easy to repeat their previous bathtub encounter. To take those pebbled nipples into his mouth and grasp her hips while she dragged herself against him, providing jolt after jolt of friction.
However, as much as his body desired relief from the ache pounding through his groin—and as much as her eyes glittered with longing, making demands without saying a word—this moment called for something more.
He wanted nothing to act as a barrier between them—not even water.
Wanted her body not curled up in a tub but spread out so he could appreciate every inch.
“Will you come to my bed?” he murmured close to her ear, detecting the rapid beat of her pulse as he ran a finger along her neck.
The rhythm of it matched his own, a constant tap, tap, tap that betrayed the force of his need.
His nerves. He paused for fortitude, then posed the question whose answer would forever change him. “Will you let me make love to you?”
Her breath stuttered, creating a hot whisper against his cheek. “Yes.” She drew back to look at him once more, pressing wet fingertips to his jaw. “Yes.”
His mouth crashed clumsily against hers, taking one more kiss before he rose to his feet, pulling her up along with him. They climbed out of the bath together, and he wrapped her in the waiting towel, rubbing warmth into the gooseflesh on her arms.
Then again, the reason her skin prickled didn’t seem to be from cold, for every inch of her he touched was supple and hot. Slick and damp. As for his own body, it burned more intensely with each step they took, the water dripping from his limbs feeling more like sparks.