The Countess' Lucky Charm (20 page)

Alas, a quiet exit wasn’t to be. To a chorus of masculine voices singing a ribald tune interspersed with whistles and cat calls, Simone climbed the stairs. Certain her face flamed so that it could almost light her way in the dark, she thankfully reached the second floor to find that Temple hadn’t lied—they had the room on the left, in fact the only room.

To her right, an open loft littered with furs, bed rolls and several sleeping bodies. Against the back wall stood a few barrels and crates and what she now recognized as beaver pelts draped over the crates. Sibilant snores resonated, reminding her of the shared sleeping accommodations at the workhouse and it brought a twinge of wistfulness to her breast.

An image of Mrs Dougherty rose and she could almost hear her reproving voice, “Now, we’ll have no
fightin
’—this be a place to sleep.” And the pushing and shoving would continue amongst the giggling girls until, at length, the woman would threaten to withhold their breakfasts. A slight smile at the memory ghosted across her lips before she pushed open the door to the room she and Temple would share that night.

All thoughts cleared her mind when she saw the tub, steaming lazily, in the middle of the floor. Actually, it was the floor—the tub barely fit between the bed and the wall of the tiny room.

The flame from the candle stub jammed into a bottle swathed with the wax of countless candles fluttered briefly on the upended keg that served as bedside table as the door creaked shut behind her. It fluttered again as the door creaked open again. She felt the presence of Temple behind her, not even needing to turn around as his musky scent filled the room, knowing it was him.

“Simone?” His languid voice filled her ears and she could feel his breath brush against her cheek.

She turned to face him, keeping her features expressionless, hoping he couldn’t see the pounding of her heart through her blouse. Though how could he not, for it thumped so hard it felt as if it might leap out of her very chest to lie exposed, still beating, on the floor at his feet.

 
“The inn keeper’s wife pressed these upon me,” he said, holding out two fluffy white towels, incongruous in the rustic surroundings. “She assures me they were not gotten by ill means. Something about payment for lodging from a ship’s captain seeking a night away from his crew.”

“They’re lovely,” she stammered, reaching out to stroke them. Inadvertently, her fingers touched his and she flinched.

He must have seen that, for he lifted his eyebrows before giving her a sensuous smile.

“Aye, and she gave me this to give to you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sliver of soap. “It’s all she has but knowing it is our wedding night, she wanted something a little special for you.” He handed it to her and she took it in trembling fingers.

“Thank you. I gave my soap to Lisette.” She held it up to her nose, catching a faint scent of lemon verbena. “It’s lovely.” She balanced it carefully on the edge of the tub.

“If you say so,” Temple shrugged. “But the scent of a pine forest clean and fresh after the rain is much more to my liking.”

Simone blinked. Of course he had a favourite scent, everyone did, but it made her realize how little she actually knew about the man even after all the time spent in close quarters with him. Somehow favourite scents did not signify when battling to save one’s life against the elements.

“Well, get on with it”, he said. “Before the water grows cold.”

“Of course,” she stammered. “Will you turn your back?”

“No, Simone, I will not.”

Of course he wouldn’t, he was now her husband and as such, he took command of her life. She gritted her teeth. Very well, if he wanted to watch, then so be it. “Could you at least turn your back while I remove my clothes?”

He didn’t answer, merely tipped his dark head in agreement before turning around.

She looked at his tall back, at the tanned skin peeking out between the collar of his loose fitting shirt and his queue. It wasn’t the mode, she knew, rather, his hair should curl about his collar, but it had grown long and he had taken to tying it back.

If she stood on her tiptoes, perhaps, she could brush the queue aside and plant a kiss on his exposed neck. She took a half-step toward him before squashing the urge and turning back to the tub. Quickly, before she changed her mind, she stripped off her clothes down to her shift and stepped into the steaming water.

Ah, what heaven to feel the liquid warmth, to feel the waves of goose bumps rippling along her skin as she slowly immersed herself. She gripped the edge of the tub, sliding down, down, into the water. Her shift floated about her and she toyed with the idea of ripping it off.

“Take it off,” a husky voice commanded from behind her.

He had read her thoughts. She froze but of their own volition, her hands crept to the hem and she pulled it off, bit by sticky bit until finally she sat naked, wet cloth dripping from her hands. Face hot with embarrassment, she lowered her eyes.

He reached over her shoulder and she could see his arm snake out to take the sodden fabric from her hands, tossing it carelessly aside. It landed with a soft slap.

“Temple,” she whispered. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him grab the soap. Seconds later, his hands caressed her shoulder blades, calloused yet strangely gentle, smoothing down her back only to trail back up to her neck. She shivered, hypnotized by the sensation of his fingers gliding along her skin.

“Simone.” His breath fanned her shoulders. “Wet your hair. I’ll wash it for you.”

Nodding, she obeyed, smoothing her hair off her forehead with shaking fingers before tilting her head back and sliding a bit further down. Unfortunately, by the time her hair was submerged, her knees had shot out of the water and she felt a bit silly.

Not only had her knees emerged but so too had her breasts and she looked up to see a motionless Temple stare at them hungrily. A whoosh of air escaped his nose, the nostrils flaring with its passing. Then a slow, lazy smile spread across his face and he began to rub his hands briskly over the soap to work up lather.

“Sit up,” he commanded and she obliged, his hands caressing her as he leaned closer into her back. She relaxed, more at ease because as long as he knelt behind her, she couldn’t see his eyes and she felt less exposed.

“Oh,” she sighed as he began to massage the bubbles through her hair, piling it on top of her head in one soapy mass. She let her head flop forward and he began to knead her neck, slowly, rubbing in ever increasing circles, over her shoulder blades, then her shoulders and upper arms, then her collar bone.

She looked down to see his hands slow, then stop just above her breasts. He was close behind her, his cheek almost nestled into hers. Ensnared by the sight of his tanned hands against the ivory of her skin, she said nothing, just watched, hypnotized as his hands moved again to curve around her breasts and cup them. Fascinated, she watched as her nipples hardened when his thumb and index fingers tweaked the rosy nubs.

“Oh,” she sighed again, amazed by the sensation. Much to her surprise, her hands, as if separate from her mind, rose to curl around his. Suspended in time, she sat, mesmerized by the sight of her breasts cupped in his hands cupped again by hers. As if to break the spell, a dollop of soap fell from her hair and landed in the water between her knees. She shivered.

“You’re cold,” whispered Temple. “Let me rinse you off. That will warm you.”

Beyond speech, Simone nodded, dropping her hands and feeling strangely bereft as he pulled his hands off her breasts. She risked a quick glance over her shoulder to see him lean over to pick up her shift. She lowered her eyes, peeking at him through her lashes, seeing him dip the shift into the water and wring it out experimentally.

Then he dipped the shift into the tub and wrung it out over her. He did it time and again, wringing out streams of water, rivulets that coursed down her hair, her body, over and over until the soap was rinsed from her.

“And I dare say your shift is clean, too,” he quipped, draping it over the edge of the tub. He unfolded one of the towels and held it up. “A robe for my lady.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She made her voice flirtatious, teasing. Boldly, she stood up, daring him to chastise her, meeting his eyes and standing naked for an instant before he draped the towel around her.

“Minx,” he muttered. “And it’s high time you addressed me as your lord. As such, I expect you to aid in my bath.”

“Very well, my lord.” Simone wrapped the towel around her, tucking one end under beneath her arm. “Shall we begin?”

“Aye,” Temple nodded.

Without another word, he began to strip, quickly and purposefully until he stood naked before her. She tried to avert her eyes, but her gaze was drawn to the burnished body. Simone gave up pretending modesty and instead stared at him, the broad shoulders and flat belly and the manhood that stood, pulsating with life, from the apex of his legs. He stepped into the tub.

“Sit down,” she said, her voice hoarse with shyness and need.

He obliged and she giggled at the sight of him wedged into the tub. It had scarce been big enough for her—for him, it was ridiculous, and he sat with his knees jammed against his chest.

“You laugh at me, your lord and master?” His voice was light and she knew he teased her.

“Why, who better than your own wife?” His jesting mood relaxed her somewhat and she responded in kind, keeping her desire at bay.

He guffawed. “No one, I suppose.”

“I would ask you to wet your hair but I fear it is a hopeless task. You’re simply too big.”

“I am sure if you put your mind to it, you could find a solution.” He waggled his knees a bit side to side. “There is room.”

“
Hmmmm
, let me see.” She tugged on the leather lace binding his hair. She ran her fingers through the silky mass. “Lean forward, between your knees.” And she gave him a little push.

He obliged, letting his head hang down. She plucked the shift and wet it, beginning the same routine. Over and over, dipping and wringing, watching the water’s glistening tracks over his skin and his head until every inch of him was wet.

She started with his hair, rubbing the sliver soap directly onto it, working it with her hands before rinsing it. Dip, wring, dip, wring. Once his hair was clean, she used the shift as a sponge, rubbing soap into it before starting to wash his skin. The scent of lemon verbena mixed with the scent of him and she breathed deeply, all the while admiring the muscles rippling his back when he shifted position, the strong arms draped over the edge.

“Are you not going to wash the front of me?” His voice interrupted her. “I believe my back is most likely the cleanest it’s ever been.”

“Why yes, of course.” Quaking, she manoeuvred around to kneel at the side of the tub, squeezing between it and the wall. Grabbing the shift and loading it up with soap again, she began to rub, smoothly, rhythmically, his arms, his legs, the sculpted, slightly furred chest. Everywhere but his groin.

“Simone.” He whispered, grabbing the hand holding the shift and pulling it down between his legs. “Here. Wash here.” He wrapped her hand around his penis, pulling it up and down the turgid shaft.

He was obviously very much at ease with her touching his private parts, totally oblivious to her discomfort and the waves of heat flowing across her face, down her neck and into her chest. Tilting his head, he let it lean back against the lip of the tub.

“Don’t stop,” he moaned, his lids heavy and almost closed. “I love your hand around me.”

Astonished, she realized that he was literally hers, and the waves of embarrassment turned into waves of power.

He belonged to her and her alone, here and now in this little room, here and now in the palm of her hand. Simone squeezed harder, faster, relishing the hold she had over him. They were wrong, a man was not lord and master over his wife, nay, it was the other way around. A woman held sway over her husband if she but knew it.

And having gained that knowledge, the last vestiges of embarrassment faded away and Simone surrendered to the pleasure she knew would come, to the tingling in her groin and the thrills of excitement in her stomach.

She leaned forward to brush one breast against his chest, rubbing it up the furred skin, past his neck and up to his cheek. Like a suckling babe, he turned his head to take a rosy nipple into his mouth, nibbling it gently between his teeth. Pleasure pierced her, shocking bolts that resonated in the woman’s place between her legs.

“Take me,” she whispered. “Take me, Temple.” An utterly shocking demand, she thought, but crazed with desire as she was, it was one she had to utter. Only he could give her the surcease her body craved. She leaned even harder into him, matching the strokes of her hand to the nibbles on her breast.

“Stop,” Temple choked out the command, reluctantly letting loose the luscious morsel in his mouth to speak. No, he thought, he didn’t want her to stop. But if she didn’t, he would lose self-control and he meant to have her as a man had his wife on their wedding night.

He stood up suddenly, pulling her to her feet. “Dry me now,” he whispered, grabbing the other towel where it lay on the bed.

She did as he bid, wiping every inch of skin dry, rubbing the towel through his hair. Everywhere she touched, every bit of his skin blazed, blazed with desire.