How to Lose a Bride in One Night by Sophie Jordan Page A

dipping before swelling out into her hips. She splayed a hand over her belly, noting how it didn’t quite push against her palm any longer.
    Careful not to bend her leg, Annalise dipped her head back into the warm water. Reaching for the soap, she made quick work washing the long strands into a deep lather until her scalp tingled. With a sigh, she arched her neck and rinsed the hair clean.
    Leaning back in the tub, she used the sponge to wash her body, scrubbing her skin until it glistened pink. Finished, she wrung out the sponge and leaned back to relax in the tub again. Naturally, her thoughts drifted to him.
    He’d stayed away since his late night visit to her chamber. The nightmares hadn’t stopped. They still haunted her, but he did not show again when she woke with a cry on her lips. That bothered her most of all. The possibility that he had ceased to care.
    She heard the occasional sound coming from his room, so she knew he hadn’t taken up residence elsewhere. He simply chose to ignore her. As he had since the beginning. As though she was something contagious, a disease he must keep his distance from.
    Initially, the realization hurt. She wondered if she had done or said something, but then she dismissed that notion. He’d rescued her, offered to help her, brought her here to his home and then proceeded to ignore her. Her thoughts of him grew less charitable with each passing day. Wretch .
    If she didn’t need him so much, if she had anywhere to go, she’d leave. And perhaps that was what he wanted. He’d certainly tried to scare her off . . . warning her that he was a killer. As if that would deter her. She needed a man like him, and she knew him to be honorable—even if he seemed to think otherwise.
    She eyed the table beside her where the bell sat. The water was losing its heat. She supposed she should ring for Mrs. Kirkpatrick. She extended her arm, stretching as far she could and bumping the jar of salts, knocking it over against the bell. The bell toppled off the table with a clang, rolling a bit before stopping. Well out of her reach.
    Her arm dropped over the tub’s edge as she eyed the distant bell with malice. “Splendid.” Now she would have to wait until the housekeeper remembered her.
    Falling back in the tub, she relaxed in the water that was growing chillier by the moment. Minutes ticked by. Thinking the housekeeper might be nearby, she called out, “Hello! Mrs. Kirkpatrick! Hello?”
    No response met her cry. She waited, hoping to hear the woman’s firm tread. Nothing. After a few more moments she called out for her again.
    Suddenly the door to the adjoining room swung open.
    She gasped softly. He was dressed for the day in trousers and a jacket, his cravat askew as if tossed by the wind. Even his tanned cheeks looked wind-blown. Or perhaps his color was high from simply opening the door and finding her naked in the tub. Although she doubted it. He was not the sort of man to react with embarrassment when coming face-to-face with a naked woman.
    Her skin tingled and her belly fluttered as she considered precisely what sort of man he was and what he might typically do when confronted with a naked female.
    He didn’t move from where he stood, and she knew he could likely see no more than her bare shoulders from his vantage . . . perhaps the top swells of her breasts. She also knew she should be mortified. The old Annalise would duck beneath the waterline as much as she could. She’d probably even demand that he leave the chamber in loud, screeching tones.
    But not now. This Annalise— Anna —held herself still even as the heat crawled up her neck to her cheeks.
    Most of her waking moments had been spent thinking about him. His hands, so strong and masculine. The handsome face, chiseled and tan from the sun. The dark blue eyes that stared at her with intensity. Even when she could read nothing of his thoughts, the eyes were always looking, probing, evaluating her in a way that made her