The Beauty and the Spy by Gayle Callen

herself a sigh as she stared longingly at the tub.
    â€œI’ll move the screen for you,” he said.
    She couldn’t help but smile at him. She swiftly gathered up a change of clothing—maybe the next dress would fit better—and when he was finished she ducked behind the screen without meeting his gaze.
    â€œPromise you won’t come over here,” she called.
    She thought she heard him snort before he said, “I give you my word.”
    Since she was trying to lull him with sweetness, she resisted the urge to remind him that he had admitted he admired her lies. He too would lie when he thought it necessary. But she didn’t think he’d lie about this. And the fact that she believed this about Nick was something she didn’t want to examine.
    So although she was uneasy with his nearness,she undressed swiftly, and with a sigh of pleasure sank into the tub.
    Nick found himself pacing. Charlotte’s blissful sighs put him on edge, for he kept imagining more erotic ways he could make her sigh like that. They were separated by a thin screen—and she was naked.
    He should have had Cox send him up a brandy.
    What had Nick been thinking? He was pampering her with a bath, as if he was going to enjoy her scented flesh. What happened to his own insistence that he would treat her as he would a male hostage?
    Listening to the splashing of water, he paced even faster. When she began to softly hum he wanted to groan his frustration. He’d been trapped with her all day, watching the graceful way she’d held the newspaper, the strain of her bodice to control her breasts, the way she’d refused to sleep, although her lovely eyes had sagged with weariness.
    After the carriage accident she could have escaped, yet she’d stayed to tend him. He’d woken up, his vision bleary, and thought for certain she’d run. But she’d been fetching water for his wounds like a concerned wife. What the hell was he supposed to make of that?
    And now he was alone with her again, in an even smaller room with what seemed like an enormous bed. He couldn’t spend another nightlying at her side. He would have to think up another plan.
    He glanced at the screen again, then stopped cold. She had taken the only lamp back there with her, and as light flickered against the far wall, he could see the faintest shadow of her through the screen. He should quickly light some candles. But he didn’t move.
    She was only a blurry shape, almost indistinguishable, but he found himself staring like the celibate he’d lately been. As she rose out of the tub, he could see her silhouette, the roundness of her breasts, the fall of her hair, the surprisingly full curve of her ass.
    Cursing under his breath, he turned away.
    When she finally folded back the screen, a waft of sweet-smelling woman greeted him. Her hair fell in damp, tangled waves down her back, and she’d donned another gown. He couldn’t decide whether he was grateful Sam had forgotten a nightdress.
    With her eyes cast down she murmured, “Might I borrow your brush?”
    He gave it to her without comment, then sat down to watch the next torture as she bent before the hot coals, spread out her hair, and repeatedly combed through it.
    When she was done and turned to stare at him hesitantly, he couldn’t take it anymore.
    â€œIs the water cold?” he asked brusquely.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œGood.”
    Charlotte watched with rising shock as Nick pulled off his coat and then his shirt.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” she asked breathlessly, trying not to stare at his bare chest.
    â€œUsing the tub.”
    â€œBut I just—”
    â€œI’m too lazy to wait. Did you use all the towels?” he asked over his shoulder as he set the screen back up.
    She cleared her throat, hoping her voice sounded normal. “No. But I hung my wet…underthings back there.”
    He disappeared behind, and she swallowed as