coaxed it into flame.
“You can look now.”
He did, immediately, only to realize there was nothing suave or nonchalant in the swiftness with which he’d whipped his head about. She’d changed into a nightgown of cotton lawn. She still had the blanket around her, though this time it seemed for warmth rather than for modesty, since she held it draped loosely about her shoulders.
“You look—much drier.” As inane as it sounded, it was the only remark he could manage, given that his blood was steadily migrating from his brain to less rational parts of his body.
He turned back to the fire. For the love of God, he’d seen women in more alluring states, and Caroline was his wife—his
estranged
wife. The females of his bachelor days had stripped nude, and on his wedding night he’d explored every inch of Caroline’s lithe, perfect body. He shouldn’t have to busy himself with lighting the firewood purely to keep from going hard at a glimpse of plain white nightgown.
There was no sense letting his imagination run away with him. They’d veered back and forth between icy civility and outright antagonism in the past two days. Just because he’d found reason to regret his harshest opinions of her didn’t mean she felt any warmer toward him.
“There.” He sat back on his heels. “A satisfactory fire if ever I saw one.”
“I’m impressed you did that so quickly. I would’ve thought you’d need a servant to manage it.”
“
Need
?” He regarded her with one eyebrow lifted in mock-umbrage.
“Well, I’ve never seen you lay a fire before. The chambermaid took care of it last night, and I can’t even remember if we had a fire on our wedding night.”
“I’ll have you know that I’ve been laying fires since I was the rawest of schoolboys. When I went away to Winchester and had charge of the fire as the junior in my chamber, the quality of my fires and the quantity of hot water I boiled made me a legend in my own mind.”
Caro laughed.
At least his lustful impulses were subsiding. When she shivered, he stood and pushed the cedar chest from its place at the end of the bed to nearer the hearth. “You look chilled through. Come and sit by the fire.”
“That sounds most inviting.” She kept the blanket wrapped about her as she took a seat on the wooden chest.
There, that wasn’t the least bit provocative. Swaddled in the oversized blanket, Caroline looked more like a waif or a convalescent than an object of desire—a heartbreakingly lovely convalescent, to be sure, but hardly a temptress likely to lure him into doing something foolish. She was cold and they’d had a ghastly day and if they were to have any chance at all of coming to a better understanding, he would have to take matters one step at a time.
Then she raised deep blue eyes to his, her blanket slipping off one white shoulder. “Do take off your clothes.”
* * *
John’s face went blank with surprise, though surely he must be soaked through. He’d been the first to emerge from the coach after the accident, and the last to come in for the night. “The saddlebag with your dry clothes is on the bed.”
“Ah.” His startled expression vanished. “I suppose I ought to change.”
“I can keep my back turned if you like.”
He made a soft sound of amusement. “Only if it makes you more comfortable.”
“Well, I don’t know about
comfortable
. But it hardly seems fair for me to look when you didn’t, does it?”
One side of his mouth quirked upward in a smile, as rare as it was appealing. “If you’re really mad to see me without my clothes on, I’m prepared to overlook the inequality of the arrangement.”
She kept her back turned just the same, gazing into the fire. The bed creaked behind her. She pictured him, lean and strong, tugging off his boots. They had hours and hours left until sunrise, without so much as a single book in the room to occupy them. A fresh shiver ran through her, though not from the cold.
“I
“You can look now.”
He did, immediately, only to realize there was nothing suave or nonchalant in the swiftness with which he’d whipped his head about. She’d changed into a nightgown of cotton lawn. She still had the blanket around her, though this time it seemed for warmth rather than for modesty, since she held it draped loosely about her shoulders.
“You look—much drier.” As inane as it sounded, it was the only remark he could manage, given that his blood was steadily migrating from his brain to less rational parts of his body.
He turned back to the fire. For the love of God, he’d seen women in more alluring states, and Caroline was his wife—his
estranged
wife. The females of his bachelor days had stripped nude, and on his wedding night he’d explored every inch of Caroline’s lithe, perfect body. He shouldn’t have to busy himself with lighting the firewood purely to keep from going hard at a glimpse of plain white nightgown.
There was no sense letting his imagination run away with him. They’d veered back and forth between icy civility and outright antagonism in the past two days. Just because he’d found reason to regret his harshest opinions of her didn’t mean she felt any warmer toward him.
“There.” He sat back on his heels. “A satisfactory fire if ever I saw one.”
“I’m impressed you did that so quickly. I would’ve thought you’d need a servant to manage it.”
“
Need
?” He regarded her with one eyebrow lifted in mock-umbrage.
“Well, I’ve never seen you lay a fire before. The chambermaid took care of it last night, and I can’t even remember if we had a fire on our wedding night.”
“I’ll have you know that I’ve been laying fires since I was the rawest of schoolboys. When I went away to Winchester and had charge of the fire as the junior in my chamber, the quality of my fires and the quantity of hot water I boiled made me a legend in my own mind.”
Caro laughed.
At least his lustful impulses were subsiding. When she shivered, he stood and pushed the cedar chest from its place at the end of the bed to nearer the hearth. “You look chilled through. Come and sit by the fire.”
“That sounds most inviting.” She kept the blanket wrapped about her as she took a seat on the wooden chest.
There, that wasn’t the least bit provocative. Swaddled in the oversized blanket, Caroline looked more like a waif or a convalescent than an object of desire—a heartbreakingly lovely convalescent, to be sure, but hardly a temptress likely to lure him into doing something foolish. She was cold and they’d had a ghastly day and if they were to have any chance at all of coming to a better understanding, he would have to take matters one step at a time.
Then she raised deep blue eyes to his, her blanket slipping off one white shoulder. “Do take off your clothes.”
* * *
John’s face went blank with surprise, though surely he must be soaked through. He’d been the first to emerge from the coach after the accident, and the last to come in for the night. “The saddlebag with your dry clothes is on the bed.”
“Ah.” His startled expression vanished. “I suppose I ought to change.”
“I can keep my back turned if you like.”
He made a soft sound of amusement. “Only if it makes you more comfortable.”
“Well, I don’t know about
comfortable
. But it hardly seems fair for me to look when you didn’t, does it?”
One side of his mouth quirked upward in a smile, as rare as it was appealing. “If you’re really mad to see me without my clothes on, I’m prepared to overlook the inequality of the arrangement.”
She kept her back turned just the same, gazing into the fire. The bed creaked behind her. She pictured him, lean and strong, tugging off his boots. They had hours and hours left until sunrise, without so much as a single book in the room to occupy them. A fresh shiver ran through her, though not from the cold.
“I
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