Page 64 of The Wolf Duke
There were two tubs.
Side by side, two large tin tubs swallowed the modest space. Steam lifted off the water as the draft of air from opening the door rushed into the room.
“Wonder upon wonder,” Sloane said as she walked in.
“Maybe Milly reconsidered the beast you just married?” Reiner closed the door and locked it, then moved across the room to set the loaf of bread and wrapped slices of cake the baker’s wife had insisted they leave with onto the table.
“Or maybe she’s afraid of the devil?” Sloane stepped to a tub and swished a finger in the water. Her head lifted and she caught sight of herself in the cheval mirror in the far corner of the room. With a squawk she ran over to it. “You married me like this?”
He spun to her. “Like what?”
She grabbed a muddy clump of her dark blond hair, lifting it to him. “This. Everywhere on me. I knew I was a mess, but this…this…” She turned back to the mirror, her shoulders drooping as she took in her reflection. “No wonder the baker’s wife kept wrinkling her nose.”
Reiner went across the room to her, stopping behind her and looking at her reflection in the mirror. “You were a beautiful bride—the mud can’t hide you.” He lifted the back of her hair, thinking to find a spot on her neck where the mud hadn’t caked. There wasn’t one. He set his lips to her skin anyway.
It drew a slight giggle from her and she spun around, then pointed past him to the tub. “One for you and one for me?”
His eyebrow lifted. “Or one for the first dip and the second to clean off what was left from the first?”
She sighed, her eyes on the steaming water. “Then do go quickly. Maybe the water will still be warm when I get in.”
He grabbed her hand and tugged her to the tub. “What if we both went first?”
Her eyes went wide and she looked down at the tub closest to them. “We can share? Well, that sounds…delightful.” She looked up at him. “But I don’t think we’ll fit.”
“We can—we’ll make the room.” His fingers went down, pushing his jacket back off her shoulders. It dropped to the floor. The air, not as suffocating as it had been in the few coaching inns he’d stayed in on the journey north, was cooler, crisper here in Scotland.
Before he could thread his thumbs under the straps of her chemise, her hands went to unbutton his waistcoat and then onto his shirt. She pushed it up, slowly, dragging the fabric along his body, torturing him with every fold brushing against his skin. Her fingers trailed against his rib cage, his chest. She tugged the shirt over his head, then stepped back, her gaze on his chest, studying him.
Her eyes greedy, the heat in them was unmistakable and she took a step forward, setting her lips—still cool from her dunk in the bog—to his chest. The cold juxtaposed with the heat of her tongue as she tasted him. It nearly set him into action, ready to throw her on the bed—mud be damned—and slam into her.
But he held steady, his arms clenched to his sides as he suffered the torture of her lips on his chest.
Her fingers walked down, flicking free the buttons on the front flap of his trousers, then slid between the fabric and his skin, sliding over his backside as she pushed them down.
Hands of an angel by way of the devil. He had to bite back a blasphemy.
She went to one boot, pulling it free, then the other, not satisfied until he was free of every stitch of clothing and naked to the world.
Her stare hungry on every spot she touched, she stood slowly, her fingers running along his calves, his thighs, backward to run along his butt, then upward to his abdomen, his chest. Tracing the contours of his body like she was sculpting a masterpiece. Her touch exquisite against his skin, his only complaint aside from the muddy glove that was still on her left hand, was that she didn’t dare to touch his cock stretched large and high. But there would be plenty of time for that.
Her look lifted to his face. “Your body is stunning, Reiner.”
“You thought me fleshy?”
“No. I knew you were strong. I recall flashes of your bare chest when you came into my room after I discovered what happened to my arm. But my mind was in a different place then—not able to recognize what was in front of me.” She shook her head slightly. “I’ve seen plenty of strong men in Scotland with their shirts removed. I just didn’t realize you would rival any of them.” Her smile turned wicked. “And I’ve never dared to touch any of them.”
“I wouldn’t want to hear about it if you did.” A growl he couldn’t quite control at the thought of her fingers running along any man but him echoed in his words.
His thumbs slipped under the straps of her chemise and he pulled it down slowly, letting the wet fabric slide down her body until gravity took hold and she was naked before him. Naked except for the blasted glove covering her left arm.
He stepped closer, his breath mingling with hers as his fingertips went to the top hem of the long glove covering her arm. Her right hand snapped up between them, grabbing his wrist.
“The glove has to go as well.” His eyes met hers, challenging.
He wanted all of her. He wasn’t about to accept less. And all of her meant removing that bloody glove of hers. A glove he’d grown to hate. He’d seen why she wanted to hide her arm from the world. But that didn’t mean he wanted her arm hidden from him.
“It—it is just—I don’t like to look at my arm myself. So I don’t want to subject you—”