Page 18 of Unearthing the Smuggler's Heart
He closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation, to imagine the hot water as gentle fingers, plucking the pain away from his back. He would open them soon, he told himself, once the water started to cool. It was just so very lovely as it was right now, with a full belly and fresh water and a reprieve from all the stressors of the day.
He'd open his eyes again soon, he thought.
Soon.
And then he thought no more.
CHAPTER8
Isabelle Applegate had fallen asleep.
The clock had now taken three passes with the minute hand, three minutes past the hour when Isabelle should have gone down to the cargo hold for her bath. Instead of waking her, Jade had simply hovered over where she slept, uncertain of how to proceed.
It was just that she looked so peaceful! And shehadbeen complaining of discomfort earlier in the day. Perhaps what she needed just now was sleep, not a soak? Sadly, it appeared that her anxiety was polluting the very air of the room, for the other woman sighed and turned her face from the pillow, a yawn as delicate as a kitten's escaping from her lips.
"Jade," Isabelle murmured, her voice wispy and her lashes still clinging to one another as she turned her head in Jade's general direction. "What is it?"
"Oh! I… I am sorry," Jade said quickly, wincing. "I know better than to hover. It's just that it is past seven now, and I wasn't sure if I should wake you."
"Mm," she replied with a groggy nod. "You go. I'll doze a bit more first."
"Oh, but..." Jade began, but trailed off, uncertain of whether or not this was a thing one was supposed to protest to.
If it was, Isabelle was unconcerned, and already curling back into a ball, burying her cheek into the cool sanctuary of the pillow.
This left Jade with little to do but shrug on her dressing gown, knot it at the waist, and step out into the brisk evening air. It wasn't quite dark yet. The days had been getting longer, inch by inch, for the last few weeks, leaving this indigo glow in the hours between dusk and darkness. The wind was gentle and cool, combing its fingers through Jade's loose hair and fluttering through the fabric of her robe.
She shivered a little, anticipating just how pleasant the warmth of a fresh bath would be as goosebumps arose on her bare ankles, tickled by the breeze.
As promised, Mr. Tennyson had dutifully delivered two buckets of steaming hot water at the door to the cargo hold. She imagined he was bang on time, if not a few minutes early, courtesy of his prized pocket watch.
She made a mental note to buy the ship's cook some polish for that watch when they reached France. He would like that, she knew, and it would be an appropriate gesture of gratitude for indulging her need for order the way he had.
She ought to polish her little brass clock as well. It had taken on a good deal of tarnish over the years. Perhaps the clock itself was as patient as its inscription.
She hoisted the two buckets of water and used her back to get the door to the cargo hold open, backing in carefully and using the curve of her foot to stop the door from slapping shut too quickly. The air smelled of rosemary, and she thought that she could even feel the ghost of steam from the previous bath, hovering in the air with promise.
There were lanterns lit farther into the hold, emitting a pulsing light that beckoned her closer. She shivered again, this time from the warmth that crawled up her fingers and wrapped around her wrists from the buckets in either hand.
Yes, it was definitely rosemary she was smelling. It had been sweetened and mixed into a soap, each scent weaving into the next in harmony.
She had nearly broken into skipping on her toes in anticipation, and perhaps would have if not for needing to keep the water steady. She breathed deeply and eased her way through a pair of crates, lamplight finally touching her toes and spreading up over her body.
There was the bathtub...and it was not awaiting her with fresh towels and the promise of solitude, as she had expected.
She froze.
Mathias Dempierre was still in his bath, spectacularly naked, and apparently unconscious. His head was tipped back against the rim of the tub, golden curls damp and clinging to his cheeks. His muscled arms were hooked over the sides of the tub, elbows hanging toward the floor, and she could see the tips of his toes peeking up over the water.
If not for the delicate little snore that escaped him in the otherwise silent room, Jade might have thought him injured or dead. He certainly had no awareness of his surroundings at the moment. The way he was slumped off to the side reminded her of a painting she'd seen in London, on one of Zelda's excursions in an effort to impart some culture upon her poor, sheltered ward.
She felt a tug of something like amusement tinged with dread in the pit of her stomach at the memory of that painting. She had stood in front of the canvas and admired the angel in the center of battle. That angel had been Lucifer, as Zelda informed her. The Morningstar. Beautiful, beloved, and treacherous—things that often went hand in fist, according to her guardian.
She flushed and reached down for the two buckets of steaming water, lifting them and dropping them with more abandon, in the hopes that the thunk of wood on wood would startle Mathias out of his slumber.
It worked. He did not startle or splash about to cover himself or gasp in horror, but he awoke. Those amber eyes flicked open in concert with the buckets hitting the floor, and nothing else about him moved at all. His gaze cleared and met her own, and otherwise he did not so much as twitch.
Jade swallowed with some effort, and held his gaze. "You fell asleep," she said, for lack of anything else to observe.
