Page 27 of Wicked Rivals
Have I gone too far? I’ve robbed Rosalind just as much as that damned fool of a highwayman. It does nothing but mark me as a villain. No better than Waverly.
That sobering thought brought him up short. He had to find a way to still achieve his goals without causing her any more harm.
The sounds of water splashing increased, and he sensed Rosalind must be ready to get out. He reentered the dressing room and retrieved a towel. She sat huddled in the bath, arms covering her breasts and her legs tucked up. The sight of her looking so small and vulnerable made something in his chest ache. He spread the towel out and held it up for her.
“You’d best get out before the water chills. Remove your chemise. It will need a thorough washing.”
Her eyes glinted dangerously, and for a moment he worried she’d remain in the water out of spite.
“Hold it a little higher,” she ordered.
He raised the towel to the point where it would prevent him from seeing her body as she climbed out of the tub. He heard the splash of water and the slick sound of wet cloth upon skin, then the smack of the chemise upon the floor. He inched the towel down just enough to see the sloping of her shoulders before she hastily took it and wrapped it around her body. She had curves. He liked that, but her figure was leaner and smaller than he’d realized. When she stood to her full height she only came up to the top of his shoulder.
“You mentioned food,my lord?” She stressed the words with a mocking tone that had him wishing he’d stolen a few strips of red silk from his friend Lucien. Tying this woman to his bed sounded like a perfect punishment for her temper.
He shook himself. He shouldn’t be thinking of her like that. Certainly not at this moment. He’d never let on how creative his tastes in bed ran. He saw himself as not unlike Lucien, loving a good restraint or two and mirrors perhaps to watch his sensual domination from every angle, but he trusted few women with those secret desires. The last thing he needed was talk in thetonabout his appetites and to have them used against him.
“I did promise sustenance. I shall dine with you, of course.”
She jolted. “I beg your pardon?”
“It would be remiss of me to let you take supper alone.”
She wrinkled her little nose, an expression he found oddly endearing.
“Why would you torture us both by dining with me? Neither of us can stand each other.”
He allowed a smile to curve his lips. “Why indeed? Perhaps it is because this is my bedchamber and I shall have to go to sleep at some point tonight.”
Rosalind, who had been combing one hand through her wet hair, froze. “Yourroom?”
“Naturally. What was it I said? Oh yes, Iownyou, Rosalind.” He caressed her name, letting each decadent syllable roll off his tongue, delighting at the fire in her eyes. Now she was ready to do battle again.
“I demand another room. Take me to one at once.” She started toward the door, intent on storming out.
“Demand?”
“Yes, demand.” Watching the defiant sway of her hips in that towel was too much for any rogue to resist.
“Very well then.” Before she could stop him, he’d lifted her up in his arms and tossed her over his shoulder.
“Put me down, you wretched oaf!” She shouted and kicked, nearly dislodging the towel about her body. He reached up and firmly held the towel against her backside, relishing the indecent hold far too much.
“I said put medownyou—”
His chamber door swung open, and they both stilled at the sound of a voice.
“Ashton Malcolm Lennox, what in God’s name are you doing?”
Regina, in her nightgown and robe, hair plaited to one side, was staring at him. Behind her were Joanna and Julia, holding clothes for Rosalind. Beyond them, Charles and Jonathan were leaning against the opposite wall, smirking. The bloody bastards.
Ashton sighed. “I was about to see to our guest’s request regarding accommodation.”
Regina stared at him. It had been nearly twenty years since she’d called him by his full name. That did not bode well.
“Did she request to be carried over your shoulder wearing only a towel?”
“No, Mother.”
