Page 11 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
The door opened, Drake stepped in, and the room shrank. Just like that. He dominated it with his presence. Not only his size, but his bearing. He was not one to be trifled with. He owned this room, this residence, but more than that, he owned himself.
How marvelous would that feel not to answer to anyone?
She furrowed her brow. To whom did she answer? An image flashed through her mind but she couldn’t snag it long enough to examine it, to identify it.
“I have a bathing room.” He pointed toward a door near the fireplace. “The bath is ready.”
“It took the servants long enough,” she said, walking over to the door and opening it. “I daresay you mollycoddle them.”
Assailed by the scent, the masculinity of it, she hesitated a heartbeat before strolling into the room. It was prudent to never hint at one’s doubts with a misstep, sloping shoulders, averted eyes. Rules beaten into her until they were second nature and demanded that they not be forgotten, unlike other aspects of her life.
She was astounded by the enormity of the tub awaiting her. Had she ever seen one so large? But then it would have to be to accommodate his form. She didn’t want to imagine his long limbs sprawled over the expanse of copper or his movements causing ripples in the water.
She didn’t know why she was suddenly hesitant to bathe. It seemed obscene to sit in a tub that belonged to someone else. Surely she had her own, but it wasn’t here, and she couldn’t very well travel through London caked in mud.
Her head came up. She spun around and came up short. He was leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal a light sprinkling of hair. He’d rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were bronzed and sinewy, muscles bunched, veins ropy. She saw strength there. Power. She wanted to run her hands over those arms, have them close around her as she rested her head on his chest. Comfort. He would provide immense comfort. But it would be entirely inappropriate.
“Are we in London?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“It’s strange—the things I know and the things I don’t.”
His brow furrowed. “You still don’t recall anything about your life?”
Slowly she shook her head. “No, but I’m certain it will all become clear when I’m returned to the bosom of my family.”
Another pain ricocheted through her head. They were becoming quite bothersome. Doing her best to ignore it, she tiptoed her fingers through the water. “It’s too hot. I shall have to wait for it to cool. Rather inconvenient. Have the girl removing the mud from my clothing bring the items up as soon as they are ready. Meanwhile, fetch a girl to help me wash my hair.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that he’d not moved a muscle, other than the one along his jaw, which looked as though it had turned to granite. “Don’t just stand there as though you have all day. Fetch the girl, and then have a carriage readied.”
“You’re thegirl.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He unfolded his arms, inch by inch, before prowling over to her like some big hulking cat. “To put it bluntly, Phee, you’re the servant here.”
Chapter 5
Her eyes widened in horror. Her jaw dropped. For a moment there, he was afraid she might swoon, and he’d have to lunge for her before she hit the floor.
God help him, but it took every bit of control he could muster not to burst out laughing and ruin the moment. The startled look on her face ... he would have paid a hundred quid to see it. No, a thousand, a million.
He didn’t know what had possessed him to tell her she was the servant. He’d been worried about her as he’d prepared the bath, working as quickly as possible to get it done, so she would be more comfortable, so she could be clean once again, so he could deliver her to her family—
And for his trouble, not even a thank-you. Not a hint of gratitude. Only more demands.Fetch this, fetch that. The water isn’t to my liking. Why are you so slow? I am far too important to have to wait for anything or anyone.
She kept her nose stuck in the air and never looked down long enough to notice the masses, to appreciate that the luxury in which she lived was provided by the hard work of others. She awoke to draperies drawn, fires crackling, heated water waiting. Clothes were pressed, beds were warmed, food was served.
Suddenly he’d had quite enough of her. Spoiled, pampered, entitled. Bored.
Because she might have very nearly drowned earlier, the unkind thoughts now pricked his conscience, but only slightly, certainly not enough to cause him to retract his words. Let her mull on them for a bit, let her rethink her place in this world for a few more hours, until morning, and then he would return her home. It would take that long at least for her clothing to dry sufficiently so she could put it back on.
Although it would be somewhat damp still so she would complain about it. He didn’t have a carriage to be prepared for her comfort so they would have to walk for a bit and find a hansom. She wouldn’t be pleased about that. He doubted she had ever ridden in one. She might not remember who she was, but it seemed, by God, that she rememberedwhatshe was.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“It means, sweetheart, that you are my housekeeper.”
