Page 52 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
“I’ll prepare it in here and wait in the other room until you’re finished.”
“I don’t have a lock on that door.”
“Gillie.” He heaved an impatient sigh. “If I were going to take advantage a lock wouldn’t stop me. And I’d have probably done it already.”
He had the right of it there. He could have taken advantage when she was with him in the coach the night before or as they’d walked along the street after witnessing the performances at the penny gaff or even inside the venue. No one would have thought anything of it. If they’d noticed, they’d have egged him on. But she couldn’t stop herself from pointing out, “You just now kissed me.”
“You wanted it as much as I did. Admit it.”
She plucked at a loose string on the quilt covering her bed. “I was curious.” Then, even though she’d claimed it was none of his bloody business, she admitted, “I’ve never been kissed before.”
Lifting her gaze to his, she was warmed to see the understanding in his expression. “I know.”
Panic hit her. She’d always wanted to do everything correctly. “Did I do it wrong?” Was that the reason he’d stopped? He hadn’t enjoyed it as much as she had?
“Hardly. I’d say you’re a natural.”
Like her mother, no doubt. Her mother had given away her kisses, given away her body—otherwise, Gillie wouldn’t exist. The truth was she did feel grimy, soiled. She and Charlie had been locked in an embrace, and based upon the hideous odorous cloud that had engulfed her with his nearness, she could state with clear certainty he was months away from his last yearly dip in a tub. “Yes, a bath would be lovely.” She angled her head questioningly. “Although I can’t imagine you, being a duke, know how to prepare one.”
That grin again. “You would be surprised at what I know how to do.”
So how did one go about preparing a bath? Thorne wondered as he stood in the kitchen area. There was a box of wood beside the stove, so he assumed he’d shove some inside and set it alight, fill a huge pot with water, and then another and another.
As he went to work, he admitted to himself that it had been a damned stupid idea to suggest the bath, but he’d been in dire need of some sort of physical exertion to distract himself from thoughts of her enticing lips and how the kiss had undone him. He’d kissed women before, lots of women, all sorts of women, but it had never felt as though any of them had reached deep within him and caressed his soul.
In spite of her innocence and lack of experience, she had poured all that she was into that mating of the mouths and it had shaken him clear down to the soles of his boots. Even as he’d wanted to retreat, he’d felt a stronger urge to rush headlong into an encounter unlike anything in which he’d ever engaged. How was it that this woman caused him to long for things, hunger for things he’d always discounted as the yearnings of fools?
While he waited for the water to heat, he noted the tidiness of the kitchen, then walked into the main room. A comfortable-looking sofa rested before the fireplace, two plush chairs covered in yellow floral fabric on either side of it. Several newspapers were spread out over a short-legged table before the sofa. He couldn’t imagine her perusing them for gossip. No, she would read the same articles that gentlemen did, newsworthy pieces that would keep her apprised of the world, industry, Parliament, and matters that might affect the profits of her tavern or provide her with ideas of how to improve it. On the mantelpiece was a small photograph, framed in pewter. They’d gone to a great deal of trouble and expense to hire a photographer to mark the moment, which alerted him that it held significance. He couldn’t stop himself from taking it and studying it more closely. In the background was her tavern. She stood before it, with a group of people he recognized as her brothers and sister. Beside her was a smaller woman, dark-haired, neither too slender, nor too round, whom he assumed was her mother. Gillie’s arm encircled her shoulders. As a matter of fact, everyone’s arms circled the shoulders of the person standing next to them forming a chain of comfort and support, clearly shouting to anyone who passed by that they were all in it together. He had no memory of either of his parents ever embracing him, ever standing so forcefully beside him. Gillie was a bit younger, smiling brightly, hope and joy reflected in her eyes. He couldn’t help but believe the photograph had been taken around the time she’d opened the tavern. He wished he’d been there to help her celebrate, to be part of the moment. With a scoff, he set the photograph back on the oak mantel. At the time he hadn’t even known she existed.
Turning, he smiled at a painting, wondering why he hadn’t noticed it before. A mermaid sat on a rock, her hand resting on a unicorn’s muzzle. She did seem to enjoy her mermaids and unicorns. And there was a shelf with numerous books resting on it. Overall, the room wasn’t fancy, but it reflected warmth, and he imagined how comforting she found it to return here after work each night.
After checking the water and seeing it was not yet boiling, he returned to her chamber, crouched before the fireplace, and built a low fire in the hearth so she wouldn’t catch chill. He could sense her watching him. “Am I doing it correctly?”
“Have you never built a fire before?”
Still on the balls of his feet, he twisted around. “There’s a crofter’s cottage on the estate. Abandoned. When I was a lad I’d sometimes sneak off to spend a rainy afternoon there. I had one of the servants teach me to build a fire. For some reason, it always irritated me when my father would call for the butler to light or stir the fire and the butler would call for a footman. We’re a lazy lot, the nobility.”
“But if you saw to your own needs, you wouldn’t need servants. Then how would they survive?”
Planting his elbow on his thigh, he studied her. “I hadn’t considered that our idleness serves a greater purpose.”
She gave him a shy smile. “You’re teasing me.”
“I am rather.” He glanced around, wishing it didn’t matter, yet knowing that somehow it did. “Have you ever had a man in these rooms before me?”
“No. Not even my brothers—well, not after they helped me get all the furniture up the stairs. It’s always been my refuge.”
A knot in his chest that he hadn’t even realized was there loosened. She could have met a man elsewhere, but based on the kiss, on bits of conversation they’d had, on her admittance now, he thought it very unlikely she’d ever been intimate with a man—and it pleased him no end to know he would be her first. That thought nearly rocked him back on his heels, but he desired her as he’d never desired anything else in his life. Not that he could tell her that just yet. “It’s quaint and cozy. Warm. My residences all feel cold and it has nothing to do with the chill in the air.”
“Perhaps they simply need a woman’s touch.”
“They have my mother’s touch. That probably accounts for it. She’s a dragon of a woman and quite icy.” He came to his feet, walked over to the corner where a copper tub stood at the ready, and shoved it across the floor until it was situated in front of the fire.
“I’m really not sure this is a good idea,” she said.
“I welcome the challenge of it.”
She laughed. “Of pouring water into a tub?”
