navel. 'Did you tell him what the London doctor said? That you were healthy enough to bear children?'
Win nodded.
'What did Harrow say?'
'Julian told me that I could visit a legion of doctors, and get any number of differing opinions to support the conclusion I wanted. But in Julian's view, I should remain childless.'
Merripen brought her to a standing position and looked down at her, his expression unfathomable. 'I don't want to put you at risk. But neither do I trust Harrow, or his opinions.'
'Because you think of him as a rival?'
'That's part of it,' he admitted. 'But it's also instinct. There's something… lacking in him. There's something false.'
'Perhaps it's because he's a doctor,' Win suggested, shivering as Merripen drew his shirt away from her. 'Men of his profession often seem aloof. Superior, even. But that's necessary, because-'
'It's not that.' Merripen guided her to the hip bath and helped to lower her in. Win gasped not only from the heat of the water, but also from being naked in front of him. The hip bath obliged one to straddle the tub and relax into the water with the legs held apart, which was wonderfully comfortable in private, but rather mortifying with someone else present. Her modesty was further violated as Merripen knelt beside the tub and washed her. But his manner was not at all lascivious, only caring, and she couldn't help but relax under the ministrations of those strong, soothing hands.
'You still suspect Julian of having harmed his first wife, I know,' Win said while Merripen bathed her. 'But he is a healer. He would never hurt anyone, least of all his own wife.' She paused as she read Merripen's expression. 'You don't believe me. You're determined to think the worst of him.'
'I think he feels entitled to play with life and death. Like the gods of those mythology stories you and your sisters are so fond of.'
'You don't know Julian as I do.'
Merripen didn't reply, only continued to wash her.
She watched his dark face through the veil of steam, as beautiful and implacable as an ancient carving of a Babylonian warrior. 'I shouldn't even bother to defend him,' she said ruefully. 'You'll never be disposed to think well of him, will you?'
'No,' he admitted.
'And if you believed Julian was the better man?' she asked. 'Would you have allowed him to marry me?'
She saw the muscles in his throat tense before he answered, 'No.' There was a touch of self-hatred in his response. 'I'm too selfish for that. I could never have let it happen. If it came down to it, I would have carried you off on your wedding day.'
Win wanted to tell him that she had no desire for him to be noble. She was happy-thrilled-to be loved in just this way, with a passion that left no room for anything else. But before she could say a word, Merripen had taken up more soap, and his hand glided over the soreness between her thighs.
He touched her with love. And ownership. Her eyes half-closed. His finger eased inside her, and his free arm slid behind her back, and she leaned weakly into the cradle of his hard chest and shoulder. Even this small invasion hurt. Her flesh was still too newly broached, unused to being entered. But the hot water soothed her, and Merripen was so gentle that her thighs relaxed, supported in the buoyant warmth.
She breathed in the morning air, luminous with steam, scented of soap and wood and hot copper. And the intoxicating fragrance of her lover. She brushed her lips against his shoulder, savoring the rich taste of skin salt.
His warm tickling lingers stroked against her like the idle sway of river reeds… cunning fingertips that quickly discovered where she most wanted them. He toyed with her. parting her, slowly investigating the cambered softness and the sensitive places within. Blindly she reached down to grip his strong wrist, feeling the intricate movements of bone and tendon. He slid two fingers inside her, his thumb gliding over her sex in tender circles.
The water sloshed in the tub as she began to push up rhythmically, urging herself into his hand. A third finger worked inside, and she tightened and gasped out a protest-it was too much, she couldn't-but he whispered that she could, she must, and he stretched her carefully and took her groans into his mouth.
Splayed and floating, Win felt herself loosening, opening to the sensuality of the fingers reaching inside her. She felt greedy and wild, undulating to capture more of the obliterating pleasure. She actually clawed him a little, her hands scrabbling against his hard, bare skin, and he growled as if it pleased him. An abbreviated cry left her lips at the first shock of release. She tried to stifle it, but another was torn from her, and another, and the bathwater rippled as she shuddered, the climax lengthened by the delicately emphatic thrusting that continued until she was limp and panting.
Settling her against the high-backed tub, Merripen left her for a few minutes. She soaked in the steaming water, too replete to ask or notice where he'd gone. He returned with a length of toweling and lifted her from the bath. She stood passively before him, letting him dry her as if she were a child. As she leaned against him, she saw that she had scored little red marks on his skin, not deep ones, but marks nonetheless. She should have been apologetic, horrified, but all she wanted was to do it again. To feast on him. It was so unlike her that she withdrew into herself to ponder it.
Merripen carried her back into the bedroom and tucked her into a freshly made bed. She slid deep beneath the quilts and waited for him, drowsing, while he went to wash himself and empty the tub. She was steeped in a feeling she hadn't experienced in years… the kind of incandescent joy she had felt as a child waking on Christmas morning. She had stayed quietly in her bed, relishing the knowledge of all the good things that would soon happen, her heart alight with anticipation.
Win's eyes half-opened as she felt him climb into bed eventually. His weight depressed the mattress, his body startlingly warm against Win's coolness. Snuggling into the crook of his arm and shoulder, she sighed deeply. His hand made a slow, lovely pattern over her back.
'Will we have a cottage like this someday?' she murmured.
Being Merripen, he had already come up with a plan. 'We'll live at Ramsay House for a year, more likely two, until the restoration is complete and Leo is on his feet. Then I'll find a suitable property for a farm, and build a house for you. A bit larger than this, I expect.' His hand slid to her bottom, rubbing in slow circles. 'It won't be an extravagant life, but it will be comfortable. You'll have a cookmaid and a footman and a driver. And we'll live near your family, so you can see them whenever you like.'
'That sounds lovely,' Win managed to say, so filled with happiness she could scarcely breathe. 'It will be heaven.' She had no doubt of his ability to take care of her, nor did she doubt that she could make him happy. They would create a good life together, though she was fairly certain it would not be an ordinary one.
His tone was sober. 'If you marry me, you'll never be a lady of position.'
'There is no better position for me than being your wife.'
One of his big hands clasped over her skull, pressing her head against his shoulder. 'I've always wanted more for you than this.'
'Liar,' she whispered. 'You always wanted me for yourself.'
Laughter stirred in his chest. 'Yes,' he admitted.
They were quiet then, relishing the sensation of lying together in the morning-filled room. They had been close in so many ways before this… They had known each other so well… and yet not at all. Physical intimacy had created a new dimension to Win's feelings, as if she had taken not only his body inside hers, but also a part of his soul. She wondered how it was that people could engage in this act without love, how empty and pointless it must be by comparison.
Her bare foot explored the hairy surface of his leg, toes nudging against hard-sculpted muscle. 'Did you think about me when you were with them?' she asked tentatively. 'Who?'
'The women you slept with.'
She knew from the way Merripen tensed that he didn't like the question. His reply was low and guilt- roughened. 'No. I didn't think about anything when I was with them.'
Win let her hand wander over his smooth chest, finding the small brown nipples, teasing them into points. Rising on her elbow, she said frankly, 'When I imagine you doing this with someone else, I can hardly bear it.'
