and have at last decided what it will be.”
“You want to take a bath with me?” Her voice was a squeak of feminine horror. Not a promising start.
“That would be a delight beyond measure, my dear. However, all I wish to do is watch you.” He walked out from behind the chair and brought himself next to the tub. “And perhaps soap your back?”
“That’s perverted.”
“To be clean? I think not.”
“You know very well what I mean, Carter.”
He gazed at her. “My gift to you is the bath. Your gift to me is allowing me the pleasure of watching you in it.”
“Do all your gifts come with conditions?”
“Invariably.”
Her eyebrows drew together as she searched his face, watching closely as if weighing his words. They were a kind of truth. In his experience, gifts were rarely given without the expectation of some sort of return.
He knelt on the rug. Reaching for her hand so tightly gripping the edge of the tub, he lightly caressed her fingers. “You know very well that I shall leave if you insist, but I think it would better if I stayed.”
“Better for whom?”
“Both of us. But mainly for you.” He continued to gently rub her knuckles until he heard her exhale a long, slow breath.
“You may only stay a short time. The bath is supposed to help me relax.”
“And so it will.”
“Not with you standing there glowering at me,” she grumbled.
He said nothing in response, merely sat back on his haunches and waited. She sat so motionless there was not a single ripple in the water. Then suddenly she moved, with vigor and purpose, as if she had firmly decided she would not allow him to ruin her bath.
Carter smiled at her tenacity. What made her different from other women? The newness of their relationship, the fact he had to work so hard to win her trust, to get his way? And she was his wife! The one female above all others he had a right to claim.
But Carter had discovered he did not want a woman who would merely perform her marital duty. He wanted an eager, willing, and passionate woman in his bed, and he knew Dorothea could be that woman.
A section of her golden hair had fallen from the pile atop her head. It waved around the side of her face, giving her a sexy, disheveled look. He longed to trail his fingers through it, but dared not be too forward lest she throw him out of the room.
In her agitation, she had forgotten to keep the washcloth plastered protectively across her breast. It bobbed and floated merrily in the center of the tub. Carter watched it for a moment before Dorothea swooped it up and wrung it out. There were now no coverings in her bath. The clear water gave him a delectable view of the honey- colored curls between her firm, long legs. He shifted against the tightening in his breeches. Perhaps this had not been such an inspired idea.
“May I beg a kiss?” he asked.
“A kiss?”
Still kneeling, he leaned forward and gently sucked the warm, moist skin on her neck. She lifted her head instinctively and he moved his lips up her throat to her earlobe. Her breathing quickened and then a low whimper escaped. He nearly climaxed at the sensual sound.
“Just one kiss, my sweet,” he intoned hoarsely. “One small kiss.”
She moaned and turned her lips toward his. He cradled her head in his hands as his lips playfully nipped over hers and then Carter dipped his tongue into Dorothea’s mouth.
She moaned again, wrapping her fingers around his wrists, holding him close. Carter held her tightly, fighting for control, fighting to keep to his original plan of a slow seduction. A plan that seemed completely idiotic at the moment.
With great reluctance, Carter broke the kiss and stared down at his wife. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling in a quick cadence. He could see the telltale flush of her arousal and then suddenly her eyes opened wide. She met his gaze and for a long moment considering him in silence, a silence that spoke to him, that let him know she was not yet ready.
Carter reached out and trailed a fingertip slowly along the tip of her nose. “I’ll see you at dinner. Enjoy the remainder of your bath.”
Shutting down his mind, ignoring the screaming demands of his overheated body, Carter swiftly left the room. The pace of his steps increased as he reached the end of the hallway and began trotting down the stairs, taking the treads two at a time. He hit the foyer and was nearly sprinting toward the front door when the butler called out.
“My lord, where are you going? Shall I call for your horse or a carriage?”
“It’s not necessary, Cortland. I can reach the lake under my own power.”
“The lake, my lord?”
“Yes. I wish to go swimming.”
“But my lord, ’tis freezing this time of year.”
“That’s the point,” Carter answered, his mouth twisting into a grim line.
A thick covering of clouds was fast approaching from the east. Dorothea’s nose wrinkled with regret as she glanced up at the gray sky. She had planned what she thought was the perfect mid-morning outing, but it appeared the weather had other ideas. Drat!
“I fear my little surprise will be ruined, Cortland,” she said as the butler stood beside her. “The rain seems imminent.”
“So it does, my lady. But might I suggest an alternative?”
“Please do.”
An hour later, Carter was summoned to the solarium. He stood taking in her surprise, his arms folded. She watched closely for his reaction, but could tell little of his feelings.
“Is it silly?” she asked.
“No, ’tis charming. An indoor picnic.”
He moved closer and her pulses fluttered. The open space the servants had created among the tall trees and flowering pots suddenly seemed very small.
“You’ve done so many kind things for me, I wanted to do something to please you,” she said. “Mrs. Simpson mentioned how much you enjoyed picnics when you were a lad.”
“I did.” He paused and looked around. “Though I remember none quite like this one.”
“The rain decreed a change in my plans.”
“I had no idea you were so clever.”
“I’m not. It was really Cortland’s idea. He arranged for everything.” She turned her head at the sudden noise by the potted ornamental palms. “I’ve invited someone else along. I hope you don’t mind.”
At the sound of her voice, the third member of their picnic scampered forward, a chubby, round bundle of fur. The puppy paused, nearly flipping himself over as he began eagerly sniffing the large basket covered with a linen cloth set in the center of their picnic blanket.
“I thought we agreed he was going to be an outside dog,” Carter remarked wryly.
“He will be,” Dorothea said confidently. “But he is far too young and small to be relegated to the kennels.”
She scooped the puppy up in her arms and held him tightly to her breast. He squirmed in ecstasy, his entire body shaking with joy, his pink tongue darting out eagerly to lick her face.
“Have you chosen his name?” Carter asked.
They strolled over to the picnic blanket and sat down. Dorothea released the puppy, which instantly returned its attention to the wicker basket. “I’ve decided to call him Lancelot, after the legendary knight.”
“A noble name.”
“I have great hopes he will grow into it,” Dorothea proclaimed.
She removed the cloth from the basket, pleased to hear Carter voice his delight as the contents were revealed. She piled his china plate high with cold roast beef, roasted chicken, crisp bread, sharp cheese, and fruit, then made a smaller serving of the same items for herself.
