Before she left, the maid, who’d come up with toweling and borrowed nightclothes from the proprietor’s wife, asked tentatively, “Would you like me to assist you, milady?”
Cam had been preparing to put his coat back on, as well as his soggy neckcloth, so that he could go down to the taproom while Gemma bathed, and was startled to hear her tell the girl no and send her on her way.
When they were alone again, he turned from looking at the door to find her watching him.
He hadn’t been this overwhelmed by the prospect of bedding a woman since he was a lad. And just having her gaze on him was almost enough to send him over the edge.
“I’ll need your help with my gown,” she said, her nerves betrayed only by a hint of color in her cheekbones. It had taken some degree of bravery for her to say it so calmly, and he realized he was behaving like a halfling.
She turned her back to him as she stood beside the steaming tub, and wordlessly he crossed to where she waited. When he brushed his fingers over the nape of her neck, he heard her intake of breath, and watched as goose pimples rose on the soft skin there.
The pearl buttons that ran down to the dip just above her heart-shaped bottom were tiny, and not particularly easy to slip through the wool of her gown. So he took his time, unfastening them one by one, allowing himself the luxury of a touch here, a brush of his fingers there, as button by button, the soft creamy skin of her back just visible through the think chemise she wore beneath, revealed itself to him like a flower opening to the sun.
It was impulse that made him kiss her as he went. He let his fingers follow the line of buttons as he concentrated his mouth on the gentle slope of her shoulder, the gossamer place below her ear.
He could feel her shiver at his touch, and it wasn’t from cold.
But he wanted her to know that he did nothing that she didn’t want too.
“Is this agreeable?” he asked, as his fingers stole their way down her back, unfastening as they went.
She giggled a little, and he paused. “What’s funny?”
Turning to face him, she held up the bodice of her gown, which was now gaping in the back.
“I hadn’t expected you to be the sort of man who asked permission,” she said with a raised brow.
He blinked. That was rather a lowering thought. “You think I take without asking?” he asked, tilting his head to look at her. He supposed he hadn’t always been the picture of kindness in her presence, but nor had he expected her to assume he was the kind of fellow who would ravish a lady without gaining any kind of agreement from her.
His dismay must have shown on his face because her brows knit. “I didn’t mean it as a criticism,” she said, her expression troubled now. “Only that you surprised me. I thought asking you to share my bed at Beauchamp House was a sort of blanket permission.”
“That was before I set the cat amongst the pigeons by telling Paley we were wed,” he said with a shake of his head. “I should have thought you might at the very least need to revisit the issue, given that not very long ago you seemed as if you wanted to toss me bodily from the window.”
She glanced at the window, which was rather small, but would have done the job if she had the strength of anger on her side.
“I do not understand you, Cam,” she said finally. “One moment you seem to want nothing more than to hold me in your arms, and the next you’re almost diffident.”
“Because I’m trying not to ride roughshod over you,” he said, pulling away and thrusting a hand through his hair. “I know you think I’m a … a bully, but I am trying not to be for your sake.”
He heard her gasp and then felt her hand on his back. “Cam, I don’t think you’re a bully,” she said firmly. “No more than I am. And I know quite well that I can be as stubborn as they come.”
“I … regret that first meeting between us, Gemma,” he said on a sigh. “More than you can ever know.”
“Well, I don’t,” she said, and he had to turn to see her face because her words were so jarring.
“You despised me that day,” he said frowning. “I despised me that day.”
“But we’ve got past that, haven’t we?” she asked, still grasping her gown to her chest. “There’s more to a person’s personality than one moment.”
“Of course there is,” he agreed. “But I want to be better for you. I was so angry then. At everything. I misunderstood some things about … life. And I’m not that bitter man anymore.”
“I know you’re not,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t be here with you otherwise. No matter how much I wanted to learn the truth about this business with Sir Everard.”
He had no time to respond because she let go of her gown then and she was standing before him in nothing more than her shift and stockings. With the fire behind her, he could see her sweet curves outlined in the light. Unable to stop himself, he reached out to touch her where her waist dipped in.
But she danced away from him. And moving to the side of the tub, she looked him in the eye then reached down and unfastened her garters, then rolled down her stockings. She took her time, just as he’d done with her buttons and by the time she was finished he was in danger of losing his control entirely.
When he reached down to lift her chemise, he knew he should turn away but a team of oxen couldn’t have pulled his gaze away from his first sight of her gloriously naked.
Without a backward glance, she stepped into the hip bath and sighed as she sank into the warm water.
He was in danger of pulling her out of the bath and onto the bed when a knock sounded on the door. He made sure the screen was blocking the view of her, and opened the door to reveal the innkeeper and a couple of footmen with a table and trays of food.
The man seemed to wish to chat about everything from the weather to the state of the roads, but Cam finally had to cut him off in mid-sentence and send him on his way.
Gemma had left the bath and was rosy cheeked and dressed in a very practical flannel nightdress and dressing gown by the time he turned back to her. He felt a pang of disappointment before remembering he’d be taking off those prim garments before much time had passed.
“That smells divine,” she said, padding over to the table in her bare feet. “I hadn’t realized I was so hungry.”
His senses once more in control, Cam took the seat opposite her. He had to admit that the food—fish stew, crusty bread and small beer—was delicious, and like Gemma he was hungrier than he’d thought.
As if by agreement, they talked about inconsequential matters while they ate. She told him about a recent encounter she and Sophia had with Squire Northman’s wife, who still hadn’t forgiven the ladies of Beauchamp House for an ill-fated dinner party when they first arrived. Cam related an amusing story about his brother Freddie and his angst about the prospect of his infant daughter ever being of an age to have gentleman callers.
“But why should that bother him,” Gemma asked, tearing off a bit of bread. “I should think it was something that fathers took for granted.”
“Freddie is the one of us who—before he was wed, mind you—had the most rakish reputation,” Cam explained. He’d always found Freddie’s ability to charm the wings off a ladybug a bit annoying if truth be told. It all seemed so easy for Freddie. Cam didn’t hurt for female company, but he certainly didn’t have the gift for easy conversation that his brothers did. Aloud, he continued, “I suppose he’s afraid that his baby daughter will one day meet the latter day equivalent of … himself?”
Gemma laughed at that. “Poor Freddie. But at least he’ll know what to look out for. It takes one to know one, after all.”
It was a good point. “I’ll tell him you said so,” Cam said with a nod. “Though in fairness, he’s been as straight as an arrow since he married Leonora. He’s desperately in love with her.”
Even as he said it, he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He might be hellbent on marrying Gemma at this point, but love hadn’t really entered into their conversation thus far. And he didn’t wish to force it there just now either.
But, Gemma had no such reservations. “Will you be disappointed to be the brother who didn’t marry for love?” she asked softly. There was something tentative in her tone, as if she knew it would be a sore subject. But his Gemma wasn’t one to shirk difficult conversations.
He reached across the table to take her hand. “There might be love between us,” he said seriously. “I hope there will be. There is certainly passion. And affection.”
“I see how it is between my sister and Benedick,” she said with a smile. “I hope it will be like that with us.”
“For now, let’s see how it is with us there,” he nodded to the bed, which had been looming in the background throughout the meal.
With a nod, she rose. He did too, and crossed to where she stood.
Before things could become awkward between them, he pulled her against him and kissed her with all the passion he’d been holding in check.
“Yes,” she said against his mouth. “The answer to your question is yes.”
Without replying, he took her in his arms again and carried her the short distance to the bed.