she had worn today was beyond salvaging. And even if the maids had managed to clean her tattered dress, she couldn’t have borne to wear it again.
Each rip and stain would have been an awful reminder of today’s events. God forgive her, all she wanted to do was forget.
Her stomach took that opportunity to remind her of how little she’d eaten. Mrs. Fox had prepared a small tray of cheese and fruit for her to nibble on while in the tub. But instead of filling the hollow in her stomach, Catherine had concentrated on digging the dirt out from beneath her nails and picking the flecks of decaying leaves from her hair.
Abandoning her fruitless effort with the knots, she scrambled to her feet and padded over to the tray. She gobbled down two squares of cheese and four grapes before heading back to her place by the fire.
For what felt like the hundredth time, she flicked a glance at the door connecting her bedchamber to the earl’s. She hadn’t seen him since he’d nudged her inside the room with a pithy comment not to fall asleep in the tub. As if she could sleep with him lurking in the next chamber.
At times, she thought she heard him pacing back and forth, with intermittent pauses at her door. But the handle never turned and the door never opened. She put two more pieces of cheese in her mouth and willed him to check on her.
She wanted to finish their conversation. He had been about to reveal something important. Something that might put an end to this intolerable anticipation, this constant waiting for resolution. She was so tired of waiting.
Setting the tray down, she grabbed the comb again and attacked her hair with renewed vigor. She would conquer her tangles, finish her food, and climb into bed for some much-needed sleep. She would not think of the earl again.
He could pace his bedchamber until the New Year dawned for all she cared. Whatever bothered him had nothing to do with her. If he was haunted by images of Meghan’s broken body, there was nothing she could do to alleviate his burden.
She swallowed. Nothing.
A low knock reached her ears.
Her hand stilled, and she choked down her cheese. Or at least, she tried to. A bit of it stuck to the roof of her mouth, refusing to budge. “Yeth?” Her eyes widened, and she looked around for something to drink.
The connecting door cracked open. “May I come in?”
All she could do was nod, for her attempt to force the cheese down without the aid of a beverage only managed to lodge it deeper in the back of her throat.
A halo of light fanned across the floor, broken only by his large silhouette. Sapphire silk clung to his large frame, outlining every hill and dale of his torso with exotic splendor. His dark hair glistened in the candlelight, revealing his own attempt to be free of the day’s tragedy.
Cheese forgotten, she met his eyes. They glowed blue-silver. Even more so after they trailed over her thin chemise, made nearly transparent by her wet hair. Catherine fought the urge to cover herself, unused to such heated scrutiny.
Especially from a man like Lord Somerton, whose passion smoldered beneath the surface like a field of peat gone to flame. Aboveground, all looks normal but for the occasional plume of smoke. However, if one peered below the surface, one would spot the silent advancement of a devastating, all-consuming blaze.
Lifting his gaze from her chest, he held out a glass filled with red liquid. “Care to join me?”
“I would love to.”
Six long strides later, he knelt next to her and offered her refreshment. Fragrant, humid air trailed into the chamber after him. Catherine lifted her nose and inhaled.
“Musk,” he said. “A special blend.”
She hid her mortification behind the rim of her wine glass and was relieved when the bothersome piece of cheese washed away without further incident. “With violets, I believe.”
“You have a keen sense of smell, Mrs. Ashcroft.” His fingers brushed over an untamed portion of her hair. “Do you need help with the tangles?”
Embarrassed by her dishabille, she said, “Are you applying for the part of lady’s maid, my lord?”
“If you will allow it.”
Good Lord, he was serious. She stared at him dumbfounded, unsure what to say. Why, thank you, sir. Most kind. Or better yet, Splendid!
In the end, he took her silence for approval and plucked the comb from her hand. He set his drink on her