Blame It on Bath Page 0,39

she’d ever seen stubble on his face, unlike the dark bristles that shadowed Gerard de Lacey’s jaw and throat, and she’d never watched Lord Howe undress.

He caught her watching him. “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked in surprise. “I expected you to be starved after such a long day. You’re as thin as a reed, Kate.”

She cleared her throat. “Why do you call me that?”

He grinned. “Do you like it? I do.”

“No one’s ever called me Kate.” Her father had called her Katie when she was a child, but her mother fretted over the low-class sound of it. By the time she was twelve, he never said it anymore.

“Unless you have a strenuous objection, I should like to call you that.” He pulled loose the button at his shirt’s neck and slipped the braces from his shoulders. He leaned over the basin and splashed a great quantity of water over his face and head, coming away dripping wet halfway down his chest. Katherine tried not to stare as he dried off.

“Do you?” he asked. The white linen of his shirt clung wetly to his shoulders. The vigorous toweling made his hair stand up in a riot of damp waves.

“Do I what?” she whispered. Somehow those curls in his hair appealed to her. She barely let herself look at his shoulders and arms, where muscles and sinew were perfectly outlined by the wet fabric.

“Have an objection to being called Kate.” He dropped into the seat opposite her and began removing covers from the dishes. “I hope not. Are you hungry?”

Mutely she nodded. He looked pleased and heaped a plate for her, and an even larger one for himself. He poured the wine and set the tray aside. “May I call you Kate?” he asked again, and she realized he had asked twice already.

She drew a quick breath. “Of course.”

“Very good,” he murmured. “Kate.”

Then they ate in near silence. She supposed she should say something, but between the fatigue of the journey, the stress of the last few days, and the nervous anticipation of the evening ahead, her tongue wouldn’t move. She ate mechanically, consumed by what might come next. But although he ate with perfect manners, her husband seemed just as tired and quiet as she felt. Aside from refilling her wineglass, he left her alone.

When the meal was done, he rang for the servants to come take away the dishes. She ran her hands over her knees as they cleared the table and left. The door closed, and she was alone with him. The air felt thin. The fire seemed to blaze hotter than ever, and the room suddenly grew small. Wedding night, wedding night.

The captain appeared unaffected by similar nerves. He pulled off his boots and slumped in his chair, stretching out his feet toward the fire. His head fell back, and he sighed wearily.

She must have made some small noise, for he glanced at her. “Yes?”

Katherine wet her lips. She had to say something other than what she was thinking about, how very undressed he was becoming. “There is a hole in your stocking.”

He raised his foot. The tip of his toe peeked through a small hole. “Ah. So there is. Bragg must have missed it.”

“Your man?” she asked cautiously. “I did not realize . . .”

“I sent him on ahead,” he said, when she fell silent. “My batman. A master of organization and efficiency.” He wiggled his toes. “Except, obviously, for the mending.”

“I could darn it for you,” she offered.

“Thank you.” He twisted in his chair to regard her with mild surprise. That rumpled wave of hair fell over his brow again. “We shall have to get to know each other, Kate. You’re always so nervous when I look at you.”

“I’m sorry.” Unconsciously she straightened, smoothing her expression.

He sighed. “There’s no need for that. Don’t shy away from me.”

Katherine didn’t know what to do. “I’m not afraid of you,” she insisted. “Do you think I would have proposed what I did if I feared you? No, I told you I esteem you very highly—”

“There’s a vast gulf between esteem and affection.” He rose from his chair and came to stand in front of her, hand extended. “Come here.”

Slowly she put her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. Heart thumping, muscles frozen, she waited as he brushed her hair back from her forehead, his large hands gentle. “You have nothing to fear,” he whispered. “I’m here to protect you.”

“Thank you.” She cringed as she