Otherwise, somehow, I would have known, she thought and controlled another shiver.
‘There is another road,’ he told her. ‘Camillo left me there at the crossroads, and I walked across country to wait for you.’
‘You mean the car’s not far away?’ She closed her eyes. ‘Thank heaven for that.’
‘You are so anxious to return to your jail?’ He was pouring water again, this time into the bath using a jug from the sink cupboard, before adding the contents of the cauldron.
‘On the contrary.’ Her denial was instant, her tone defiant. ‘But at least it’s better than this.’
‘I am glad Giacomo cannot hear you insult his hospitality.’ He indicated the tub. ‘Your bath awaits, signorina. I regret there is no soap or any towel. You will have to dry yourself on what you are wearing.’
She flushed. ‘But that’s impossible. It—it’s all I have.’ As he knew perfectly well.
He took off his coat, hanging it on the back of the other chair, then began to unbutton the charcoal grey shirt he wore beneath it.
She said hoarsely, ‘What are you doing?’
‘Calm yourself. I am not planning to join you in the bath.’ He stripped off the shirt and tossed it to her. ‘Wear this when you have washed.’
His skin was bronze, the sculpting of bone and muscle strong yet, at the same time, intrinsically elegant. His chest was shadowed with hair which arrowed down into the waistband of his pants.
Unlike Jeremy, whose skin was smooth and paler in spite of assiduous tanning. And whose shoulders were less broad. Less powerful...
She looked away hastily, dry-mouthed.
‘I—I couldn’t possibly...’
‘Don’t be foolish.’ The amber eyes swept her. Lingered ironically. ‘You will certainly find it more modest than what you are wearing now.’
Her face burned as she watched him walk to his backpack, produce a thin wool sweater with a roll-neck and pull it over his head.
Finally, he took out a small jar and placed it on the table. ‘Antiseptic cream,’ he said, and disappeared into the street.
Swallowing, Maddie shed the overall, and stepped into the bath. It was one of the strangest she’d ever taken, but, whatever her misgivings, it felt warm and infinitely soothing as she sat, knees to chin, carefully washing away the smears of earth, before standing up and letting the water pour in small, blissful rivulets from her cupped hands down her aching body.
She kept a careful eye on the doorway, but there was not so much as a shadow to disturb her.
When she had finished, she turned the overall inside out and patted herself dry with the cleanest part. She applied the cream to the worst of her grazes, then, slowly and reluctantly, she picked up his shirt and put it on.
The scent of him lingered quietly in its folds, as potent as when he’d held her in his arms, making her fingers clumsy as she struggled with the buttons, fastening them from throat to hem.
He was right, she conceded unwillingly when she’d finished. Its covering was more than adequate—longer in fact than some of the dresses she’d worn recently in England. The sleeves hung over her hands, and she rolled them back to her elbows.
Then, taking a deep breath, she called, ‘I’ve finished.’
But the immediate response she’d expected did not come. The doorway was filled only with the gathering darkness. Wincing, she ran to the door, peering out.
Calling, ‘Andrea,’ her voice high and urgent.
And saw his tall figure taking solid, reassuring shape among the clustering shadows as he approached.
‘Is something wrong?’ he enquired as he came up to her. ‘Another snake, perhaps?’
‘No.’ She felt foolish. Angry too that she’d betrayed her vulnerability yet again. ‘I didn’t know where you were.’
‘I took a walk,’ he said, adding drily, ‘As I am not a saint, I decided to remove myself from temptation.’
She knew she was blushing again, and was glad of the darkness.
She hunched a defensive shoulder. ‘I—I thought the wolf might have returned. And you didn’t take the gun.’
‘Because there is no need,’ he said calmly. ‘You are quite safe.’ He put a hand gently on her shoulder, turning her back into the room. The warmth of his touch seemed to penetrate every bone in her body. ‘Now, if you sit, I will attend to your blisters.’
She sat, hands folded in her lap, waiting while he carried the bath outside to empty it, before returning to the backpack and taking out a roll of bandage and a small tube.
‘This is a gel,’ he told her. ‘It acts as an artificial skin.’
‘Will it hurt?’