Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels #1)(38)

Asad was supple and responsive during their practice, moving in half circles and serpentine patterns. His transitions were seamless, his focus perfect. Kathleen decided to take the Arabian outside the paddock for a ride in an enclosed pasture, and he did so well that she extended the morning session.

Glowing and pleasantly tired after the exercise, Kathleen returned into the house and bounded up one of the back staircases. Nearing the top, she realized she had forgotten her detachable skirt at the stables. She would send a footman to fetch it later. As she headed toward the master bedroom, she was obliged to stop and flatten against a wall as a trio of workmen proceeded through the hallway, their arms laden with copper pipes. Noticing Kathleen’s breeches, one of the workmen nearly dropped the pipes, and another told him curtly to put his eyes back in his head and carry on.

Blushing, Kathleen hurried into the master bedroom and went directly to the open door of the bathroom, since Clara was nowhere to be seen. Despite her objections to the expense of indoor plumbing, she had to admit that it was lovely to have hot water without having to ring for the maids. After entering the bathroom, she closed the door firmly.

A startled yelp escaped her as she saw that the tub was occupied.

“Dear God!” Her hands flew up to cover her face.

But the image of Devon Ravenel, wet and naked, had already been burned into her brain.

Chapter 11

It couldn’t be. Devon was supposed to be in London! It was a trick of her imagination… a hallucination. Except that the air was hot and humid, spiced with the fragrance that was unmistakably his… a spicy, clean incense of skin and soap.

Apprehensively Kathleen parted her fingers just enough to peek through them.

Devon was reclining in the copper tub, looking at her in sardonic inquiry. Hot mist rose around him in a smoke-colored veil. Droplets of water clung to the tautly muscled slopes of his arms and shoulders, and sparkled in the dark fleece of hair on his chest.

Kathleen whirled to face the door, her thoughts scattering like the pins in a game of skittles. “What are you doing here?” she managed to ask.

His tone was caustic. “I received your summons.”

“My… my… you mean the telegram?” It was difficult to pull a coherent thought from the wreckage of her brain. “That wasn’t a summons.”

“It read like one.”

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Certainly not so much of you!” She went crimson as she heard his low laugh.

Desperate to escape, she seized the door handle, a bit of hardware that had just been installed by the contractor, and tugged. It remained stubbornly closed.

“Madam,” she heard Devon behind her, “I suggest that you —”

She ignored him in her panic, yanking violently at the hand grasp. Abruptly the piece pulled free of its rivets, and she staggered back. Bewildered, she looked down at the broken metal part in her hand.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Devon cleared his throat roughly. His voice was thick with suppressed laughter. “It’s a Norfolk latch. You have to push down on the thumb piece before pulling the handle.”

Kathleen attacked the thumb piece that dangled on the faceplate, jabbing repeatedly until the entire door rattled.

“Sweetheart…” Now Devon was laughing almost too hard to speak. “That… that’s not going to help.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said, keeping her back to him. “How am I going to get out of here?”

“My valet went to fetch some towels. When he returns, he’ll open the door from the outside.”

With a moan of dismay, Kathleen leaned her forehead against the wood panel. “He mustn’t know that I was in here with you. I’ll be ruined.”

She heard the lazy sluice of water over skin.

“He’ll say nothing. He’s discreet.”

“No, he’s not.”

The splashing stopped. “Why do you say that?”

“He’s provided the servants with no end of gossip fodder about your past exploits. According to my maid, there was a particularly riveting story involving a music hall girl.” She paused before adding darkly, “Dressed in feathers.”

“Bloody hell,” Devon muttered. The splashing resumed.

Kathleen stayed against the door, tense in every limb. Devon’s naked body was only a few yards away, in the same bathtub she had used last night. She was helpless to stop herself from imagining the sights that accompanied the sounds, water darkening his hair, soap foam coursing over his skin.

Taking care to keep her gaze averted, she set the latch handle on the floor. “Why are you bathing so early in the day?”

“I came by train, and hired a coach in Alton. A wheel came loose along the way to Eversby. I had to help the driver bolt it back on. Cold, muddy work.”

“Couldn’t you have asked your valet to do it instead?”

A scoffing sound. “Sutton can’t lift a carriage wheel. His arms are no thicker than jackstraws.”

Frowning, she drew her finger through a film of moisture that had collected on the door. “You needn’t have come to Hampshire in such a hurry.”

“The threat of lawyers and Chancery Court impressed me with the need for haste,” he said darkly.

Perhaps her telegram had been a bit dramatic. “I wasn’t really going to bring lawyers into it. I only wanted to gain your attention.”