Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(21)

Breathing hard, she forced herself to take a step toward the door. The shadows seemed to pull at her. Griffin, she tried to call out, but her voice was only a strangled whisper.

There was a movement outside the doorway. All at once she bolted out of the cottage in silent terror, feeling a hand catch at her elbow. “Celia—”

She wrenched her arm free and stumbled backward a few steps, her eyes wide. Griffin stood before her, his eyes narrowed. “What is it?” he asked. “Are you hurt? Did you see something?”

No, nothing so ordinary. Just a nameless, childish fear she could not control. “I-I’m all right,” she said with difficulty, wondering if she had finally lost her wits. Griffin stepped forward, and she continued to back away. If he touched her, she thought hysterically, she would fall apart. She couldn’t bear any more. She wanted it all to be over, now. She was so tired of being afraid, feeling lost. She wanted to be at home in Paris, in her own soft bed with its crisply ironed sheets, listening to her family’s voices just outside the door. She wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

“Celia.” He spoke quietly, staring at her drawn face. “Celia, come here.”

“No.”

“We’re going to the water.”

“No—”

“Then do whatever the hell you want.” He turned and walked away at a relaxed pace. After a few seconds of indecision she began to follow him.

He heard her footsteps behind him, and his frown eased. As he had expected, she was too exhausted to make decisions for herself. He was sorely troubled by his own reactions to her, which was why he was glad he would be rid of her on the morrow. Women were nothing but a momentary convenience, something to discard as soon as they sated his desires. This one was the first who had ever depended on him for anything, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like the way he felt when that stricken look came into her eyes. He especially didn’t like the damnable urge to comfort her that swept over him with increasing frequency. Softness was something he did not allow himself—ever.

He reached the water’s edge and surveyed the area with expert eyes. “Take the bandages off your feet,” he said shortly. “You may as well wash the powder off. By now it’s done all the good it’s going to.”

Celia sat on the pebbled ground, stretching out her slim legs one at a time. It would be a relief to wash her feet, for they had been hot and suspiciously itchy all day. Leaning over her right foot, she pulled at the knotted cloth, loosening the bandage. The smell of the herbs, bitter and moldy, rose to her nostrils. Painstakingly she began to unwind a strip of cloth, finding that her fingers were unusually clumsy.

With a soft curse Griffin sank to his knees beside her, his thighs widespread. She stared at him, wondering what had irritated him. He unwrapped her foot efficiently and lowered it into the water. Celia closed her eyes at the feel of the cool water and the strong hands rubbing away the caked powder. Gently, his fingers slipped between her toes, over the ball of her foot, pressing deep into the arch. She responded with an involuntary sigh of bliss. He flexed her foot at the ankle, set it down, and reached for her other one. Celia was ashamed of the pleasure she received at his hands, but that did not stop her from relaxing and enjoying it.

All too soon the moment was over, and she opened her eyes as Griffin pulled off his boots. “Are you going to wash your feet also?” she asked.

He dropped his jerkin to the ground. “I’m going for a swim.”

“But—but there may be alligators—”

“Not on this side of the lake.” He smiled. “Not usually.”

“But what will you do if one has decided to visit?”

“I’ll tell him I’ve brought a Vallerand with me. That should frighten him away.”

As he stripped off the last of his clothes, Celia turned her face with a gasp, covering her face with her hands.

“Very modest, for a married woman,” his softly jeering voice fell to her scarlet ears. “Or did your husband bed you only in the dark? No, don’t bother to answer. You’re easy to read.”

She glared at him through her fingers. Laughing, he plunged into the water. She watched him dive and disappear under the surface, then reappear. While he swam, Celia examined the soles of her feet in the moonlight, surprised to see how quickly they were healing. Scabs had formed where there had been deep blisters, and the swelling was completely gone. There was a line where the clean white of her feet met the grayish skin of her leg. Frowning, Celia looked out at the water, thinking of how wonderful it would feel to wash herself.

Griffin treaded water and faced her, seeming to read her thoughts. “I could have raped you many times over by now,” he said bluntly. “Don’t you trust me a little?”

Celia fingered the top button of the hateful black shirt indecisively, then unfastened it.

“On the other hand,” his voice floated over to her, “I don’t promise not to look.”

Immediately she hugged her arms around her knees, abandoning the idea of swimming.

“For God’s sake,” he said in disgust, “I won’t look.” With that, he turned away and dove under the surface again.

Celia made up her mind to do it quickly. Feverishly she unbuttoned the shirt and slid out of the breeches. She waded in up to her hips, splashing and scooping up water with her hands. Once she submerged her head, scrubbing ferociously at her scalp, then flung her wet hair back and squeezed out the excess water. She didn’t notice if Griffin watched her, and she didn’t care. The lake was heavenly, and she felt clean and restored.