It was a relief to stand under the hot spray of the shower and let the steamy water wash away some of her tension along with the dirt. It didn't matter how hard she scrubbed, thinking about Craig made her feel grubby. How could a man who seemed so—well, normal act like that? Had she given the impression she would welcome such advances? She dismissed this horrifying notion swiftly. No, this hadn't been her fault.
In her naivete she had imagined that a ring on her finger gave a girl automatic protection from unwanted advances. She automatically glanced down at her finger—it looked oddly bare without the slim gold band. On her knees, she searched the floor of the shower cubicle. It wasn't there. Panic out of proportion with the loss flooded through her.
She stepped out of the shower and hastily wrapped a towel sarong-wise about her body. She left a minor flood in the bathroom as she searched the floor there before retracing her footsteps into the bedroom. It was nowhere to be found.
'I knocked,' Ethan said as he appeared through the interconnecting door. It was the first time he'd used the door, and he knew it was ridiculous but he felt like an intruder in his own home. He didn't see Hannah at first, and then he spotted her small figure crouched beside the dressing table, silent tears pouring down her cheeks. The obvious conclusion to draw from such grief was that she hadn't told him everything that had happened. As he anticipated the worst his face darkened.
'I've lost my ring!' she wailed as she caught sight of him.
'What ring?' he asked blankly, moving to her side.
'My wedding ring.' i
He felt relief. 'Is that all?' he said dismissively.
She hardly seemed to hear him. 'It might be in the kitchen, or on the stairs. I'll go and check.' She got rapidly to her feet—too rapidly, as it happened.
'You'll do nothing of the sort,' he said, catching hold of her elbows from behind and half lifting her across the room as her knees folded.
With a soft grunt he transferred her into his arms. She was incredibly light. Was she naturally slender, or were there more surprises in store for him in the form of eating disorders? Nothing would surprise him after tonight!
'The ring doesn't matter; I can buy you a new one. You're overwrought!' The last sounded almost like an accusation.
Hannah sniffed as he placed her on her bed. Of course he could; why on earth had she reacted like that? Why should a ring that symbolised their marriage of convenience be precious to her? She must be more careful. He was probably suspecting he was married to a madwoman, she surmised, fairly accurately.
'Sorry,' she whispered huskily.
'You've had a bad night.' Her tears made him uncomfortable. It occurred to him that he hadn't seen this much of his wife before—even on the beach that summer she'd worn a baggy tee shirt over her swimming costume, and not even the children's pleas could make her enter the water.
The towel she wore cut across the high swell of her small breasts and ended... Her legs were quite long in proportion to her diminutive frame. His wandering gaze encountered a pair of solemn hazel eyes, watching him watching, and he looked away abruptly.
'I fetched this for the scratches.' He held out a tube of antiseptic cream.
'That's kind of you, Ethan.'
'Your back is badly scratched,' he observed.
'I can't see.'
'Or reach,' he pointed out practically. 'I expect you'll feel it tomorrow—there are some nasty braises coming out Are you covered for tetanus?'
'I think so.'
'"Think so" isn't sufficient; you must go to the sur-gery first thing in the morning for a booster. Turn around and I'll put some cream on your back.'
His touch was impersonal, firm, but gentle. She felt warm and relaxed, and—for. the first time since she'd leapt from the moving vehicle—safe.
'You'll have to loosen this,' he said, pulling at the edge of the towel. The warm glow that had enveloped her was abruptly dispelled by a flurry of irrational anxiety.
'No, that's fine.'
'I'll probably be able to restrain myself at the sight of your flesh,' he observed drily.
'I didn't think that...' Her instinctive rejection of a more intimate touch had been no reflection on Ethan's intentions and she was mortified at the conclusion he'd drawn. She knew he didn't find her attractive. Even so, his next words did hurt. 'You're too thin.'
'I know.' In her teens she'd fantasised about waking up one morning and finding her awkward angles had been transformed into lissome curves. Now she knew better.
'Do you eat?'
'You know I do—' She stopped. In actual fact, it was rare that they ate together, only socially on the occasions they dined out together or had guests. Normally she ate with the children and Ethan ate alone later. He commuted to the City, and being a successful banister seemed to keep him away from home a lot. He was tipped to be the next head of chambers when Sir James retired next year—the youngest in the chambers' long history.