The Offer (Baron 2)

“I’ve no intention of nursing you back to health only to have you drown in a bathtub. Be quiet and hold still.” He held her up with one arm and began to unknot the sash at her waist.

She was trying to keep her balance and slap his hands away at the same time. “Please, don’t. I can see to myself, truly I can.”

He knew she was embarrassed. Being unconscious while he cared for her was one thing, but being wide awake, knowing that he was looking at her, well, that was quite another. He sighed deeply. He set her firmly against the side of the tub. “Very well. I’ll go see to our dinner. Call me if you get into trouble.”

She grasped the edge of the tub, not even trying to move until he was gone. She heard his boots on the stairs. She got the sash unknotted. She shrugged out of the dressing gown. Then she looked at that tub. The rim seemed higher than it had just a moment before. She tried very hard. The third time she very nearly managed to pull herself over the edge of the tub. She gritted her teeth and concentrated all her energies on climbing over the side. It seemed higher than a mountain. Her fingers suddenly slipped on the edge of the tub, and she yelled as she fell backward onto the floor. She was stunned for a moment, then very cold, the wood hard and icy beneath her back. She had to get up, she had to. She could do it. She wasn’t helpless. Very well, she’d lie here quietly, but just for another moment or two.

She heard him coming but she didn’t have the strength to even pull the dressing gown over her. Then two strong arms clasped her about the waist and raised her to her feet.

She wished she were unconscious. She even closed her eyes tightly, praying for oblivion. Naturally oblivion wasn’t anywhere near.

“It’s all right, Sabrina,” Phillip said, and lifted her into the tub.

The blessed hot water swirled up about her chin as he released her. She didn’t look at him, she couldn’t. She also knew she was being silly, but she couldn’t help it. To the best of her memory, Phillip was the first person to ever see her without her clothes on, at least since she reached ten years and didn’t need her nanny anymore.

He said easily as he rolled up his sleeves, “I’ll wash your hair. Can you wash the rest of you?”

She had to think about that. “I’ll try, but I still don’t like this.”

“Taking young virgins is not one of my pastimes of choice. Calm yourself and lie still. If you don’t have the energy for the rest of you, I’ll get to it.” He didn’t wait for her to perhaps curse him, which she didn’t do well, not having had sufficient models in her young sheltered life. He washed her hair, complaining endlessly “. . . you’ve got too much hair. Look at all the bald men, you’ve got enough to cover every bald head in an entire village. There, about done. Now, I’m going to wash the rest of you, then we’ll rinse everything at once.”

She didn’t try to fight him. No, she just tried to make herself into a small ball, but even that didn’t work. When he soaped the sponge and washed her belly, she yelped. He ignored her, efficiently washing the rest of her even while she squirmed about. Actually, he was enjoying himself. Laughter was better than lust. She was an experience in contortions, not in seduction.

“Close your eyes, I’m going to wash your face.”

Her mouth was opening to curse him, very probably, when the soapy sponge rubbed her face. She sputtered and cursed him then. He laughed at the indignant expression in her eyes, the only part of her face that wasn’t white with suds.

“Hold your breath, under you go.” He pushed her head into the bathwater. She came up, sputtering for breath.

“You did that on purpose. You’re trying to make me mad so I won’t be embarrassed. Well, it’s working, but I want you to know that I realize that you’re manipulating me and I don’t know—”

He pushed her head under again.

“Now we’ve got your hair to deal with.”

When all the soap was finally rinsed from her hair, he wound a towel about her head. He thought briefly about how he could save her further embarrassment, but saw that she was exhausted. If he hadn’t come quickly to her, she would have slipped down into the water and drowned in the tub.

He picked her up and eased her down in front of the fire, holding her while he toweled her dry. She hung on to him, knowing she had no choice, not really caring now in any case. She just wanted to collapse onto the warm carpet and sleep until spring. But then something very strange happened. One moment she just wanted to sink into herself. The next moment she felt an awareness of him deep within her. She’d never felt anything like this in her entire eighteen years. She was naked and he wasn’t, yet he wasn’t doing anything hurtful to her. He was strong. His hands were large and steady as he moved the towel over her. He turned her slightly to dry the front of her. Oddly, she wasn’t embarrassed. She stared up at him, into those beautiful eyes of his. It wasn’t embarrassment that made her shudder when that towel traveled over her belly.

15

Phillip felt her shuddering, trying to pull away from him, and cursed to himself. He’d frightened her. “It’s going to be all right. I’m nearly done drying you. Just hold still, Sabrina.”

“I’m trying,” she said, but then she looked up at him, met his eyes,

and knew that if he didn’t let her go very quickly she was going to embarrass him and kiss him until she was breathless. Oh, dear, surely she wasn’t supposed to ever feel like that. It was because she was still ill, because she was still weak, because she trusted him, at least in this. In what?

Phillip felt a ton of lust bearing down on him. No, no, he wasn’t about to take advantage of her. Here she was shuddering from fear, from cold, from—he didn’t know what, and he wanted to mount her. He was a bastard. Without looking at her again, he bundled her up in the dressing gown and carried her to a chair next to the fire.

“It’s time for your servant to carry out another duty. Behold your new maid.” He turned away from her before she could reply and pulled the blankets and sheets from the bed.

Sabrina watched him work. He looked nice, despite his wrinkled shirt that was open a goodly way down his chest, a chest that had dark hair on it. She looked into the fireplace. This was better. He wasn’t here to make her think stupid things, to make her body feel stupid things. Still, she wondered about those strange feelings low in her belly when he’d touched her, stupid feelings for all that, feelings a woman didn’t need, particularly this woman. She pictured Trevor in her mind’s eye. Now, the revulsion she’d felt for him, that was what was appropriate to feel. That was safe because it was revolting. She’d just never imagined. Well, now she knew. She shook her head, bemused, and raised her head when he came back to brush her wet hair.

Sabrina slept through the afternoon and awoke near sunset. She lay quietly for some minutes, sniffing in the faint lavender scent of the clean sheets and the faint jasmine scent from her bath. She raised her hand to her hair, carefully arranged about her head. It was dry, all of it, and soft. No more oily braid. He’d complained constantly for five minutes, the length of time it took him to get all the tangles out of her wet hair. In fact, she grinned, then laughed. That made her cough.

The cough brought her struggling up to her elbows to catch her breath. She wasn’t surprised at all to hear Phillip’s booted footsteps on the stairs.

“Drink this, Sabrina. It’s got honey in it. I’ve kept it warm for you, just in case. It will soothe your throat. Slowly now. That’s right.”