“Nor would I. I don’t want to advertise our presence here.”
Perhaps it was his casual manner that swayed her, but after luncheon when Traherne asked her to accompany him to the hot springs to bathe, Venetia went willingly. In truth, she was concerned about him reopening his wound and thought he might need help rebandaging it.
Or at least that was what she told herself. It helped that he carried only one towel, which suggested that he didn’t expect her to bathe with him.
His manner remained friendly and nonchalant as he guided her along the footpath to the gully and helped her down the rocky slope. The entrance was little more than an irregular hole in the wall, and they both had to bend to squeeze through the low archway.
Once her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness inside, she saw they were in a domed hollow.
“The pool cave to the rear of here,” he explained, “is high enough for us to stand upright, but we will need a light to make our way there.”
To her left, an old, rusty lantern sat on a narrow wooden shelf, and when Traherne struck a flint and lit the wick, the flame lit the walls and roof with a welcome glow. Taking her hand, he led her across the grotto to a passageway. “It is not far to the pool, but step carefully.”
She wore sturdy half boots, but the sloping ground was wet and she had to stoop the entire way. The tunnel widened at the end and opened up to a much larger chamber. The air seemed warmer here and gave off a mineral smell that was not unpleasant.
This cave was darker, with no daylight filtering in from above. The lamplight illuminated shadowy walls at the rear and ragged stalactites in colorful hues of orange and green and white dripping down from the vaulted ceiling.
“How pretty,” Venetia was surprised into saying.
“Yes,” he agreed, holding the lantern higher, the better for her to see.
In front of her was a roughly oval pool some twenty feet long set at an angle. The black surface reflected a gold sheen, but when she followed Traherne to the edge, the dark green water looked clear as it lapped at banks of smooth rock. The bottom looked to be smooth as well.
“Is it very deep?”
“Perhaps three or four feet. The spring flows from the far end and empties there to your left. At some recent point in time, the course of the stream must have shifted, or the entrance would have been more hollowed.”
She could hear the musical trickle as the overflow disappeared into a crevasse in the wall. When Traherne set the lantern on the ground and began to undress, Venetia waited while he removed his shirt and unwound his bandage. Then she inspected his wound.
“The flesh does not look as angry as yesterday. You will live, I suspect.”
“Biddy’s miracle salve must be working. Now let’s see if his prescription of a mineral bath is similarly effective.”
While he finished undressing, she sat down on the stone bank at the pool’s edge and averted her gaze. She heard him slip slowly into the water, then the hiss of his breath.
Concerned, she jerked her gaze back and found him grimacing. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. The heat just stung at first.”
He submerged himself completely for a moment and came up again, slicking wet hair back from his face.
Venetia watched as water cascaded over his torso. His wet skin shimmered in the golden lamplight, accenting the power and grace of his lean, muscular form.
Beautiful, she thought rather breathlessly. He had a magnificent body that put the classical statues to shame, with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist and hips….
Her gaze skittered away. The pool was higher than waist-deep but did little to conceal his lower extremities and the dark hair that arrowed over his groin.
Before she could do more than swallow the dryness in her throat, he sank down again in order to float lazily.
“You should join me,” Traherne suggested. “The temperature is pleasant, no warmer than a hot bath.” When she hesitated, he added mildly, “There is no reason to be prudish, love. It is not as if we
haven’t slept together.”
It was precisely because they had slept together that her senses were on full alert, and his brazen nudity was only making matters worse. But she thought she had an appropriate retort: “Forgive me if I am not a femme fatale like your mistress, Lady X.”
“Former mistress,” he said, unfazed. “You can at least take a risk and dangle your legs in the water.”
He was right, Venetia acknowledged. She was only denying herself by letting her reservations dominate her inclinations.