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Standard disclaimer.
Gwen's eyes widened in surprise and then her hands flew to her face, covering said eyes.
It couldn't be.
Arthur was supposed to be in London!
This had to be a trick of her imagination...a hallucination. Except, the air was hot and humid, spiced with the fragrance that was unmistakably his...a spicy, clean incense of skin and soap.
Apprehensively, she parted her fingers just enough to peek through them.
It was indeed Arthur Pendragon, reclining in the copper tub, and looking at her in sardonic inquiry.
Hot mist rose around him in a smoke-coloured veil. And droplets of water, clung to the tautly muscled slopes of his arms and shoulders, sparkling in the light fleece of hair on his chest.
Gwen 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?" For some reason, it was extremely 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!" Her face heated, 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, but it remained stubbornly closed.
"Madam," she heard Arthur behind her, "I suggest that you..."
She ignored him in her panic, yanking violently at the hand grasp. And abruptly, the piece pulled free of its rivets, sending her staggering backwards.
Bewildered, she looked down at the broken metal part in her hand and her heart sunk.
For a moment, there was only silence in the master bathroom.
Then, Arthur cleared his throat roughly, his voice thick with suppressed laughter.
"It's a Norfolk latch. You have to push down on the thumb piece, before pulling the handle."
Gwen attacked the thumb piece, which dangled on the face-plate, jabbing repeatedly, until the entire door rattled.
"Sweetheart..." Arthur started. He 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, Gwen 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 and was almost tempted to turn around.
"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," Arthur muttered. Then the splashing resumed.
Gwen stayed against the door, tensed in every limb.
Arthur'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...like water darkening his hair or 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?" she asked.
"I came by train, and hired a coach in Alton. A wheel came loose along the way to Hampshire and I had to help the driver bolt it back on. It was cold, muddy work."
"Couldn't you have asked your valet to do it instead?"
Arthur scoffed.
"Simmons can't lift a carriage wheel. His arms are no thicker than jackstraws."
Frowning, Gwen 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."
His reply was soft.
"You always have my attention."
Gwen wasn't certain how to take his meaning.
Before she could ask, however, the latch of the bathroom door clicked and the wood panels trembled, as someone began to push their way in.
Gwen's eyes flew open.
She wedged her hands against the door, her nerves stinging in horror.
A violent splash erupted behind her, as Arthur leaped from the bathtub and flattened a hand on the door, to keep it from opening farther.
His other hand slid around her, to cover her mouth. But that was unnecessary...because, she couldn't have made a sound to save her life.
Gwen quivered in every limb at the feel of the large, steaming male at her back.
"Sir?" came the valet's puzzled voice.
"Confound it, have you forgotten how to knock?" Arthur demanded. "Don't burst into a room, unless it's to tell me that the house is on fire."
Distantly Gwen wondered if she might swoon.
She was fairly certain, that Lady Gemswick would have expected it of her, in such circumstances.
Unfortunately, her mind remained intractably awake.
She swayed, her balance uncertain, and Arthur's body automatically compensated, his hard muscles flexing to support her.
He was pressed all along her, the hot water off him, seeping through the back of her riding habit.
With every breath, she drew in the scents of soap and heat.
Her heart faltered between every beat...sometimes too weak, sometimes too fast.
Dizzily she focused on the large hand braced against the door.
His skin was faintly tawny, the kind that would brown easily in the sun. And one of his knuckles was scraped and raw...from lifting the carriage wheel, she guessed.
The nails were short and scrupulously clean, but ink stains lingered in faint shadows, on the sides of two fingers.
"I beg your pardon, my lord," the valet said. With an overdone respect, that hinted at sarcasm, he added, "I've never known you to be modest before."
"I'm an aristocrat now," Arthur said. "We prefer not to flaunt our assets."
He was wedged against her so tightly, Gwen could feel his voice resonate through her.
The vital, potent maleness of him surrounded her...the sensation foreign and frightening...and bewilderingly pleasant.
The motion of Arthur's breathing and the heat of him along her back, sent little flames dancing through her tummy.
"...there is some confusion, as to the location of your luggage," Simmons was explaining. "One of the footmen carried it inside the house, as I directed, but Mrs. Winterbourne told him, not to bring it to the master bedroom, as Lady Pendragon has taken up temporary residence."
"Has she? Did Mrs. Winterbourne enlighten you, as to why Lady Pendragon has invaded my room?"
"The plumbers are installing pipe, beneath the floor in her bedroom. I'm told that the Lady was none too pleased by the situation. One of the footmen said, he heard her vow to do you bodily harm."
"How unfortunate." Subtle amusement wove through Arthur's voice. Gwen felt his jaw nudge against her hair, as he grinned. "I'm sorry to have inconvenienced her."
"It wasn't merely an inconvenience, my lord. The Countess of Winchester had quit the master bedroom, immediately after the late Earl's passing, and hasn't spent a night there since...until now, according to one of the servants..."
Gwen stiffened.
"I don't need to know why," Arthur interrupted. "That is the Countess' concern, and none of ours."
"Yes, sir," the valet said. "More to the point, the footman conveyed your luggage to one of the upstairs rooms, but no one seems to know which one."
"Has anyone thought of asking him?" Arthur suggested dryly.
"At present, the man is nowhere to be found. Lady Bia and Lady Athena has recruited him, to assist them in searching for their pig, which has gone missing."
Arthur's body tensed.
"Did you say 'pig'?"
"Yes, my lord. A new family pet."
Arthur's hand slid gently from Gwen's lips, his fingertips grazing her chin in a whisper of a caress.
"Is there a particular reason why we're keeping livestock in the..."
She had turned to glance up at him, just as his head bent, and his mouth collided against her temple, the accidental touch, causing her senses to reel in confusion.
His lips were so firm and smooth, his breath so warm and tickling...she began to tremble.
"...house?" Arthur finished, his voice roughening. He reached out to grasp the door's metal edge plate, preventing it from closing again.
"I needn't point out, that such questions do not arise, in most well-appointed households," Simmons said primly. "Shall I hand the towels passed the door?"
"No, leave them on the other side. I'll retrieve them when I'm ready."
"On the floor?" Simmons sounded appalled. "My lord, allow me to set them on a chair."
There were sounds of objects being moved within the room, the thump of a light piece of furniture.
And through heavy-lidded eyes, Gwen saw that Arthur's grip had tightened on the door, until the tip of his thumb had turned white.
His wrist and arm were corded, and his sturdy body warm, as his firm chest and shoulders supported her.
The only place they didn't quite fit, was the place low on her spine, where the pressure of his body was inflexible and stiffly prodding.
She squirmed, seeking a more comfortable position, causing Arthur to inhale quickly and reach down to grasp her right hip, forcing her to stay still.
It was then, she realized what the hard ridge was.
She tensed, her throat closing against a whimper. And all of the tantalizing heat fled, her flesh turning to ice.
She began to tremble, then broke into continuous shivers, as if she was about to be hurt or attacked.
Marriage had taught her, that men forgot themselves when aroused. They lose control and turn, into beasts.
Desperately, she calculated how much of a threat Arthur might pose, how far he might go.
If he tried to hurt her, she would scream. She would fight back, no matter the consequences to herself or her reputation.
One of his hands came to the side of her waist, and she felt the pressure of it, even through her corset.
Then, he began to rub in slow circles, the way one would calm a spooked horse.
Through the blood pounding in her ears, Gwen heard the valet ask, if the luggage should be conveyed to the master bedroom.
Arthur replied, that he would decide later, but for now, just bring some clothes and be quick about it. And the valet agreed.
"He's gone," Arthur said, a few moments later.
After taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he reached around the edge of the door, to tamper with the latch mechanism, bending the thumb-lift bar, so it wouldn't close.
"Although no one has asked my opinion about the pig," he said, "I'm against any house pet, that will eventually outweigh me."
Having braced herself for attack, Gwen blinked uncertainly. Arthur was behaving, so unlike a lust-crazed beast, that it gave her pause.
In response to Gwen's frozen silence, he lifted a hand to her jaw and nudged her to look at him.
Unable to avoid his calm, appraising glance, she realized, there was no immediate danger, of him forcing himself on her.
"You'd best look away," he advised, "Unless you want a big eyeful of Pendragon. I'm going to fetch the towels."
Gwen nodded, her eyes squeezing shut, as he left the bathroom.
She waited, letting the chaos of her thoughts settle. But her nerves still reverberated, with the feeling of him against her, and the details of his aroused body.
Once, not long ago, she had gone with Lord and Lady Gemswick, and their daughters, to visit the National Museum.
On their way to view a display of South Seas objects, that had been collected, by the legendary explorer Captain James Cook, they had passed by a gallery of Italian statuary, where a pair of nude male sculptures, had been positioned by the doorway.
One of the detachable, plaster fig leaves, devised by a museum director, to conceal the statues' genitals, had dropped to the floor and scattered in pieces.
Lady Gemswick, appalled, by what she had considered, no less than a visual assault, had whisked Gwen and her daughters passed the offending marble flesh...but not before they had seen exactly what the fig leaf had been intended to cover.
Gwen had been shocked, but intrigued by the statue, marveling, at how the artistic sculptors had made cold marble look like flesh...veined, vulnerable, smooth everywhere, except for the little scruff of hair at the groin.
Though to her, the shy, unobtrusive bud, hadn't seemed worth the fuss Lady Gemswick had made.
On Gwen's wedding night, however, she had glimpsed and felt just enough of Liam's body, to realize that a living, breathing man, was far more substantially endowed, than the marble sculpture at a museum.
And just now, the pressure of Arthur's body against hers...
She wished she'd been able to look at him.
Instantly, she chastised herself for the thought.
Still...she couldn't help being curious.
Would it do any harm if she took a quick peek?
This was the only chance she would ever have, to see a man as God had made him.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she inched to the edge of the door and looked around it cautiously.
What a startling sight...a healthy, virile male in his prime. Strong and complexly muscled, barbaric and yet beautiful.
Fortunately, he was facing partially away from her, so that her surveillance went unnoticed.
She watched, as Arthur toweled his hair, until the thick locks stood on end, every which-way. Then, he worked down to his arms and chest, scrubbing vigorously.
His back was powerful, the line of his spine a pronounced groove. And the broad slopes of his shoulders flexed, as he draped the towel across and began to dry himself with a sawing motion.
A plenitude of hair covered his limbs and the upper portion of his chest, and now that he'd turned a bit more, she noticed, there was far more at his groin, than the decorative tuft she had expected.
As for the glimpse she'd had of his male part...it was scaled similarly to her husband's, except, perhaps, even more prodigious.
For a brief moment, she thought, it appeared decidedly inconvenient, to have such an appendage. How in the world did men ride horses?
Face flaming, she shrank back behind the door, before Arthur could catch her spying on him.
Soon, she heard him approach, the floor creaking beneath his feet, and a dry Turkish towel was extended through the partially open doorway.
She took it gratefully and wrapped it around herself.
"Are you adequately covered?" she brought herself to ask.
"I doubt anyone would call it adequate."
"Would you like to wait in here?" she offered reluctantly. The bathroom was warmer than the drafty bedroom.
"No."
"But it's as cold as ice out there."
"Precisely," came his brusque reply. Judging from his voice, he was standing just on the other side of the door. "What the devil are you wearing, by the way?"
"My riding habit."
"It looks like half a riding habit."
"I leave off the over-skirt when I train Ahmad."
At his lack of response, she added,
"Mr. Bloom approves of my breeches. He says, that he could almost mistake me for one of the stable boys."
"Then he must be blind. No man with eyes in his head would ever mistake you for a boy." Arthur paused. "From now on, you'll ride in skirts or not at all."
"What?" Gwen asked in disbelief. "You're giving me orders?"
"Someone has to, if you're going to behave with so little propriety."
"You are lecturing me about bloody propriety, you sodding hypocrite?"
"I suppose, you've learned that filthy language at the stables."
"No, from your brother," she shot back.
"I'm beginning to realize, I shouldn't have stayed away from Hampshire Priory for so long," she heard him say grimly. "The entire household is running amok."
Unable to restrain herself any longer, Gwen went to the open gap in the doorway and glared at him.
"You were the one who hired the plumbers!" she hissed.
"The plumbers are the least of it. Someone needs to take the situation in hand."
"If you're foolish enough to imagine you could take me in hand..."
"Oh, I'd begin with you," he assured her feelingly.
Gwen would have delivered a scathing reply, but her teeth had begun to chatter. And although the Turkish towel had absorbed some of the moisture from her clothes, they were clammy.
Seeing her discomfort, Arthur turned and surveyed the room, obviously hunting for something to cover her. And although his back was turned, she knew the precise moment, that he had spotted the shawl on the fireplace chair.
When he spoke, his tone had changed.
"You didn't dye it."
"Give that to me." Gwen thrust her arm through the doorway.
Arthur picked up the shawl and a slow smile crossed his face.
"Do you wear it often?" he asked.
"Hand me my shawl, please."
He brought it to her, deliberately taking his time. Gwen scowled. She knew, he should've been mortified by his indecent state of undress, but he seemed entirely comfortable, the great shameless peacock.
As soon as the shawl was within reach, she snatched it from him.
Casting aside her damp towel, she pulled the shawl around herself. The garment was comforting and familiar, the soft wool warming her instantly.
"I couldn't bring myself to ruin it," she said grudgingly.
She was tempted to tell him, that even though the gift had been inappropriate, the truth was, she loved it.
There were days, when she wasn't certain, whether the gloomy widow's weeds were reflecting her melancholy mood or causing it, and when she pulled the brilliant shawl over her shoulders, she felt instantly better.
No gift had ever pleased her as much.
She couldn't tell him that, but she wanted to.
"You look beautiful in those colors, Guinevere." Arthur's voice was low and soft.
She felt her face prickle.
"Don't use my first name."
"By all means," he mocked, glancing down at his towel-clad form, "Let's be formal."
She made the mistake of following his gaze, and colored deeply at the sight of him...the intriguing light hair on his chest, and the way the muscle of his stomach seemed to have been carved, like mahogany fretwork.
A knock came at the bedroom door and Gwen retreated deeper into the bathroom, like a turtle withdrawing in its shell.
"Come in, Simmons," she heard Arthur say.
"Your clothes, sir."
"Thank you. Lay them out on the bed."
"Won't you require assistance?"
"Not today."
"You will dress yourself?" the valet asked, bewildered.
"I've heard that some men do," Arthur replied sardonically. "You may leave now."
The valet heaved a long-suffering sigh.
"Yes, sir."
After the door had opened and closed again, Arthur said,
"Give me a minute. I'll be dressed soon."
Gwen didn't reply, thinking to her dismay, that she would never be able to look at him, without being aware, of what was beneath those elegant layers of clothing.
Over the rustle of cloth, Arthur said,
"You're welcome to occupy the master bedroom, if you like. It was your room before it was mine."
"No, I don't want it."
"As you prefer."
She was desperate to change the subject, so she did.
"We need to discuss the tenants," she said. "As I mentioned in the telegram..."
"Later. There's no point in talking about it, without my brother's participation. The housekeeper said that he has gone to Wiltshire. When will he return?"
"Tomorrow."
"Why did he go?"
"To consult with an expert about modern farming methods."
"Knowing my brother," Arthur said, "It's more likely, he's gone a-whoring."
"Apparently, you don't know him, then."
Not only was she pleased to be able to contradict him, she was affronted on Will's behalf.
"Mr. Pendragon has worked very hard, ever since he arrived here. I daresay, he has learned more about the tenants and estate farms, than anyone, including the land agent.
Spend a few minutes, reading the reports and ledgers he keeps in the study, and you'll change your tune."
"We'll see."
Arthur pushed open the bathroom door. He was now fully clothed, in a gray wool suit, although he wore no necktie, and his cuffs and collar had been left unfastened.
His face was expressionless, when he asked,
"Will you help with this?" He extended his arm.
Hesitantly, Gwen reached out to fasten one of his loose cuffs.
The backs of her knuckles brushed the inside of his wrist, where the skin was blood-heated and smooth.
Acutely aware of the measured sound of his breathing, she fastened the other cuff.
Without being able to stop herself, she reached up to the sides of his open shirt collar, and drew them together.
Next, she proceeded to fasten them with a small gold stud, that had been left dangling in the buttonhole.
As she slid her fingers beneath the front of the collar, she could feel the ripple of his swallow.
"Thank you," Arthur said. There was a slight rasp in his voice, as if his throat had gone dry.
As he turned to leave, she said,
"Please take care not to be seen, when you leave the room."
Arthur paused at the door and glanced back at her, the familiar taunting gleam appearing in his eyes.
"Have no fear. I'm accomplished at making a discreet exit from a lady's bedroom."
He grinned at her scowl, looked out into the hallway, and slipped from the room.
Stay safe!