Kieran Kramer - If You Give A Girl A Viscount

Joe had said when both parties did it, it was called wrestling.

“But when one does it, it’s called spitefulness,” Hester told her.

Back at the Keep, Daisy decided the only way to get through the evening would be to avoid Cassandra at all costs. She’d think rude thoughts about her. She’d also pity herself and wonder how life would ever get better. And she’d stay busy in the kitchen scrubbing pots so she wouldn’t cry.

When Charlie returned with the other men to the Keep after an evening’s celebration at the new pub, Daisy was still busy scrubbing pots in the kitchen, but she’d gotten over pitying herself. Hard work tended to do that to a person.

And it might have helped that when Cassandra had walked by the kitchen an hour ago and seen her scrubbing away, she’d actually put her head in the door and said, “I’m sorry I ruined your ratty gown. Now maybe you’ll be forced to get a decent one.”

And Daisy had said, “If that’s you trying to be nice, you’re doing a very poor job. Why do you bother with me, Cassandra?”

Cassandra shrugged.

Daisy’s heart pounded with fury. “Should I tell you what I’m thinking?”

“Go ahead,” her new sister said, tossing her head.

“Very well.” Daisy crossed her arms. “I wish you’d eaten that mud I fell in and gotten sick the same way you and Cousin Roman made me ill by giving me that drugged wine.”

Cassandra had bitten her lip at that and stalked on.

Meanwhile, the cooks had made a hearty lamb stew and bread, which they’d kept warm for the men’s—and Perdita’s—return.

A few rounds of card playing followed, and as usual, Daisy didn’t go to bed until the last guest had retired.

“I’ve arranged a surprise for you,” Charlie said to her at his bedchamber door. “You deserve it after all your hard work today. And your mishap.”

“What mishap?”

“You know.”

She bit her lip. “Did you see it happen?”

He nodded.

“Why didn’t you—”

“I knew you wouldn’t have wanted me to,” he said.

She looked down at the ground, remembering that feeling of being covered in mud.

“You’re right,” she replied with a sigh. If anyone had gotten near her at that point, she would have screamed.

“I wanted to be with you,” he said. “Honestly. But then I got pulled away, down to the pub. Will you tell me why it happened?”

“Eventually,” she said.

He pulled a curl off her forehead.

“When will I get my surprise?” she whispered.

“I’m not telling,” Charlie said back, and slipped into his bedchamber. He’d told her he’d linger for twenty minutes and make a bit of noise for Mr. Woo next door before he sneaked upstairs to her bedchamber through the hidden staircase.

When Daisy entered her room, she saw a lovely copper tub standing before the fire. Curls of steam wafted upward from the water’s surface. A fluffy towel and bar of soap were laid on a chair.

Charlie, apparently, couldn’t wait. He appeared a few seconds later. “Your bath, my lady.”

For a moment, neither one of them spoke. A bit of peat on the fire flared, and a log shifted.

“How wonderful,” Daisy said, feeling out of breath.

Charlie smiled softly. “You need it after the day you’ve had. But our restrictions still stand.”

“What restrictions?”

“If you recall our conversation this morning, you said that we wouldn’t touch each other tonight, and I agreed.”

Daisy thought back. Or tried to. It was difficult to concentrate when he was so near. “Oh,” she said. “You’re clever, aren’t you?”

“More desperate than clever, actually.”

“Desperate for what?” she whispered.

“For you. It’s why I’m bringing out the screen. If we can’t touch each other, we certainly shouldn’t see each other, either. Much too tempting, don’t you think? And after your bath, we’ll extinguish the candle and take to our own sides of the bed.”

She gulped. “Yes. You’re right, of course.”

He pulled out an exotic painted-silk screen from a corner and placed it in front of the tub. “I promise I won’t peek.”

“Thank you, Charlie,” she said softly, feeling shy of a sudden.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and left her to her ablutions.

Behind the screen, she could see nothing of him. But she heard him walking about the room. And then she heard him pull up a chair and place a candle on a small table that she knew was not two yards away from her tub.

“You’ll wait?” she asked him from behind the screen. She was glad he couldn’t see her blush.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ve a good book to occupy my time.”

“Very well.” Slowly, she untied her ribbons. The fire hissed and crackled. The clock on the mantel ticked slowly. She also heard the flick of pages turning as Charlie read his book.

Her gown fell to the floor. She shivered, even though she didn’t feel cold.

“Daisy,” Charlie whispered.

“Y-yes?”

“You are beautiful, you know.”

Her breath seemed to stop. “Thank you,” she whispered back.

And then she realized he must be able to see her figure outlined on the screen by the fire behind her. She tried to look through the screen to see him, but she couldn’t. She could feel him, though. His presence filled the room.

Carefully, she ascended a little stool and slipped into the tub.

“Oh, this feels good,” she said.

“I’m glad,” he answered back.

She closed her eyes, and for a few minutes, there was nothing but a comfortable quiet. Charlie turning his pages. The fire, lapping at the peat and logs.

This bath really was what she’d needed. She’d worked hard today. And fought hard, as well. Her limbs ached.

When she reached for the soap, the sound of water droplets seemed to echo loudly through the room. She ran the soap down her arm. And then the other. And submerged her arms again, reveling in the sensation of warmth and the lavender-scented bar.

But she no longer heard pages turning.

She sat for a moment longer.

“Charlie?” she called softly.

“Yes?” he replied.

She laughed. “I—I thought you might have fallen asleep.”

“No,” he said.

But his voice sounded almost too serious. Actually, tortured was a better word.

She blinked in the sudden knowledge that he—

Well, he was sitting on the other side of the screen, wasn’t he? And he knew she was on this side, stark naked …

“Charlie,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Can’t you—can’t you come round the screen?”

There was another long silence.

“No,” he finally replied.

“But I want you,” she whispered. “I want what we had last night. And on the Stone Steps.” She waved her hands through the steaming water, making small ripples.

There was another silence.

“We still can,” he said. “In a way.”

She stopped moving her hands through the water. “How?”

“Simply remember us together. And your body will do the rest.”

She was intrigued, and without thinking, ran the soap over her breasts. A dart of pleasure flickered between her legs, and she wanted him to come to her.

So badly.

“Charlie,” she whispered, hearing the plaintive need in her own voice.

“I want you, too,” he said. “Very much. But you yourself said we can’t have each other that way tonight.”

“It’s not fair,” she said.

“Fair has nothing to do with it. But you can lean back, Daisy, and shut your eyes. Let your body take over.”

She sighed with frustration—but also with pleasure at the thought of their being together. “What will you do?”