Free The Shattered Rose by Jo Beverley

turned away from the wench and crossed the hall toward the solar. Jehanne was his wife and still had a duty to serve his needs. More to the point, he had never truly desired any other woman and still didn't.
    He stopped dead when he saw the guard at the door to the solar. That could mean only that Jehanne was there and that his orders to guard her were being taken literally. But, he suddenly realized, he was going to present himself to her in a state of rampant erection.
    A moment's effort convinced him that willpower could not change anything, so he went to a nearby garde-robe and changed things physically. With images of Jehanne burning in his mind, and her but a few steps away, it was both satisfying and bitterly frustrating.
    He was, however, able to appear quite calm when he entered the solar.
    It was all painfully familiar.
    The large oak tub lined with thick linen cloths was half full of steaming, herb-scented water. Additional jugs of water, both hot and cold, stood ready. Drying cloths hung pristine white on a nearby rack, close enough to the brazier to be pleasantly warm when used.
    In other words, everything was perfectly in order, just as it always had been with Jehanne in command.
    She was awaiting him, dressed plainly now, her sleeves rolled up, and her hair bound under a scarf so it wouldn't get in the way. That was a shame. He'd quite like it to get in the way. ...
    Dissatisfied lust was glowing again in the cinders.
    How would she react if he said "Get on the bed. I want to fuck you." He'd never said anything so crude to her in his life.
    How could he say "Come to bed. I want to make love to you?"
    How could he make love to a woman who loved another?
    Like a blow, he faced the question he'd hidden from all day. Did Jehanne love Lowick? Had she always, and merely made do with the husband forced on her?
    Did she wish Galeran dead so she could be with Lowick for all time? Lowick, after all, was taller, broader, more handsome. ...
    But how could a strong, clever woman love a man who wanted just her property?
    He realized he'd been standing in silence for an embarrassingly long time, and moved to strip off his stinking garments. He was not so far gone, anyway, as to attempt carnal intimacy in this foul state. Jehanne had always been very fastidious.
    For that reason, he didn't ask her to help him undress, and when he'd stripped, he opened the door and threw the clothes out into the hall. "Get someone to burn that lot," he told the guard.
    Then he turned back and caught Jehanne looking him over intently. It reminded him too sharply of that time in his chamber before they were married—the time she'd thrown his clothes out the window. There was no embarrassment in her face now, though, just a rather objective concern.
    "A few extra scars," he said.
    "And many extra bites. "You must be infested. Get into the water." Her brisk tone was impersonal, but her eyes were not. He could not read them, though. Did she wish him dead?
    If she did, he thought he would rather be.
    As he eased into the tub, the sensation of hot, herb-scented water on his skin drew an involuntary sigh of delight from him. For the moment, other desires were suppressed and other pains forgotten.
    She began with his feet. "How long since you've had a bath?"
    He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Months. Though until the last week, I changed my underclothes regularly." He didn't say that he'd refused to stop for such comforts in Bruges because he was so eager to reach her. Perhaps she guessed, for she didn't pursue it.
    She scrubbed at his feet and pared the toenails, then worked up his legs. At times her fierce scrubbing bordered on pain, but he didn't complain. He knew she was just trying to make sure there were no unwanted inhabitants on his skin.
    She stopped at his thighs, though, and moved around to start on his arms.
    Galeran could almost fall asleep. Almost but not quite. This interlude was too precious to miss. If he let himself, he