Free 2Rakehell by Debra Glass Page B

you
not?”
    She nodded.
    “Ring for someone to draw you a bath.”
    Her gaze flicked to her robe on the floor and then back to
his eyes. A shard of pride pierced him. She was learning the dynamic between
them very well. Very well indeed.
    He stooped and picked the garment up. “You may cover
yourself when the servants are about,” he said, stepping behind her to slip the
fabric over her arms.
    “Thank you,” she murmured before she crossed her room to tug
the bellpull.
    Moments later, Primrose’s maid appeared. Not meeting the
servant’s eyes, Primrose instructed her to draw a hot bath. Obviously
struggling not to appear surprised at both of them in dishabille, the maid
muttered her acquiescence, bobbed a curtsy and then hurried out of the room.
    As soon as the door closed behind the maid, Adam stepped
behind Primrose and drew her back to his chest. Sliding his hands into the
opening of her dressing gown, he caressed the satiny skin of her belly and the
fullness of her breasts. She sighed as she rested against him.
    “You should not be ashamed,” he whispered into her hair.
“Look them in the eye. Make it known you are their superior in every way.”
    “But—”
    One hand closed over a breast. His other caught her chin and
lifted it so that her head fell back on his shoulder. He pressed his mouth to
her ear. “You serve only me, Primrose. As far as everyone else in this house is
concerned you are their queen. Do you understand?”
    When she didn’t respond immediately, he kneaded her nipple
between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a little moan. She writhed when he
gave the taut bud a firm pinch. “Do you?”
    “I do,” she squeaked.
    He turned her to face him and his own sense of unworthiness
threatened to choke him. Admiration shone in her eyes. Fueling it were equal
measures of lust and adoration he knew in his stone-cold heart he didn’t—nor
would he ever—deserve.
    He was a liar. A fraud. He should confess his questionable
birth to her before she conceived his child. “Primrose…” he began.
    Her earnest gaze found his.
    His lips parted and his eyes flicked to her lips. Why did
she look so damn kissable when he needed so urgently to unburden himself of the
deception that defined his miserable existence?
    “Primrose,” he muttered again as he gave in and bent to
claim her lips.
    A gasp from the other side of the room halted him just as
his mouth brushed his wife’s. Straightening, he growled and shot the maid an
icy stare.
    “Forgive me, my lord,” she said, curtsying low, gaze cast to
the floor. “My lady’s bath is ready. Shall I—”
    “Leave us,” Adam said tersely.
    Once she’d disappeared Adam brushed the silk dressing gown
away from Primrose’s shoulders, exposing her delectable flesh once more.
“That’s much better,” he said, admiring her soft curves.
    She shrugged free of the garment and inhaled deeply, causing
her distended nipples to rise, her breasts to swell with her breath.
    “Come,” he told her, lacing his fingers with hers and
leading her toward the bath.
    * * * * *
    Primrose’s pulse rampaged as Adam gathered her hair and
wound it into a loose bun. No man had ever so much as touched her hair save him
and she found it strangely—erotically—exciting. That he even knew how to pin it
so it wouldn’t fall made her wonder how many times he’d done this before.
    A lone candle softly illuminated the small room. Outside the
windows the last vestiges of daylight clung in a tenuous purple haze to the
horizon.
    The scent of lavender rose with the steam from the gleaming
copper tub that stood on a low pedestal in the middle of the black-and-white-tiled
floor. In spite of the discomfiture of being bathed by her husband she looked
forward to sinking into the deep tub and soothing her sore muscles—as well as
all those other places that ached.
    He took her hand and held it as she stepped into the water.
He kneeled as she sat. This tender side of him surprised her and