Read Tori Phillips for Free Online

get out now, Rosie, and dry yourself off with these.”
    She took the towels. “Ye look flushed, my lord,” she observed.
    “Tis the heat. France is quite warm for this time of year.”
    She turned her back to him, then stood up and stepped out of the tub. Andrew collapsed into his armchair. He could not believe Rosie’s transformation. Her skin glowed like pink roses floating in a bowl of cream. A little rivulet of bathwater meandered down the hollow of her spine and disappeared between her softly rounded buttocks.
    His mouth went dry as he watched the drop’s sensuous journey. He wished he were twenty years younger.
    Someone scratched on the tent flap. “My lord?” Jeremy called through the canvas. “I have returned with your supper.”
    She glanced at the entrance with a sudden spark of interest. Andrew shot to his feet. He would not allow that young coxcomb of a squire to spy Rosie in all her naked glory. “One moment!”
    “Food!” Rosie inhaled the aroma of roasted fowl with closed eyes. A radiant smile touched her lips. The sight of her bliss nearly undid all of Andrew’s good intentions toward her.
    He moved quickly behind Rosie and took the towel from her limp fingers. He dried her with considerable speed. She tried to squirm away from his vigorous ministrations.
    “Soft, my lord! First ye cook me, then ye flay me. Ouch!”
    Andrew murmured soothing nonsense. Rosie’s loud protests subsided into small kittenish sounds. He gentled his touch, patting her across her shoulders, down her lovely back and around her delicious bottom. He enjoyed touching her soft curves through the damp cloth. Giving Rosie this bath had been worth every groat he had paid that abominable villain.
    Rosie leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder. Her damp golden hair smelled of roses and almonds. Andrew slipped his arm around her waist. He suspected that she would not protest if he chose to take her straight to his bed. He glanced at the linen bedcovers that were turned down so invitingly. After all, it was what she expected him to do.
    Andrew steeled his resolve and banished the tempting idea before it grew to full flower in his imagination. He had never used his wealth to buy either a man’s good opinion or a woman’s favor, and he refused to begin now. He hugged Rosie as if she were a beloved daughter—the child he had never had. He reminded himself again that he needed her goodwill to win his madcap wager.
    Just then Rosie looked up at him. The candlelight made her green eyes luminous. “If ye do it now, I will get your fine bed all wet.”
    Andrew put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Rosie, my sweet, we are not going to swive now.”
    She regarded him with that soul-plumbing stare. “Ye want to,” she observed in a soft tone. “I can see it in your eyes. Am I not clean enough for ye yet?”
    Andrew framed her lovely face in his hands and tracedher high cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs. “Aye, Rosie. You are as clean as an angel’s wing, but I have other plans for you.”
    She stepped away from him and drew the damp towel tighter around herself. “Ah, ha! Now I begin to understand. Ye have different tastes. I have heard that there are men who like to hear a girl scream in pain afore they are aroused. Trust me, my lord, I will scream this bloody tent down to please ye, but…” She paused, gulping for breath, then folded her hands as if in prayer. “I beseech ye for the love of God do not beat me.”
    Her plea took him aback. How could she say that when he had already told her how much he hated to see the bruises on her young skin? “Rosie, I have no intention of beating you, nor do I wish to hear you scream. That behavior is not to my taste either. Trust me. Please?”
    Rosie lifted her chin. “Then what are ye a-going to do with me now that I have no dirt and no clothes?” She took another step backward, narrowly missing the tub of dirty water.
    The poor girl looked