Black terror engulfed Rosie. She was now alone with the man who presumed her virginity. She touched the hidden vial of blood. “Are we going to do it now?” she repeated.
An easy smile played at the corners of his lips. “If it means taking a bath, you will do that now. If it means that I take my pleasure with you, the answer is—not yet.”
She released her pent-up breath.
He arched his brow. “Take off your clothes,” he murmured.
Fury almost choked Rosie. The handsome peacock had lied—just like all the knaves in her life. “But ye said—”
Sir Andrew snapped his fingers, though he continued to smile warmly at her. “Hurry, my sweet, before the water cools.”
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Rosie stood up. She was careful not to move off her allotted piece of muslin. She untied her skirt and allowed the ragged garment to fall around her feet.
Sir Andrew cocked his head. “Everything.” He opened another chest and took out a comb, a brush and several more bottles.
Rosie wet her dry lips. “What are ye going to do with me, my lord?”
He grinned. “I am going to give you the most thorough scrubbing of your life.”
She fumbled with the laces at her neckline.
He straightened up. “Do you have a troublesome knot?”
Rosie blew her hair out of her eyes. “Tis no matter. We can do it with my shift on, my lord.”
Slowly he shook his head. “Not in my tub. Now, off with it. Every last revolting stitch you have on.”
Rosie pursed her lips. “Ye want me to strip naked with ye standing there a-watching me?” He appeared to ponder the question. She thought she had said it plain enough.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Aye, that is the very nut and core of it. I do. Perchance, you will recall that I have paid a small fortune for that very privilege, Mistress…What did you say your name was?”
She lifted her head with as much pride as she could muster. “Tis Rosie, so please ye, my lord.”
He flourished a deep bow. The red silk tassels below his waist swayed with erotic abandon. “I am struck near speechless by your presence, Mistress Rosie. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Sir Andrew Ford, the miracle worker.” He bowed again.
Rosie stared at him with a mixture of bewilderment and apprehension. She was trapped alone with a charming lunatic.
Sir Andrew softened his expression. “I do but jest, Rosie. Tis my fashion. Now, for the love of warm water, will you please undress—or shall I do it for you?”
“Nay!” Rosie loosened the bandstring that held her shift together, but she clutched the material to her bosom before it slipped off her shoulders. “I have nothing else on underneath this, my lord.”
He held out his hand to her. Cheerful expectation deepened the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth.
“Delighted to hear that, Rosie!”
A ripple of tenderness crept into Andrew’s heart as Rosie reluctantly untied the last lace of her ragged shift, but his feelings changed into unexpected heated ones once she dropped the garment. He sucked his breath through his teeth though he maintained an outward calm.
Rosie’s beauty far exceeded his original estimate. In spite of the mud and filth that clung to her skin, she looked like a Venus come to life. Reed-slender, she carried herself with a certain unconscious grace that reminded him of a young willow tree. Rosie squared her shoulders, as if preparing for a battle. This action drew his immediate attention to her firm, uplifted breasts. Below them, her slim waist flared into softly rounded hips. When she noticed that his gaze moved lower, she covered her most private part with her hand. At the same time, she crossed her other arm over her bosom, hiding her tender pink nipples. It was a most unnatural pose for a prostitute, and Andrew found it highly provocative.
His loins stirred and grew hot.
Rosie shot him a wary look. “Is there something amiss, my lord?” she asked in perfect innocence.
Andrew cleared his throat before he trusted himself to frame a sensible answer. “Nay, my dear.” He pointed to the tub. “Hop in quickly before the water has lost all its heat.”
Rosie tiptoed across the rug then paused beside the bath.
He smiled encouragement, while his heart raced. “You will not drown, I promise you.”
She tossed an unruly tangle of hair out of her eyes. Her full lips twisted into a cynical expression. “I have heard men’s promises afore and they proved to be nothing more than chaff on the wind.”
Andrew ran his finger around the inside of his collar. “I am not like other men, Rosie. And that is a promise you can trust.”
She turned away. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the tub.
Andrew exhaled. “Excellent! Now sit down, Rosie.”
Without comment, she sank into the water. Andrew walked over to her discarded clothing. He pushed the motley garments into a pile with the toe of his shoe.
Rosie stared at him through the snarls of her hair like a cornered rabbit. “What are ye a-doing with my clothes?” she yelped. Her emerald eyes darkened with genuine fear.
In answer he kicked her rags toward the closed tent flap.
She gripped the rim of the tub. Water sloshed over the side onto the rug. “Hold, my lord! Tis all I have in this world.”
Andrew gave them another kick. “Good!”
Just then something within their folds crunched under his heel. Rosie gasped and started to rise.
Andrew pointed at her. “Sit back down and soak!” he ordered in the same tone of voice he had often used on the Cavendish brothers when they had been his pages.
He lifted his foot and examined the bottom of his shoe. Blood dripped onto the clothing. More blood stained Rosie’s sorry excuse of a skirt. A grin threatened the corners of Andrew’s mouth. An old bawd’s trick! So much for the proof of his sworn virgin. Assuming an expression of innocent surprise, he glanced at Rosie. She had turned white under the layer of dirt. He shook his foot. A few crimson droplets spattered onto the rug. “Od’s bodkins, my sweet. What do you suppose I have stepped on?”
Rosie ran the tip of her pink tongue across her top lip in the most enticing manner. “Methinks ye have killed a monstrous fat beetle, my lord, and ye had best keep an eye on your bedding in case there are more.”
Andrew chuckled and silently applauded Rosie’s quick thinking. She would have to use those clever wits in the near future if he was going to successfully pass her off as a lady.
Aloud he remarked, “Aye, my very thought indeed, Rosie. I will instruct Jeremy to henceforth wield his broom with a vengeance.” He wiped his shoe on her shift, then kicked the lot under the flap. “Ho there! Timothy!” he called to one of his young servants who hovered outside the tent. “Burn those at once and mind you—there may be a large dead beetle within.”
Rosie sloshed more water onto the rug as she started to stand up again. Her pallor had now changed to bright red and her eyes glowed with green fire. “What right have ye got to destroy my things?”
Andrew crossed to the tub in two strides and pushed her back into the water. Then he knelt behind her and whispered into her ear, “You are mine, Mistress Rosie. I own you for as long as I please.”
She