She had sat there on the bed listening to the commotion in the next room, hearing a door close as the servants departed and then the subtle splash as he washed. She imagined him naked, thinking of those strong sun-kissed hands of his soaping himself, perhaps thinking of her as he did so. Who would have guessed that the mere sound of a man bathing could engender such feelings in a woman? She smoothed the soft fabric of her shift over her thighs and sighed with impatience. The subtle splashing had stopped. What was he doing? The knock came at last, an almost tentative request. Laurel sighed. “Come in.” And there he stood, resplendent as always, wearing a black robe that exposed his bare chest. His hair was damp, strands of it lying slick over his forehead as if he’d absently brushed it across his brow with his hand. He seemed somehow vulnerable beneath the powerful shield of strength that surrounded him all the time.
