Her heart was hammering as she looked up at him. "Wha... what is that?"
McKenna's lips curved, and his eyes glinted. "Why don't you find out yourself?"
Her face flushed. What did he mean..find out? Did he want her to put her hand in? Whatever it was she touched, she was certain it wasn't the sponge. "Excuse me?"
He leaned back, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes like her stunned expression didn't affect him in the slightest. "Put your hand back in if you're so curious, dove."
Mary froze. Her cheeks turned red, and even her amber eyes darted, unable to look at him or into the bath. This man—was he mocking her? She bit her tongue. Had she touched something… forbidden? She had heard his sharp exhale the moment she did, before his eyes opened. Now he seemed completely unaffected.
"I wasn't trying to...."
"You were washing me," he interrupted coldly. "Finish your job."
Lost for words, she stared at him in silence. Her ears burned red with anger. How on earth was she supposed to continue when the sponge had vanished like some traitor? And the bloody water was filled with soapy clouds. Still kneeling beside the tub, she began to weigh her options. Run? Pretend she fainted? Or pray he was joking?
But instead, she murmured, "I think the sponge is lost."
"Then find it." His eyes opened lazily, and he tilted his head at her, watching her through dark, barely opened eyes that made her flinch—eyes so sharp the candlelight wavered, as if a heavy storm had swept through the windows. He lowered his long lashes and added, "Be responsible."
She flinched, not at the words, but at the sound of his voice, like a drop of cold ice on her lips.
Mary narrowed her eyes and pouted. He could be cold, but this....this was wickedness. She turned back to the water. The steam fumed against her face as she gripped the edge of the tub, staring into it. She could still feel those lazy eyes on her, so she leaned closer and placed her hand back in.
But instead of finding the sponge as intended, she thought to try something else—just to prove she wouldn't be cowered by him. Not after everything. She had always, always been a brave girl in her quiet way. She had learned to stay calm, to find a way out of every situation. But when it came to this man, her courage somehow flew out the window.
Her hand roamed over his leg. Whatever she touched—was it a part of him? The thought thrilled her, and she moved her hand further, thinking it was his thigh.
But before she could go any further, his strong hand grabbed hers and pushed it out of the water.
"What are you doing?" he hissed. His eyes darkened, so dark she felt a hush of cold sweep over her feet.
When he yelled, she flinched and shifted back, but he dragged her close until her face was level with his, where she could hear his slow breathing, where she felt the drip of water from his face onto her cheek.
His words fell like cold rain pelting a cobblestone floor. "Or would you like to share the tub with me?"
Mary shook her head, unable to speak. No thank you, I'm good with my nightdress and shawl, and I don't intend, at all, to sit naked with you in the bath.
"Why not?" His lips curved in a playful way. For a man who never smiled, he somehow managed to make her heart do a little jiggle. "We are married, are we not?"
"I'm cold," she lied instantly, praying it would save her, and if it didn't, she'd have to faint as planned. "I shall have my bath later."
"Or you shall have it now," he murmured, his lips grazing her ear. The cold drop that landed on her skin sent a chill deep into her bones. "The water is warm."
She pushed back at once, away from his closeness, away from his grip.
Despite the chill of his presence, all she felt was fire licking every inch of her skin, as if something long buried was awakening. Even the spot on her wrist where he touched burned—but it was subtle, so she brushed it off.
She shot him a thousand glares—and if eyes could destroy, they would have torn the entire room down. Tilting her head, she snapped, "You really expect me to fish out a sponge while you're like this?"
He finally moved, sitting upright in the tub, causing the water to ripple.
"If you drop something," he said in a voice both dangerous and tantalizing, "you must retrieve it. No?"
Mary stepped forward again, doing her best to avoid his gaze. This time, as she reached into the water, her hand curled around the sponge, just sitting at the edge of the tub. She gripped it tightly, like a lifeline—just in case it slipped again. Then she yanked it out and held it up, water dripping from the sponge onto her hand.
What she didn't realize was that her shawl had loosened, slipping over one shoulder. The water trickled down her arm, sliding to her exposed neck, where her thick red hair barely offered cover.
McKenna's eyes darkened, but he didn't look away.
"There," she huffed. "Recovered."
McKenna no longer seemed to be enjoying any of it. Maybe it was because he could feel that strange power swirling around her again—even without the shadow being visible now. He needed to get out of here, to find answers, to understand who this girl truly was behind the guise of a tiny human.
And then, dear heavens. To Mary's horror, he stood up.
Now standing fully upright in the bath, completely naked from head to toe...
The soapy foam slid off him slowly as water dripped from his hair, down his face, over his shoulders, cascading along the ridges of his abdomen. She tried not to follow the trails, but her eyes wouldn't stop moving—tracking the water as it slid further down to...
Oh. She quickly looked away.
Damnation. What in the world was he thinking? She had never seen any man naked. And even more so, it was a taboo for a lady.
"You. Do....do you have no shame?" Her voice trembled, and so did her hands, still holding the sponge.
"You are my wife," he said coolly, completely unaffected by her reaction, as if she'd merely seen a ghost. "Besides, it's nothing you haven't seen before."
"I have nev... I d...didn't see," she stammered. Her voice was hoarse, so ragged she could hear her own heart pounding in her chest.
Behind her, she could've sworn he shrugged.
"No shame in the body, Beth. Just shame in the eyes that look away from it."
Mary shut her eyes. This man was unwell. He wasn't even trying to hide it. How could he?
She heard him step out of the tub, the sound of dripping water and his footsteps echoing against the cobblestone floor. She dared a glance over her shoulder and nearly screamed—he was butt naked, reaching for a robe hanging on a nail in the wall.
"You are a devil, that's what you are." Her eyes snapped back to the wall, her heart pounding so loudly she feared he could hear it. She had never been more embarrassed.
McKenna's voice came low and far too amused from behind her. "Devils don't ask their wives to bathe them, Dove. They take what they want."
Her breath hitched—and then, mercifully, she heard the sound of fabric rustling. Ah, thank the heavens. He was dressing.
Daring another glance, she turned just in time to catch him adjusting the robe. But even with it on, his chest remained bare, and her cheeks flushed red.
"Dinner," he said, tying the sash around his waist. The motion made his shoulders look even broader.
When she didn't respond, he looked at her, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in her messy hair and the way those amber eyes kept stealing glances at him.
"Be ready," he added. "And perhaps next time... hold the sponge tighter."
He cast her one last look before walking out like a majestic king with the world on his shoulders.
She remained kneeling on the floor, staring at the spot where he had just disappeared. She clutched the sponge tightly, as if it might somehow defend her from this man who, without a doubt, was going to be the death of her sanity.
The devil has no shame. And worse, Mary... you're starting not to mind.