Page 12 of Nocturn

“Now, do as ordered.”

I exhaled shakily and burst forward, settling into my practiced role as a lady’s maid. As soon as I moved behind him, I hesitated. There were no usual sashes to undo. Disrobing a man would be ruinous. Something I could not return from, but there was no choice, so I clung to the memory of him saving me from the fate of having that man touch me, both of those men, because it was clear they would have both assaulted my body. He saved me from that. I released another shaking breath, and with it came a wave of calm.

I tugged the sleeve of his long velvet coat until an arm was free, then I moved to the other side and did the same. The black fabric fell off his shoulders, and I caught the heavy material, folding it over the wooden stand beside the bath. Without his coat, what he wore underneath stole my breath.

Over the black linen tunic were leather straps stretching across his shoulders from the spaulder. A secondary collection of bands crossed down his sides where blades were fastened against his torso. I made quick work of finding where to unlatch the fasteners on the leather, and the spaulder fell from his shoulders. I flipped the leftover strap at his shoulder attached to the blades and tugged until the metal hook came out of the hole. Once free, I tugged at the leather and they slid off his arms, pooling in my grip. I held it away from my body, not wanting to get cut by the sharp, dangling blades.

Without the coat and leather, he was left in a tunic. Not wasting any time, I untucked it from his trousers. The fabric fell over his front. This wasn’t so bad . . . Reaching up and pushing onto my tiptoes, I unlaced the bindings near his throat.

He watched me with a steady gaze. I’d never felt more exposed. I reminded myself to breathe and pushed his tunic up. Fortunately, he helped me tug it off him. It would have taken me forever and a dawnlight rotation if I had to do it without help.

I caught his shirt and froze, staring at his nude torso. A carved abdomen. And pale, perfectly smooth skin. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Faced with a naked man and I couldn’t form a sound.

Indents of muscle made up his wide, hard body. Dips formed at his stomach, and each dent expanded with his steady breathing. His waist, for all that it tapered, was still barrel-sized. He was the definition of a perfect masculine physique.

He let out a deep sigh and it pulled me out of whatever had taken hold of my body. I reached for the front of his trousers, hooking my hand into the front. The back of my knuckles touched his bare skin.

I inhaled sharply, a hot flush working down my throat. With a peek up at him, I found him studying me, a molasses-like pulsing where the red and gold met in his irises. My heartbeat quickened, and I pursed my lips.

What was this wave of warmth assaulting my senses?

As green as I was, I’d been privy to scandals. Not much else was discussed by other lady’s maids. I had been witness to carnal desires in action since most of the time we were invisible. Fluttering flooded my chest and sent a flush to my face.

It was that feeling that spawned deep in my belly right now. My body betrayed me. I was disgusted with myself for noticing him. For this depraved temptation.

I dragged the fabric down and it easily pooled at his feet. He stepped out of the trousers. I couldn’t look away from the monstrosity. He had a thick length with a rounded tip that pointed upwards. But there was more, an unnatural aspect that had never been present in the suggestive drawings I’d found on a shelf in the Bjorn library. His length led to a swelling at the base. I choked on a harsh breath.

“Had your fill?” His deep voice wrenched me from my staring. He studied me with those unfathomable eyes, the corner of his lips lifted at one side.

“A-apologies,” I blurted. My face was dangerously hot.

He made a noise closer to a scoff than a snort, and he turned, striding to the porcelain clawfoot tub the same color as the tile.

Muscles undulated under his skin; his wide shoulders tapered to a slim waist and lower. I never believed a bottom, much less a male one, could look so . . . firm and muscled. Water sloshed as he settled, arms bracing the sides of the tub.

He turned, and his hair hung in his eyes.

“Bathe me.”

I darted toward the side of the tub, masking my shock and unease. Bathing a man . . . What had my life become? There was no time to recover, to tend to my aches. To process my new reality.

I collected the soap and the thin, rough cloth derived from the espon plant, sitting atop the circular table beside him. Placing the soap in the middle of the cloth, I folded the fabric around it, taking my time to tuck the edges into place.

Nerves swirled in my stomach. I couldn’t continue to hold off from touching his body.

I shuffled behind him, stepping onto a slim platform surrounding the tub fit for his frame, and dipped the soap into the water. Droplets plunked as I lifted it to his shoulder and ran it over the lean limb, scrubbing until suds formed. With each swipe, I worked on relaxing.

Bathing Miriam was part of the routine. I excelled at efficiently bathing someone. Exhaling to calm my nerves, I set in on washing his back until his pale skin was pink. Then I worked on his arms, gently making my way to his hands. He tilted his head back and exhaled, his eyes falling shut.

I allowed myself to peek at his slack features. To the fall of his tawny hair over his thick brows, to the arrogant curve of his mouth. If he were to enter the ballroom, he’d strike an imposing figure. Undoubtedly the center of attention of both ladies and lords.

Undeniably, I was trapped and at his mercy. If I wanted to live, I could not continue rash behavior.

I moved to his other arm, running suds over his body, and dipped the soapy cloth into the tub, dragging it out to run it across his chest. Liquid trickled down his front, following the hollows and dips of his physique until it reached where the water met above his navel.

Stopping short of reaching under, I retreated, trying to keep my eyes from trailing to his . . . maleness bobbing under the water.

Fire licked through my veins, reviving that odd, simmering ache.