I’d put in an ungodly amount of work over the past three weeks into ensuring I could walk on my own two feet. But he wanted this. He wants to take care of me.

So I circled my arms around his strong neck and offered a prayer of gratitude unto the higher powers for giving me another chance to experience his love.

He set me down in the bathing chamber. Aglow with candlelight and lavishly decorated, the space paid homage to the large rectangular bath in the center. The first time I walked in here, I tripped and fell on my face, thunderstruck.

Constructed from gleaming marble, the bath was finely veined and made smooth. Deep as my middle on the outside, with steps on the inside that descended into the floor, it was big enough to accommodate four people.

Faucets arranged overhead, connecting with pipes that led to a cold water cistern, a copper one in which water was heated, and a sophisticated drainage system.

Steam rose from the water, and within that vapor, Ashley sprawled, his body submerged and head tipped back on the edge, facing us.

“This chamber is…” I shifted my weight, looking around. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“You should visit the city of Bath, just west of London.” He swirled a lazy finger through the water. “It’s named after its fashionable Roman-built baths. My father had this chamber erected in the likeness of the architecture there.”

Another doorway stood closed behind him, which I knew led to the rooms his parents once occupied. Now they sat empty and vacant.

“Do your parents ever come here?” I asked.

“No. They rarely leave London. Even when I was a child, they were never here.” His eyes met mine. “Get in the water, Bennett.”

My nerves twitched. I didn’t know why. I wasn’t restrained by a sense of modesty, and over the past two months, they’d attended to every bare crevice, crease, and shadow of my body. But this was different. New.

I shifted to Priest and gripped the nightgown. His hands went to mine, taking over the task. Lifting the linen, he pulled it up and off.

The impulse to cover myself beckoned, but I’d put a lot of effort into not only rebuilding my strength but also my confidence. I looked down at my pert breasts, trim waist, flat belly, toned hips and legs.

Had I returned to normal? Not quite. My muscles needed more strengthening. My elbow smarted when I moved it. My ribs protested twisting motions. But I didn’t stumble. I didn’t whimper. I was pleased with my progress.

The worst of my injuries, old and new, drew jagged lines across my abdomen and up my forearm. I owned those marks because I was a pirate. We wore scars and wooden limbs the way soldiers wore medals and ribbons.