And he was rather a mess, and soaking his head would likely do him a world of good in more than one sense.

The servants had his bath prepared in fairly short order, and soon, he was sitting in the large copper tub, leaning his head back with a heavy sigh.

“Soap, my lord?” his valet asked as he collected the filthy clothing.

Harrison nodded, holding his hand out. “Thank you, Gains. Unless you have a great wish to wash my hair for me, you may go.”

His valet barked a laugh as he dropped the bar of soap in Harrison’s palm. “I will sacrifice the task this time, my lord, and throw my best efforts into preparing your costume for tomorrow’s ball.”

Groaning, Harrison began to lather the soap in his hands. “Burn the costume. Please.”

“No, my lord, I shall not,” Gains insisted. “I am terrified of upsetting your wife.” He left the room then, while Harrison laughed to himself.

“Probably wise,” Harrison said to no one in particular. He began the arduous task of scrubbing the dirt and dust from his body, wondering if he’d need a fresh tub of water to rinse in after dirtying the present body of it so.

He should have started with a swim in the sea.

He slipped under the water to wet his face and hair entirely, then broke the surface, leaning back once more.

Footsteps behind him made him chuckle. “Change your mind?”

“About what?” a voice that was certainly not his valet answered, and Harrison jerked with a splash.

He whirled in the tub to face the door. “Adelaide?”

She motioned for him to turn back around. “Come, let me wash your hair, Basset. Take your ease.”

With his wife washing his hair while he sat in a bath?

Not bloody likely.

But if she was willing…

He blinked, watching her, waiting for her to change her mind.

She only indicated he turn around once more.

Heart bouncing against his diaphragm and several ribs, Harrison did so, forcing himself to lean against the tub again. Cautiously, carefully, and with slow and steady breathing.

He felt her kneel behind the tub, her fingers finding his hair with a kind of hesitation that clenched his stomach.

“Soap, please.”

He held it up, afraid to move much more for fear she might slit his throat or have him confessing a great deal of emotional things he was not prepared to acknowledge to himself. This was the influence she had over him. A power that blended fear with fondness, passion with self-preservation, and left him rather windswept.