Svetlana spun around to find her dripping-wet husband standing in the doorway. Never had a sight been so joyful.
“Wynn. You’re home.”
Chapter 19
Should she knock? Of course she should. What an idiotic question. But knock on this door or the one from the sitting room dividing their personal chambers? Svetlana stopped pacing. She was acting like a . . . like a . . . Well, not like a duchess. Throwing her shoulders back, she firmly knocked on Wynn’s door.
“Come in.”
He stood barefoot in the center of the room wearing nothing more than gray trousers and a half-buttoned pale blue shirt. His unhitched suspenders hung down by his legs. Rubbing a towel over his wet head, his muscles rolled in graceful movement the length of his exposed forearms from where he’d turned back his shirt cuffs.
“Hand me one of the ties from the dresser, will you?” Wynn’s voice was muffled under the towel.
Tearing her eyes from the fit figure he cut, Svetlana crossed to the dresser and rummaged through the drawers until finding the neatly folded ties. Selecting a black one with tiny diamonds stitched into it, she handed it to him under the towel.
Wynn stopped rubbing his hair. “That’s not Larson’s hand.”
“No, it’s not.”
Flipping the towel to the back of his neck, Wynn grinned sheepishly at her. “Good. For a second there I thought you were my valet and my eyes were starting to go.” His fingers brushed hers as he took the tie from her. “And I’d hate not to see how pretty you are.”
She took a step back, away from his clean scent of rain and washed cotton, away from the vibrations circling them, away from the distracting patch of skin below his throat exposed by his unbuttoned shirt. She steered her gaze away to focus on anything else but him. Anything like the dark walnut walls and wainscoting, rich green drapes and comforter, masculine furniture that culminated in a massive bed taking up most of the far wall. Dear her, no. Anything but the bed and his exposed throat.
“I trust your bath was well?” She held back a groan. That was what she came up with to keep distractions away? “I mean, you’re refreshed from your travels?”
“It rained all the way from Calais to Edinburgh. I think I’ll still be wringing myself out three days from now.”
“It’s rained for nearly a week here.” Riveting. She might as well put him to sleep right then and there. She moved to the window and stared down at the soggy garden. The heart of winter and nary a color beyond gray and green to be found. Unlike the white nights of Russia where everything was singed blue and silver.
“Rain or not, I’m glad to have Scottish soil firmly beneath my feet again. Rocking boats aren’t for me.”
She traced a watery bead sloping down the pane. Unsteady in its descent, it stopped and stuttered, but never veered left or right as it continued in a singular direction. Much like her own path that hesitated and wavered yet with the gravitational force pushing her onward from necessity. Down the window drops collided and rushed onto a harmonious trajectory. Such was her life with Wynn, though time would tell if harmony was to direct their path. A path they had yet to discuss. Wars, revolutions, Bolsheviks, debts, and separation had demanded precedence in their whirlwind relationship up until this point. With no looming threats of disaster, what became of them now?
She caught Wynn’s reflection in the glass. What were his expectations? Best to find out now so that she might adjust hers accordingly.
“Now that you’re home, what will you do?”
“That’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”
She spun away from the window. “With me?”
His eyebrows lifted as if attempting to discern her confusion. “You’re my wife and I value your opinion. You should have a say on the direction we go.”
His wife. Her husband. Nerves tangled in her stomach. Husband and wife. That’s how marriages worked, but Mama had never instructed
her on the possibility of being asked her opinion. “
“What would you like to discuss?”