“Some idiot pushed me into a canal.”

She waited for a sharp response, but instead the line between his brows drew deeper. “If I recall, I suggested it. Come. You need to get out of those clothes and get warm.”

He led her toward the connected washroom. At the sight of the enormous bath, Mina balked. “If you think that I’m getting in your bath—”

“Then don’t.” He flicked the taps, sending a stream of water into the claw-footed tub. “If you won’t avail yourself of some scandalously hot water, then I shall.” He lifted up a small vial and dropped a generous amount of foaming soap into the machine aerator. It whipped the soap particles into the water, creating a mess of bubbles. “I’ll send my manservant, Isaiah, up to set the fire to rights. Hopefully that will warm you instead.”

Her gaze flicked toward the water, her skin prickling at the hot steam that began to envelop the bathroom. “This is indecent.”

Barrons laughed under his breath. “Not yet, it’s not.” Shrugging out of his wet jacket, he tossed it aside. “Now, you or me?”

Why not both of us? She lowered her eyes, but the image of him remained. Wet, his sleek shirt clinging like a second skin, delineating the heavy muscle of his shoulders and chest, hinting at the darkness of his nipples behind the fine lawn.

Steam curled up, dancing in the air like a dozen ethereal harem girls. She desperately needed to return home, to set into motion ploys to protect herself, but she was so damned wet and cold. And tired. For the first time in months, she just wished to take a moment for herself. The euphoria and exhilaration of the chase through the Venetian Gardens had vanished, leaving her utterly drained. How the devil was she going to explain all of this? The queen’s pale face flickered to mind.

“I cannot remove my corset myself,” she replied stiffly, and it was both capitulation and an order.

“Let me play lady’s maid then.” He stepped closer, the presence of his body behind her sending shivers down her spine. Strong, firm fingers caught her hips and turned her toward the mirror with forceful pressure.

The pilot’s crisp white coat buttoned at the front. Mina jerked it open with rough, careless tugs, shivering as the humid air of the washroom met her dimpled skin. The coat slid sinuously down her body until Barrons caught it in his fist. Their eyes met in the mirror, his gaze sliding down over the pale skin of her décolletage to the gold corset and her bedraggled chemise and petticoats. The silk clung wetly, molding over every dip and curve.

Let him look his fill. The promise of their bargain burned within her. So typical of a man to demand such things from her. Men had done so all her life until she’d finally found a way to prevent it by burying her passions so deep that they almost didn’t exist anymore. Men did not desire ice. They called it a pity now, such a shame that someone of her beauty should be so untouchable, so untouched, and yet it was the only trait they would have respected in her.

For a moment disappointment flickered. She hadn’t hoped that he would be different, had she? For that would mean that a ridiculous girlish part of her still existed.

Hands came up in the periphery of her vision, brushing her wet red hair off her shoulders. She forced herself not to feel it, to watch the reflection of them dispassionately in the mirror over the vanity. Light gleamed off her white-and-gold outfit, but Barrons was only shadow behind her, his hands brushing her hair into smoothness. Surprisingly, he was no longer watching her in the mirror, admiring his prize. Instead he was stroking the knots from her hair, his gaze solely focused on the task. Despite herself, impressions began to leach into her: the rasp of his knuckles against her back, the sharp tug as his callused fingers caught in a knot.

“You needn’t bother,” she murmured. “I’m only going to wash it.”

Those black eyes met hers. So reminiscent of a blue blood when their hunger was roused, but lacking the intensity. Shadows. Eyes of shadows. “You have beautiful hair,” he said, and the spell was broken.

Beautiful hair. She stared at herself again and felt nothing.

“So beautiful,” the Echelon had breathed, when she made her debut.

She might have damned well been invisible, but she had learned. Beauty could be a curse or it could be used, and she had learned to use it well over the years. “I do believe you were unlacing my corset.”

Barrons ignored her, still untangling the knotted lengths that stretched to her waist. “I like the feel of it. It’s so very soft.” A wry smile touched his mouth. “I keep expecting to feel nothing but sharp edges when I touch you, but it’s just a lie. You’re as soft as any other woman, aren’t you, Mina?”

“No, I’m not.” She dragged the heavy weight of her wet hair over her shoulder, curling her hands possessively around it. What he spoke of was weakness, not softness. “My corset, my lord.”

“As my lady wishes.” The words were gentle, but they made her shiver again—and this time she couldn’t blame the cold.

He didn’t touch her. Not in any way she’d expected. No lingering caresses down her flanks and hips. No hands curling around her to cup her breasts through her corset. Every inch of her body was on edge. A part of her simply wished for him to make his move.

His touch was not sexual, yet far too intimate. Tender, perhaps? Gentle hands tugging at her wet laces. The only person who ever touched her like this was her maid in the sanctity of her bedchamber, a place where no one wanted to kill her or hurt her, dethrone her or judge her.

The corset gaped open suddenly and she caught it against her breasts, still holding onto her hair with one hand.

“I shall fetch you some blud-wein,” he said, looking up then and finding her eyes on him in the mirror. Startled eyes, she couldn’t help but think before she narrowed them.

His own were liquid darkness. Unfathomable. As were his actions.

Mina watched him leave, each step owning the space around him. Far too comfortable in his own skin—comfortable too in this situation, as though he thought he had mastery of it. Leaving her laces undone and her corset sagging, her heart beating just a little too swiftly for comfort.

What the devil was his game here? It felt uncomfortably as though neither of them were Casavian nor Caine at this moment—not enemies but simply two people who found an attraction in each other.

And she’d be a fool if she thought that. She waited, listening to the silence in the room, but there were no answers to the question. He had demanded a kiss from her and more, but he seemed disinclined to take either boon.