This was, by far, one of the worst nights of his life. It took all his power not to turn around. Not to go to her. Not to stare into that damn tub and take in the long length of her, flushed and pink from the heat. From his gaze. Christ. He did not want her. But he did. She was to be married. To a bumpkin called Robbie. Where the hell had she met him? How was she planning to marry someone in Cumbria? He shoved his hands in his pockets. He didn’t care. She was plain and proper and uninteresting. Liar.
