Secrets of an Accidental Duchess (18 page)

Smithson helped her remove her clothing and take down her hair, and Olivia stepped into the tub. She sank deep into the piping hot water on a sigh.

“Would you like me to wash your hair for you, miss?” The young maid’s freckled face swam in front of her half-lidded gaze.

“No, no, that’s all right. You may go. I’ll call when I’m ready for you.”

“Yes, miss.”

She heard the click of the door as the maid left, and sank deeper into the water. It was tempting to relax until the water was lukewarm, but she couldn’t dally today. She took the soap and washcloth from the small bronze tray left on the table beside the bath. When the cloth was fully lathered, she started at her feet and had begun to work her way upward when she heard the click of the door again.

“What is it, Smithson?”

“Who’s Smithson?” asked a very low, decidedly male, voice.

She whipped her head around, holding the washcloth to her chest. It did little good covering her, considering that it was nothing more than a tiny square of cloth.

“Max,” she breathed out. “What on earth…?”

He was standing in the center of her room, calmly removing his coat. “I thought there ought to be more locations where we can speak freely with each other.” He looked up from his task for a moment to give her a lopsided grin. “This seems like a good place to start. And when you opened the door to come here, I saw the bathwater steaming up behind you.” He shrugged out of the coat. “Did you think I’d be able to resist?”

Before she could say a word, he’d untied the string at his neck and had pulled his shirt off, leaving his torso deliciously bare.

“Max!” she squeaked. Good heavens. It was broad daylight. There was no lock on her door. Her sisters and the gentlemen could return anytime, although she didn’t expect them until later this afternoon. But servants could—and would—walk in at any moment. “You can’t… someone might… oh…”

She still held the cloth against her chest. It was growing cold, and she looked down at it hopelessly. In two strides, he’d approached the tub and knelt at its side.

“Allow me.” He gently pried the cloth from her resisting fingers and turned to resoap it.

“A servant could—”

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. He dipped his fingers in the water, stretched her leg long, and began to wash it.

Oh, Lord. There was something far,
far
more erotic about being cleaned by a handsome, shirtless man than cleaning oneself….

“No one will come in. The chambermaids work on your room in the afternoon, and none of the other servants have any reason to come here, do they?”

“Smithson.”

“Ah, the mysterious Smithson.” Max’s green eyes focused on her, and his hands stopped their gentle ministrations. “My unknown competition. Tell, me, Olivia, does he touch you like I do?”

His tone was jesting, but something in his expression was not.

“Max,” she breathed. “Surely you’re not jealous. Smithson is the maid!”

His lips twitched. “Ah. The lady’s maid. Did you tell her to return?”

“Yes, when I call her.”

“Well, then.” He raised his brows. “Since I doubt you’ll be calling her while I’m here, it seems we’re safe. But if you’re concerned, I’ll block the door with your desk chair.”

She glanced at the door, imagining servants hovering outside, gripping the door handle, preparing to open the door. If he slid the chair in front of the door, it would take a few seconds for them to get in. A few seconds in which she could… Do what?

She blew out a breath. “No, that’s all right. You’re right. No one’s coming in here. Not until later.”

“Much later,” he corrected.

“Yes,” she agreed, “much later.” She stretched out her other leg in a not-so-subtle hint for him to wash it.

“Good.” He went to work, rubbing soapy circles all over her skin. She crossed her arms over her chest and lay back, closing her eyes and sinking into the soft comfort of his strokes. She felt him tugging at her arms, trying to uncross them, and she released them, knowing she was exposing her breasts to him and not caring. In fact, she
was curious whether he’d clean them, and if he did, how it would feel.

The cloth moved up her stomach, gentle but not light enough to tickle her. She sighed in bliss. “Mmm, it feels so good when you touch me like this.”

“Does it?” he murmured. “I’ll do it more often, then.”

And then the cloth brushed over her breast. She gasped lightly. He didn’t clean the area in smooth, swift strokes. He paid special attention to her breasts, cupping each in his palm, swiping the cloth over it, softly squeezing her nipple between his fingers in that way that made her womb clench with longing.

And then he moved up to her shoulders and neck, exerting a little more pressure with the cloth in this area.

“Sit up and I’ll wash your hair.”

She hadn’t planned to wash her hair, but she didn’t resist. She scooted her bottom forward and sat upright. Using the large ladle on the table, he wet her hair and then soaped it. His fingers pressed firmly into her scalp as he rubbed and washed, taking his time to clean each strand.

Closing her eyes, Olivia sighed in pleasure. He left her hair for a moment to wash her back using the same firm strokes that seemed to permeate through her tight muscles and soften them.

“Oooh,” she murmured. “You’re going to put me to sleep.”

He chuckled softly. “Not precisely my intention.”

“No?”

“No.” He resumed rubbing her head and then asked her to tilt back so he could rinse. When all the soap was washed away, he rinsed her back, then poured water over her front. As the stream flowed over the sensitized tips of her breasts, she instinctively arched her body for more.
Max didn’t hesitate. He refilled the ladle and poured it over her again, sending sensation so deeply through her body that her toes curled.

“Stand up, sweetheart.”

“Mmm. All right.”

She rose, her legs feeling rubbery, but Max caught her as she wavered, wrapped a towel about her, and lifted her from the tub. She pressed a kiss against his neck as he walked her toward the bed.

“Thank you for that.”

“I should thank you.”

“You’re the one who did all the work.”

“I was also the one who was able to see your beautiful body dripping wet.” He laid her on the bed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more arousing.”

“I don’t think I’ve felt anything more arousing,” she murmured. And she wanted more. She reached both arms up, welcoming him to lie beside her. “There are so many things we’ve done in the past days that I never dreamed I’d ever have the opportunity to do.”

Lying beside her, he pushed a damp strand of hair off her face. “Are you glad to have had the opportunity?”

“So very glad,” she said. And she was. Now, she couldn’t imagine living her life without the brand of Max’s touch on her skin. And it
was
a brand. Invisible to others, but she knew she’d feel it for the rest of her life.

He smiled down at her, but there was a dark edge to his appearance that she noticed for the first time. She hadn’t really been studying him in the bath—her eyes had been half-lidded and she’d been so focused on her own pleasure that she hadn’t seen what was now so obvious in his expression.

“Max… is something wrong?”

He nodded, and her heart clenched hard.

“What is it?” she breathed.

“I have to leave. I’m needed in London.”

She went cold. “No.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He took a shuddering breath. “But it’s something I can’t avoid.”

“What is it? Has something terrible happened?”

Leaving the bed for a moment, he retrieved his coat and withdrew a folded sheet of stationery. “A letter from London. It arrived just before I returned to your bedchamber.”

Returning to bed beside her, he handed her the letter. She rolled over onto her side and propped herself up on an elbow as she unfolded it.

There wasn’t much to it:

“Oh, Max,” she whispered, looking up at him through damp lashes.

Max stared down at the note. “My uncle never speaks to me.”

She nodded.

“He never sends me letters.” Max’s Adam’s apple moved up and down as he swallowed. He stared at the letter for a long while, unmoving, unspeaking, and then he said, “Odd that the first time I speak of him in months is the first time I receive any correspondence from him in years.”

Finally, Olivia asked, “Is this unexpected?”

“By all accounts, he has been very healthy,” Max said. “I assumed he’d live forever—or at least a very long time. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d outlived me.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

He still gazed down at the letter, his distress evident from the grooves creasing his forehead and the flat line of his lips. “I must leave immediately. Today.”

“Of course you must.” A flush of misery washed over Olivia. She didn’t want him to leave. But that was utterly selfish. Max’s uncle was dying. Max would be a duke soon. This letter meant that his very existence was about to change.

He looked at her, his eyes shining. “I must leave you.”

She nodded, for she suddenly couldn’t speak. A lump welled in her throat.

It was over. She knew this would happen eventually, and she thought she’d been prepared for it. Yet now that he was really leaving Stratford House, her heart felt cracked and hollow, like it was on the verge of shattering into a million pieces.

Max had been very clear about his intention to never marry. Even if he eventually changed his mind, he’d never consider someone like her. Everyone believed Serena had married far above her station when she’d married an earl. Max would be a
duke
. With new, likely overwhelming
responsibilities, not to mention that everyone would have new expectations of him.

She was a nobody, but she would not be his public mistress, so she was destined to remain a simple, short-lived romantic affair. A splash of fun in his otherwise lofty and busy world. A mere memory. As he would be to her.

She burrowed against him. “I don’t want you to go.”

He drew her into his arms and held her tight.

“But you must. I know you must,” she said against the warmth of his chest.

“Yes, I must.”

His lips grazed hers, pressing gently at first, then more demanding. Her body, so attuned now to his kisses, flushed. As he worked the front placket of his trousers, tightness gathered in her center. A deep ache—an undeniable need for him she’d grown accustomed to.

His fingers slid down her side to her thigh, then swiped down it. He lifted her leg, and before she could recognize his intention, he pushed inside her, forcing the air from her lungs in a sharp gasp.

But he didn’t hesitate. He took her hard, thrusting so deeply within her it felt like he touched her very soul.

She looked up to find him looking down at her, his green eyes narrow and glittering as he thrust again until his pelvis pressed against hers. Sliding her arms around his rock-hard shoulders, she held on. He didn’t stop, didn’t pause. His body was a long length of steely muscle. He maintained a hard, almost brutal pace, holding her gaze trapped in his. Each thrust sent sensation shocking through her, anything but gentle, anything but delicate.

She reveled in it. Arching into him, she whispered, “Yes, Max. More. Please.”

He pistoned in and out of her, his iron length touching every part of her, sending sparks boiling through her from her fingertips to her toes.

Within a few moments, the shudders began. Starting from her womb and spreading outward in a flood of heat—sharp, almost painful ecstasy. Dimly, she felt his arm wrap around her like a steel band. Keeping her pressed against him, safe and secure.

Olivia lost control. She fell headfirst, her body arching with the jolt of the orgasm as it overtook her as thoroughly as if a bolt of lightning had slammed into her body. Infinitely hot, decadently sweet pleasure overwhelmed her. She didn’t breathe, didn’t make a sound. She couldn’t. All she could do was allow it to run its course, infuse every part of her with electric joy. Spots exploded before her closed eyes. She wasn’t afraid of falling or of fainting. She wasn’t afraid of anything, for she knew Max held her close. Protected her.
Loved
her.

Sensation returned slowly, and she drew in a gulping breath. Only then did she realize that Max had withdrawn.

She looked up at him, realizing her eyes were damp. He brushed a tear away with his thumb and looked down at her, his expression tender.

She blinked. “Did you…?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t… I was… That was…”

“I know,” he murmured. “For me too. I almost didn’t withdraw in time.” Sudden concern etched itself across his face, and he frowned. “You would let me know… if anything should happen. Wouldn’t you?”

She squeezed her arms tighter around him. “Of course.”

They lay in silence for a while, their limbs entwined. The heaviness of sleep drifted over her. She knew from experience that falling asleep in Max’s arms was a dangerous thing. It was the most relaxed state of sleep she’d ever been in. So many times he’d ended up carrying her back to her bedchamber.

But it was afternoon. Anyone could walk in. Smithson was expecting her to call. Someone would come in to clean the bath…

It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Max was beside her, holding her. So warm and safe and comfortable.

She drifted off.

When she awoke, hours later, he was gone. He’d left a note on the pillow beside her.

L
ondon in January was cold, muddy, and dreary. Max understood why the aristocracy tended to flee from Town this time of year. There was a stark beauty, a peace in the country that was absent from the city.