Duchess in Love (28 page)

I
t took a good two minutes before Cam and Gina realized that not only was Lady Troubridge not in the plunge-bath, but Phineas Finkbottle, for reasons known only to himself, had locked them in.

“What the devil?” Cam banged on the door. It was made of such solid oak that his fist only made a dull thunk.

“What could that man have been thinking?” Gina asked.

“He won't be thinking long once I get out of this dungeon!” Cam snarled.

“It's not a dungeon.” She retreated back down the stairs. “He can't be planning to murder us, because Lady Troubridge told me herself that she takes a plunge-bath every morning. In the worst case, we shan't be discovered until morning.”

“Perhaps Finkbottle doesn't know that Lady Troubridge is addicted to the bath,” Cam pointed out.

“He doesn't seem a murderous type of person.”

He tramped down the stairs after her and then stopped. “He's stealing the Aphrodite!”

His wife looked up at him and smiled. “I gave it to Esme
for safekeeping this morning. I decided that you may be correct in insisting that the thief would return.”

“Damn him. It crossed my mind that he was your no-good brother, and I ignored it. More fool I.” Cam was filled with the rage of a man unable to rescue his lady, even though she was only debatably in danger.

“You think Mr. Finkbottle is my brother?” Gina gasped.

“He has red hair. He trained on the continent. And he's off stealing the Aphrodite. Only your brother could possibly know about the statue.”

She froze for a moment, thinking it through. “Mr. Finkbottle is my
brother
?”

“It's the only explanation that makes sense.” He stomped down the rest of the stairs. “I expect he's turning over your mattress at this very moment, looking for the statue.”

“Why didn't he simply ask me for it?”

“Because he's a criminal,” he snapped, still smarting over their enforced imprisonment.

“Still, if he'd asked me, I would have given him the statue.” Her eyes were so sad that Cam felt some of his annoyance melt away.

“Fools, both of them,” he said, a bit more gently. “Your mother didn't answer your letters and your brother didn't introduce himself properly.”

Her chin wobbled.

“Oh for goodness' sake,” he said with exasperation, and tucked her into his arms. “Why would you want your by-blow of a sibling to introduce himself anyway?”

Gina bit her lip hard and didn't say anything because she might cry. Duchesses
never
cried in the presence of others.

“Well?” Her husband sounded cross but he was holding her so sweetly that it almost—almost—made up for the fact that neither her mother nor her brother cared to meet her. Cared to speak to her, or write to her, or know her at all. She
deliberately pushed the thought away and thought:
Duchess is as duchess does. Duchess is as duchess does, Duchess is as duchess does
.

“What is a plunge-bath anyway?” Cam asked, looking around at the vaulted brick ceilings.

“They're quite the newest thing,” she said. “That's the bath.” She pulled herself from his arms and pointed down at the tiled bath. “One enters by those stairs. It's really quite clever. The water is piped across the kitchen hot wall, so it's already warm by the time it arrives in the bath. And one could make it hotter by turning this switch.”

“I gather Finkbottle doesn't mean us to freeze to death then,” Cam said, walking over to inspect the pipes. “This is ingenious. Perhaps we should put in a bath at Girton.”

“I thought about it,” she said. “It would be quite easy to pipe the water through the kitchen, since it is set so far to the east.”

“That's an optimistic way of looking at the kitchen's location. Father always cursed the fact it was so far away from the dining room, but I suppose a warm plunge-bath is better than a cold meal.”

“We have the cold meals anyway,” Gina pointed out. “We might as well have a warm bath.”

Cam climbed the steps down into the bath and was fiddling about when suddenly a huge gush of water erupted from the pipe.

“Damn it to hell!” he howled, jumping back on the stairs. But it was too late: he was completely soaked from his knees to his boots.

Gina giggled. “More fool you. What did you think would come out? Air?”

Cam ignored her. “Lady Troubridge is right: the water is quite warm.” He walked back up the steps, sloshing as he went. “Perhaps I had better remove these wet clothes.” He
grinned at her. “I wouldn't want Finkbottle to succeed in murdering me due to a chill.”

Gina blinked. “You may not undress in front of me!”

“Have a heart,” he said pathetically. “I shall freeze if I stay in wet clothing. Besides”—he pointed to the water splashing into the bath—“I believe when all's said and done we might as well experiment with Lady Troubridge's invention.”

“Take a plunge-bath with—with
you
? One takes baths alone.”

His smile was secret and inviting and passionate, all at once. “Not always.” He sat down on the top of the stairs to the bath and pulled off his boots.

“You are really going to undress? What if someone arrives to let us out?”

“They won't. I would guess that we're here for the duration, duchess. Finkbottle is searching your room at leisure; it should take him at least an hour. And then I expect that he'll make good his escape. You might as well make yourself comfortable.”

“I am quite comfortable, thank you.” His wife put her nose in the air and tapped her foot with annoyance. He thought she was quite the most delectable woman he'd ever seen in his life. The more he thought about it—he pulled off his second boot—the more he had a mind to give Phineas Finkbottle a handful of bank notes when they got out of the bath. After a trouncing, of course.

He stood up and put his hands at his trousers. Gina was watching him with fascination.

“You mustn't do this.” Her voice sounded weak, to his mind.

He grinned and undid his trousers, pulled them down, and threw them to the side.

She didn't shriek and run up the stairs. Of course, his shirt did hang rather low. He started to unbutton it.

“Cam!”

She said his name in a sort of gasping way.

He stopped unbuttoning and walked over to her. Then he kissed her. He couldn't stop himself, not with her lips so plump and rosy. She sighed and he put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

“Gina, what did you think we were going to do in your bedchamber?”

She looked at him with those lovely green eyes, secretive and inviting and passionate, all at once. The edge of her mouth curled up. “Take a bath?”

“No. But undress…I would have undressed you, duchess,” he whispered against her ear and the soft skin of her neck. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him. Without trousers, he was fairly certain that she would know exactly what was on his mind. “Gina, my love, I would have undressed you.”

She looked at him: at his wild smile and high cheekbones, at the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

She was no idiot. He would take what he took, and leave for Greece. But before he left…And he called her “my love.” Her heart melted. Her conscience scolded, but some other part of her melted when he said that. He called her “love.”

The plunge-bath was housed in a small room, and it was quickly growing toasty warm from the water pouring into the bath.

Cam kneeled before her. “May I remove Your Grace's slippers?”

Gina's heart was singing. She was quivering all over. She delicately raised her skirts in both hands and pointed her narrow shoe at Cam.

His smile had no hint of complacency, just a pure joy that sent a burning heat to Gina's middle. His hand slipped
around her slender ankle and pulled off her shoe. He set it precisely to the side, and she offered her other ankle.

“Beautiful,” he said, and she thought he was talking of her legs. He drew off her other slipper and put it to the side.

Then he ran his hands slowly, slowly up one leg, sliding up the graceful curve to her knee. He stopped at the garter, untied the knot, and flung it to the side. A stocking fell in a silky rush to her ankle. He looked up at her briefly and then curled his fingers around her other ankle. Obediently she let him take the garter and the stocking. She was bare-toed and bare-legged under her gown.

He didn't move immediately. His hands returned to her ankles, and slid up the smooth flesh, sweet, peachy smooth. She quivered.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Caressing you.” His hands were inching up, up into the curve of her thigh. She was on fire. But some primitive female spirit of defense aroused itself.

“No!” She reached down and pushed at his shoulders. But he was like a mountain, fixed in a position of worship. He threw his head back, tossed hair out of his eyes, and grinned at her.

“It's naught but a gentle touch.”

She trembled under that gentle touch and her mouth formed a small circle.

“It's nothing more than a caress one might give a child, or a baby lamb.”

She could feel her knees shake. She broke away and pulled back. He stood up and pulled his shirt over his head. And there he was: strong of thigh in the flickering gas light, wearing only white smalls. His chest was broad and muscular, his arms even larger.

She didn't know what to say or where to look. But she
couldn't look away. He was too beautiful, too
male,
too unlike herself. There was nothing sleek about him. He was all hard muscle with a dusting of black hair.

“Why are you so muscular?” she asked. She had a fair idea that most men in the
ton
had no muscles at all.

Cam shrugged. “Sculpting is hard work. I quarry my own marble.”

He looked at her. “Duchess.” His voice was a command. “Here.” He pointed to a point just before him.

And she obeyed. Ambrogina Serrard, Duchess of Girton, dutiful daughter, dutiful wife, dutiful duchess, walked to her husband in her bare feet. But she didn't look at him with the prim and proper air of a virgin faced with her first ungarbed male body. No: Gina looked at him with the frank and thirsty gaze that was hers alone. Cam felt his blood race. Go slow, he cautioned himself. Keep her virginity in mind. The thought cooled him down a bit.

She looked at him. “Well?”

He cleared his throat. “May I remove your garments?”

“I can manage,” she said quickly.

Cam grinned. Did his duchess even realize that he had tricked her into undressing? He had discovered that Gina never, ever asked for help. She seemed to think that she could go through life unaided, except when it came to her right glove.

But she wasn't doing so well at the moment. “Perhaps we should extinguish the oil lamps,” she said, just a bit desperately.

“Absolutely not. I want to see you.”

Her cheeks were flaming. “I don't wish to do this on the floor.”

“There is a chaise longue,” Cam said, and only the laughter in his eyes betrayed his grave tone. “But a duke and a
duchess would never make love other than in the ducal bed.”

Gina chose to overlook the little edge of mockery in his voice. “Exactly.”

Cam looked down. There was nothing he could do about the state of his body. In fact, he had a fair idea that this would be his normal state for the next forty years or so. Whenever he was around his wife, anyway. “In that case, shall we sample the bath, duchess? May I suggest that you remove your gown and”—he forestalled her objection with a swift kiss—“bathe in your chemise?”

Gina bit her lip. Really, she could have no objection to bathing in her chemise. It wasn't as if she was naked.

Her gown had two buttons at the neck. She drew it over her head and then, in one beat of her heart, the cool yellow fabric rushed past her eyes and was gone. There was no difference between a chemise and a nightgown, after all. Cam had seen her nightgown—nay, he had ripped open her nightgown. Gina's cheeks pinked at the memory.

Cam took a deep breath. Gina was wearing a chemise of the thinnest cotton. It was white, simply fashioned, and the essence of modesty. Yet it was more sensual than the richest silk.

“Shall we to the bath, Your Grace?” She gave him a slow smile, a smile like liquid molasses. The Duchess of Girton was discovering the manifold pleasures of seduction.

He said something, had to clear his throat, finally said, “Yes.”

She held out her hand. But he wouldn't let her draw him toward the stairs into the plunge-bath. Instead he turned her palm against his mouth. Did she know what would happen to her delicate cotton chemise when drenched? Did she care? His prim duchess was gone, replaced by a sultry
sprite—the woman who greeted him in yellow silk with a brandy in her hand.

He kept his eyes on hers and tasted her wrist, sweet skin, white even in the twilight of the bath. Finally he let her draw him to the steps.

At the bottom, Cam plunged into the water. Gina paused at the last step above the water and poked in a toe. “It
is
warm,” she said with delight.

“I turned on the warming switch,” Cam said. He was up to his waist in water. She walked slowly, step by step into the bath, until she stood before him, the water just lapping at her breasts. As she watched, he ducked under the water and came up a gleaming water animal, sleek and dark, drops sliding from his chest back into the bath.

Not to be outdone, Gina did the same. She splashed back up, laughing. “This is the first time I've been in something larger than a tin bath. Isn't this glorious, Cam!”

“Glorious,” he said.

Her eyes followed his. “Hmm,” she said. “It appears that my chemise has lost its—”

He stopped her amusement with his mouth.