Surrender to a Wicked Spy (21 page)

He turned his key and opened the chamber door.

Oh, dear God. He was being punished.

Olivia was in the bath, her head tilted back on a rolled piece of toweling, her face damp and rosy in the rising steam. Dane crossed the room without willing a single step, his eyes glued to the tub.

The soap had subsided, leaving only a misty film that lay across her astounding breasts like a very low, very translucent bodice. With each deep sleeping breath, her nipples peeked from the water like curious mermaids, then submerged again when she exhaled.

Soapy, wet, glistening Olivia. His fantasy come to life.

Deep in his mind, barely heard above the pounding in his blood, was the thought that she'd arranged herself thus in order to captivate and distract him. Yet how could she have known it was the one thing he dreamed of above all others save the dream of losing himself in her sweet body?

Then again, he'd wager most men would be rather captivated right now.

He would test himself, he decided abruptly. He would command her to fulfill his darkest fantasy… and then he would walk away. He would prove to himself that she had no acute hold on his will.

He would try to make her bring about her orgasm by her own hand. While he watched.

He reached into the water and dampened his fingers. Then he let a single drop fall onto her upturned cheek. She twitched, then opened her eyes and blinked up at him.

"Will you do as you're commanded?" he asked without preamble.

Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. After a long moment, she nodded silently. Dane observed that her softened nipples were now rigid and crinkled, despite the heat of the water.

"Touch your breasts," he ordered. "Soap them, then wash them clean."

Without taking her pale moon eyes from his, she reached over her shoulder to dig her fingers into the porcelain container of soft soap. Slowly, she rubbed it between her two hands to make a lather.

He waited, betraying no expression. His interest here was purely experimental, nothing else.

She shivered the tiniest bit, then sat up slightly to raise her upper torso from the water. With both hands covered in bubbles, she began to run them over and around her two lush breasts, leaving gleaming trails of white to drip off her rigid nipples. Her flesh rose and fell, plumped and pressed, as her hands rotated around but not touching the points.

"Wash your nipples," he said tonelessly. "Wash them very well."

Her tongue came out to lick her lips. She was still gazing at him solemnly, even as she kneaded her rigid nipples.

"Pinch them."

She did so, finally closing her eyes at the pleasure/pain. It was relief, for now he could not be distracted by her yearning gaze.

He watched for a long while, curious how long she would continue.

As long as he wanted, apparently.

"Rinse the soap off now."

She did so, cupping her hands and bringing the water to her throat, letting it wash away the film of white.

Her nipples were hard points, made deep red by her efforts to please him.

"Sweep the soap away so that I may see all of you."

She opened her eyes and waved her arm, pushing the soap film to one side. The water was still cloudy, but he could see her belly, her navel, and her pudendum.

"Close your eyes." She did so, instantly. "Slide your hands down your body."

She spread her fingers wide and let her palms glide from beneath her breasts and over her belly, her fingers touching over the center line of her.

"Open your thighs."

He saw her smile slightly, a tiny wave of relief crossing her features. She thought he was going to stroke her now. He turned away from her gladness to cast his gaze about the room. "Are the rods still with the baggage?"

She nodded, her smile becoming sensual. She thought he would trot right out into the cold to fetch them.

"Well then." Dane crossed his arms and took a stance at the end of the tub. "You'll just have to use your fingers, then."

Her eyes flew open. "Wh—what?"

"You heard me," he said cruelly. "Fuck yourself with your fingers."

She flinched at the foul word and drew her hands away from her thighs. "I—"

Dane leaned over the tub, gripping the sides with both hands. His face was little more than a foot above hers. "Do as I say."

She cringed away, against the slanting back of the tub. Her big gray eyes filled as she stared up at him. Her bottom lip quivered. Dane refused to relent. He
needed
to know she had no hold over him.

Then she blinked the moisture away and narrowed her gaze. "If you like soap so much—" She used both hands to lift a great wash of bathwater. It hit his open eyes and he spun away, cursing.

When he rubbed his stinging vision clear, she was out of the water and clad in her wrapper.

She glared at him, her arms crossed beneath her breasts—which, by the way, were completely revealed by the now-soaking wrapper. Her dripping hair only made matters worse.

"That wasn't nice," she said, her tone flat.

He wasn't going to pass this test. From the furious, betrayed look in her eyes, he'd already failed. Her hurt tore at him.

Weariness struck him. He was so bloody tired of keeping his guard high. He let his shoulders drop and sank to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, Livvie."

He dropped his face into his hands and rubbed it, but the fatigue was bone deep. "I'm an ass. You're quite correct. That wasn't nice."

"Well, as long as we're in agreement—"

He held up his hand against her anger. "Please. I know. I'm so very sorry."

He heard movement—and a good bit of dripping—across the floor. Her bare crinkled toes stopped just inches from his booted ones. "Well, it isn't as if you're not allowed to make a mistake or two," she said slowly. "Who would I be to declare that?"

He shook his head. "I—"

"I mean, it isn't as if you truly know what you're about."

He jerked his head up. She was gazing at him with… understanding? He frowned at her, then glanced away when she raised a brow. "I don't know what you mean," he said stiffly, although he was very much afraid he did.

She was wrong, of course. Well, about it being the reason he'd mangled this evening, anyway.

She knelt before him, her wrapper falling into her own puddle. She raised her hands to cradle his face, gently forcing him to look at her. "You made a mistake because beginners make mistakes. You've never… have you?"

His jaw hardened. "No." He pulled away from her, rolling aside on the bed. "There's never been a woman who—" He stared into the fire, then laughed darkly. "I don't know why I thought I could keep that secret. It is rather the point, isn't it?"

She clambered up on the bed behind him and wrapped her arms about him, pressing her wet wrapper-clad breasts to his wet shirt-clad back. "I think it's lovely. It is a gift we give only to each other."

And just like that, he was forgiven. Understood and forgiven. Deep down, in a place he wasn't ready to look, he knew that her assumption was quite correct. He'd tested himself, true—but he'd tried to fulfill his fantasy of her in the bath even while he told himself he was uninterested.

It isn't as if you truly know what you're about.

"Oh!" Olivia sat up from the circle of his arms. "I just remembered—" She scrambled off the bed and ran to the hook where she'd hung her traveling dress.

Dane found himself with a view of curvaceous woman through damp muslin, lit from behind by the fire. The vision struck him dry-mouthed with a sudden bolt of fresh lust. He scarcely noticed that Olivia was trying to work something out of the pocket of her dress.

Then she whirled, showing him a flash of pale thigh where her wrapper parted, and waved a familiar, blunt shape at him.

"I had Rod number four in my pocket!"

He blinked. "Why?"

She shrugged and looked away. "Ah, for emergencies?"

Dane fell back on the bed, chuckling helplessly. "Were you going to cosh a highwayman on the head with it if we were accosted?"

She moved to bed and crawled up his body until she sat astride his lap. Then she stroked the rod down her throat and smoldered at him. "We wouldn't want to lose any of our lovely progress, would we?"

Dane closed his eyes against her playful, erotic pose and pulled her to him, holding her hard against his heart. "Where did you come from, sweet Olivia? You should mock me, a man of my age with so little experience."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his chest. "I like you just as you are."

Her simple acceptance slid beneath Dane's guard like a whisper, but it felt like a balm to his heart. He took her head gently in his hands and raised her face to look into her eyes. "You defeat me, my lady."

She smiled softly. "You defeated me when you got stuck in the mud. I believe I may have a bit of a rescue compulsion."

"Save me, then," he whispered.

He kissed her tenderly, a mere sweet pressure on her lips.

She smiled, then kissed him back.

Hard.

The bathwater went chill and the coals faded to a dusty gleam. Her wrapper was kicked unceremoniously to the floor at some point—perhaps when Dane's practiced application of the pleasure rod made her cries fill the room.

Finally, she lay quiescent in his arms, her face flushed, her eyes closed in exhausted sleep. Dane carefully pushed back a wayward strand of hair caught on her dampened cheek. She'd given him all of herself once more, holding nothing back as currency, playing no hands for her own advantage.

He'd never met anyone like her in his life.

She was so giving, so honest—it made him feel like a liar for treating her as he had. He'd bought her like a brood mare, acquired to improve his stock. He'd installed her in his home, in his bed, like a mistress—ignoring her all day, attending to her solely in lust and ambition. Then he'd abused her, insulted her, and frightened her.

He owed her so much more than that. He owed her respect and admiration and affection
and—

Love.

Was this love or merely obsession?

Long suppressed emotions swelled within him, fair to breaking his chest with their power. It seemed that he was remembering how to feel.

He didn't like it.

How could he be who he needed to be if he could be swung by his emotions—if he could be strung through the heart?

His sudden tension woke Olivia, who blinked at him curiously.

He went very still. "I think I'm going to check on the carriages and horses," he said tightly. He unwrapped her arms and slid off the opposite side of the bed. "Go on to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

Olivia found herself left, chilled, and confused, as her absolute Gordian knot of a husband fled the room as if she'd splashed fire on him instead of water. "Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold." She fell backward onto the pillows with her empty arms flung wide. "God, a sword if you please."

Alexander the Great had used a sword to slice through the knotted puzzle that had mystified thousands in ancient Phrygia. Olivia was going to have to use something slightly more subtle.

At least, she would if she could figure out what.

«
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The next morning, Olivia waited in the carriage as the servants ran to and fro, securing the things that had been used overnight to the wagon and carriages. Everyone seemed to know precisely what to do. Dane must have made this journey often in the past. Olivia had gathered from Mrs. Huff that the previous Viscount Greenleigh had favored Kirkall to Greenleigh and that Dane had visited him there as often as possible.

Finally, Dane and Marcus separated themselves from the madness and strode toward the carriage. Olivia sat back quickly and smoothed her skirts, preparing to welcome her husband with a smile. She wasn't sure she was the source of Dane's turmoil last night, but she was determined to do nothing to add to it today. She would be the perfectly poised, gracious,
graceful
Viscountess Greenleigh.

Walter used to tell her that every day was a fresh start. Today she would give Dane no cause to regret his choice. Today she was a new and improved Olivia.

As Dane approached, a footman hurried to open the carnage door, but Dane only leaned his head into the carriage. "I believe I shall ride again today, my dear. Marcus will keep you company."

Olivia felt her smile begin to slip and pulled it back with a will. "Of course. I do envy you the fresh air, my lord. I'm sure you will enjoy your ride immensely." She turned her gracious-if-it-killed-her smile onto Lord Dryden. "I shall be delighted to share the carriage with you, Marcus. Won't we be a merry pair?"

Marcus quirked his lips and nodded as he mounted the steps and sat opposite her. Of course he had ridden with her last evening when she'd been a bit damp and depressed. Olivia doubled the brightness of her smile. "I'm feeling very much better today," she said. "The sun is shining and we shall arrive tonight. I am very eager to see Kirkall."

Dane grunted. "There will be foul weather later. We'll push hard to beat it to the lodge." He spared a nod to Olivia. "I shall see you later today." Then he shut the door and strode to his mount, his well-built body full of coiled-spring tension. He looked like a great cat with an itch to kill something.

Olivia turned from her view of Dane's back to see Marcus watching him with concern as well. Then Marcus smiled and sat back on the velvet cushions. "And how shall we pass the time, my lady? Are you fond of anagrams?"

Word games. Olivia refrained from making a face. A viscountess would never make a face. She nodded sedately. "If you like, my lord. Shall I begin?" He nodded graciously. "Hmm." A smile flickered across her lips. "Render sundry red."

Marcus closed his eyes for a long moment. "Render… surrender—" His eyes popped open and he laughed aloud. "Surrender, Dryden!"

He shook his head, still laughing. "I think I may have met my match, my lady. Very well, you choose the game."

"Well." She pursed her lips. "There is a game called 'Tell Me Amusing Stories about My Husband.' "