The Ugly Duchess (24 page)

Theo sighed and dropped her sheet. She refused to be humiliated by her own appearance anymore. She had learned that if she pretended to be a swan, she could fool the majority.

Though perhaps not without clothing.

Without further ado, she removed her drawers, stepped into the bathtub, and sat herself down. Before she asked, a huge male hand held out a bar of soap.

It was the vervaine that she used in every bath, and she took it. But just as she was about to start soaping, he took it away again.

Startled, Theo looked up. James was much closer to her than she had thought, kneeling beside the bathtub. “You needn’t,” she began.

But he said, “How else will you see how calm and unaffected I am? There’s no reason to be afraid of me, Daisy. I’m in perfect control.”

Theo swallowed. It didn’t feel like the best thing in the world to learn how very unaffected her husband was by the sight, not to mention the shape, of her body. But that was life, wasn’t it?

At least she wouldn’t have to do those freakishly odd things he had asked of her back when he was attracted to her. Back before he met dusky island maidens with curves like one of Titian’s women.

“All right,” she said. She stole another glance between his legs. Goodness, his tool was large. And red. It looked painful to her, so rigid that it seemed like to burst. But presumably that was just the way it was for a man.

She automatically held out her arm, because Amélie bathed her upper body (though not her breasts, of course), and then, while Amélie washed her hair, Theo washed her lower parts herself.

James was quite methodical while washing her arms. It felt good to be touched. Since her mother died, no one had touched her for any reason, except Amélie.

After all, she was a countess. People didn’t hug a countess, or do more than touch her gloved hand in the briefest of kisses. She missed . . .

Well, she missed simple touches.

So she let her head fall forward and didn’t talk, just enjoyed a touch that seemed so undemanding and yet so pleasurable. It was all right to enjoy James’s touch, whereas it was pathetic to be comforted by Amélie’s. She
paid
Amélie.

He soaped up one arm and across her shoulders. “Compared to yours, my back is terribly skinny,” she said, feeling a little awkward. “You have so much muscle there.”

“I suppose.”

“Does your throat hurt, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“It sounded so rough just now. As if it hurt. So I’m glad it doesn’t,” she added quickly.

His hands were so large that they spanned her entire back, and his soapy fingers made her feel exquisitely sensitive, as if every touch left a little kiss in its wake. She never felt this with Amélie, thank goodness.

She bent forward slightly, hunching so that he wouldn’t realize that her nipples were hard. He truly wasn’t affected by her nakedness; he was breathing just as regularly as he was before.

That was one thing she remembered quite clearly from their bed play together. When he was aroused, his breath came fast and his chest heaved. His eyes had been bright like fire, and his fingers had trembled. She glanced down. He was soaping her left wrist with hands as steady as they could be. A little sigh escaped her.

That was life.

If she’d learned anything since the day her life fell apart, it was that her life didn’t fall apart. One can survive a missing husband, and a dead mother, and being known throughout the British Isles as ugly. It was all survivable.

Difficult and demoralizing, but endurable.

“Your leg, please,” James said. His voice still sounded painfully hoarse, but she wasn’t going to mention it again.

Amélie never touched her below the waist, but Theo straightened one leg and put her ankle in his hand anyway. After all, her legs were her best feature: slender, with lovely round kneecaps and delicately curved ankles. It was a stupid thing to hold onto, but when one doesn’t have much to celebrate in the way of physical attributes, ankles matter.

James began soaping one rather slowly. He’d told her once that she had beautiful ankles.

“I like my ankles,” she said, wanting him to notice again. He drew a finger down the sole of her foot and made her squeal. It was very playful.

Theo had to swallow hard, because this wouldn’t have been so silly years ago.

“It’s hot in here,” James said. He wiped his face with his forearm. He did look rather red.

“I can do the rest,” Theo said, pulling her foot from his hand. “You’ve proved your point, James. I can see it.”

“See what?”

“That you’re not attracted to me. So just give me the soap.”

She reached out for it, but he held it away from her. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“I most certainly am,” she snapped. She’d taken it about as seriously as she could without bursting into a howl of aggrieved femininity.

James rolled his eyes. “If I don’t wash all of you, Theo, you will always have questions in your mind. I want us to remain married.” He reached out with a soapy hand and caught her chin. “Our children will probably be informed precisely the time at which they are allowed to wet their diapers, but I still want you to be their mother.”

She could feel a crooked smile on her mouth. “Oh. Thank you.” He had used twice as much soap as Amélie, and bubbles slid down her chest as she bent toward him.

They both looked down at the same moment. Bubbles were flowing down the slope of Theo’s breasts.

“Yes, well,” James said, and then he moved around behind her and she heard a stifled noise, almost a groan.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m not used to kneeling on a tiled floor,” he confessed, and she heard a thread of amusement in his voice again. “I would be a terrible grumbler if I were a lady’s maid.”

“Amélie doesn’t clamber around my tub on her knees,” Theo said. “So what—” She broke off. James’s hands made a slow slide over her shoulders and down her front. His touch lit a fire in her stomach, even before he touched her breasts.

“I don’t think that is necessary,” she said, catching her breath on a gasp. He had a breast in each hand now.

“Breasts are just breasts,” he said. “Of course, your breasts . . .” His voice trailed off.

Her nipples looked like pale rosebuds peeking through his brown fingers. She thought they looked quite nice. Then he slowly rubbed a thumb across each one, and it felt so amazing that she sucked in her breath and forgot to wonder about whether or not James was aroused, because
she
was. In fact, her head fell back against his arm, eyes closed, because he was doing something with his thumbs that had nothing to do with cleanliness.

It was as if lightning jolted through her, electrifying parts that hadn’t been touched for seven years. Even the private place between her legs suddenly tingled, as if to tell her that it was still there.

The moment she realized
that,
her hands clapped over his. “What are you doing?”

“You said I’m not attracted to you, Daisy.” His lips brushed her ear. “You’re wrong. I’ve
always
been driven mad by your breasts, and you know it.” At the moment she could only think about what a simple touch of his lips had done to her. “Don’t you remember?” he murmured, kissing her ear again.

“Yes,” she said weakly. “At the dining room table.”

“I used to sit there and dream about touching you like this,” he said, his voice like a caress. “I would watch you talking and think about how beautiful and intelligent you were, but to be honest, my eyes just kept going back to your breasts. There were times when I thought I might lose control, right there in the dining room.”

Theo kept her hands over his, but she did lean back against him again. “Surely not.”

His laugh was ragged, but somehow just as sensual as it had been. Perhaps even more so. “I promise you that was the case. I was capable of fantasizing about you through four courses. After the dessert, I would hobble from the room.” Under her hands, his thumbs moved gently across her nipples again.

Her toes were curling, and she was having trouble remembering her name, let alone what James looked like as a hungry youngster on the other side of the table from her.

“Are you saying that you might have trouble straightening up?” she said, finally managing to come up with some sort of sentence. She seemed to be losing strength in her limbs, which would explain why her hands fell away from his, letting him play with her breasts all he wanted.

There was a moment of silence, and then he said, “I told you I’m in control these days, Daisy. But you have to let me prove it to you.”

She was starting to feel feverish, and even though she knew it was muddled thinking, she let herself pretend that what he was saying made sense. “Prove it how?” she whispered.

One of James’s hands skated across her stomach on a film of soap, slipped under the water, drifted between her legs, the place where she felt open and vulnerable and soft. “Like this.” His voice had slipped from ragged to guttural. The very sound of it made her feel like a smoldering log, about to burst into flame.

“May I touch you?” James asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, but did something intimate with his fingers. Her answer was lost in a gasp.

“Just so I can prove my self-control,” he added.

She could have pointed out that she wasn’t demented. That she knew an excuse when she heard it. But her mind had turned black and ravenous, and the groan in her chest turned to a little sob. She pushed against his fingers, thinking,
Harder, there, please, there!
And as if he could hear her, one broad finger pressed down sharply, and another did something else, invaded her in just the right way.

Just like that, Theo broke, with a little shriek and a shock to her body that made her arch up and half out of the water. She only dimly heard soapy water splashing onto the floor, because everything in her was focused on the hot ripples spreading through her body.

Then James’s fingers slipped away and he pulled her a bit more firmly back against his arm. While she was still reeling, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “If Amélie performs that service for you, I’m dismissing her tomorrow.”

A giggle broke from Theo’s lips. “Don’t be absurd.” Her body was limp, and she felt swollen and hot between her legs.

“In fact, no one can touch you like that but me,” he added, and now his voice sounded not casual, but hotly possessive. Before she could answer, he rose to his feet, bent over, and scooped her into his arms.

It felt different now that they were both naked. His skin burned against hers.

“I must be heavy,” she murmured, stealing a glance up at his face. Against all common sense, she wanted to see arousal there.

She saw none.

Rather than answer, he set her on her feet and rubbed her briskly with a towel. Even the touch of the rough fabric gave her a wanton pulse of pleasure.

James’s jaw seemed taut, but then he looked at her and smiled. She reached out and took her wrapper off the hook, pulling it around herself and knotting it tightly.

Tossing the towel aside, James picked her up again, as if she couldn’t walk to her own bed.

“Don’t smile at me anymore,” she said tiredly, turning her face to his chest and closing her eyes. “I learned my lesson.”

“Lesson?” He sounded puzzled.

“You’re in no danger to succumbing to lust. I understand.” It wasn’t overly painful to acknowledge it aloud.

He dropped her on the bed and frowned at her. “That’s what you want.”

She rolled off, coming to her feet, and flapped her hand at him. “It’s not important. I need you to help me make the bed. I cannot rest in a bed with rumpled sheets, and of course, the top sheet isn’t even here any longer.”

He blinked at her. “What are you talking about?”

“We have to remake the bed,” she said painstakingly. “I would ring for a maid, but you sent them away.”

“Right. If you’ll excuse me, I have something to do.” Theo’s eyes dropped and she saw that he had a hand cupped over his privates, as if he was in pain. He brushed past her and into the bathroom without another word.
That
wasn’t very polite.

She had no idea how to make the bed, but surely she was capable of it. She pulled all the remaining bedding off, and then made certain that the bottom sheet hung off all sides by precisely the same amount: she judged four and a half inches, though of course it was hard to tell without a way to measure it.

She tucked the sheet in at the head of the bed. That was rather awkward, as she had to reach toward the middle of the bed. She could hear water running into the bathtub again, which was distracting, but it didn’t bother her much. James’s “personal” service, for lack of a better word, had left her feeling quite happy.

She moved around to the side and managed to get the sheet tucked in precisely the correct amount.

She had just started the other side when the door opened again. She was bent over the bed, trying to make sure that the sheet didn’t form wrinkles as she tucked.

“Oh good,” she said, looking over her shoulder. James’s tool was down, the way she had thought it was supposed to be. With a mental shrug, she said, “Will you please help me? This is impossible to do on one’s own. I can’t imagine how the housemaids manage it.” She moved to the foot of the bed and bent over again, trying to smooth the sheets so there were no wrinkles.

There was a funny noise, like a deep groan, but when she looked back at James he was obediently walking toward her. His tool was straight up in the air again. So he was telling the truth about that being his normal state.

She kept thinking about it all the time that they worked on the bed, making sure the top sheet was smooth before they replaced the rest of the bedding.

Every once in a while she would steal a glance at James. She felt terribly self-conscious wearing a wrapper with no drawers and no chemise, but he seemed unmoved.

When the bed was finished, she slipped between the sheets, still wearing her wrapper because she couldn’t bear the idea of being naked in front of him again.

He stood beside the bed, that irritating smile on his face. “Are you hungry? I’ll have Maydrop send up a hamper with one of the footmen. I think if we eat here, it will be easier for him, given the lack of kitchen staff.”