Barely a Lady (19 page)

“I sincerely doubt it,” he muttered.

She whipped around. “Pardon?”

“Thank you, Liv.” He forced a smile. “I appreciate it.”

Have you ever heard of anyone called the Surgeon? Axman Billy
? Should he really ask her? Should he risk her peace of mind, maybe her life, by forcing that darkness on her?

How else would he be able to get the answers he needed? He couldn’t merely rely on a twelve-year-old pickpocket.

Before he could decide, Harper knocked on the door and led in footmen with the tub and water. While the tub was being filled, Livvie acquainted Harper with Jack’s suspicions. Harper made it a point to check out the window himself.

“Don’t ya be worryin’ none, lass. We’ll keep an eyeout.”

Jack didn’t wait to pull his shirt off over his head. “Oh, Lord, Liv,” he groaned when he caught a whiff of himself. “I’ll need a lot of soap.”

Levering himself up off the chair, he began to unbutton the placket on his trousers. Livvie took an anxious step his way. “Jack, you shouldn’t…”

He couldn’t believe it. She was as fretful as a maiden aunt, her eyes skittering around the room—anywhere but at his body. The last time he remembered them together, they’d spent an entire day tumbling about in a field before God and most of the sheep in North Riding. Now she looked as if she’d never seen him naked.

How long
had
it been since they’d made love?

He hesitated, his hands holding up his gaping pants. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of help balancing, Liv.”

She shot him a quick glance and actually stepped away. “Would you like Harper to help you?”

It only took another look at her expression to understand. It hung between them like a sword. Mimi. How could he expect his wife to welcome him when she believed he was involved with another woman?

How did he know he wasn’t?

Jack stood where he was while Harper orchestrated the scene around the tub. The footmen poured water in and tested it, and then left supplies on a chair. Setting two cans of hot water by the fireplace, they exited, which left Harper waiting in the middle of the room.

“Thank you, Harper,” Jack said. “But I’ll be fine. My wife will help me.”

Harper had the brass to stand right where he was. “Ma’am?”

She looked up, a bath sheet clutched to her chest like a shield, her eyes wide and dark. Jack held his breath, mentally begging for mercy.

It was when she sighed that he knew he’d won. “Thank you, Harper. I’ll call for the tub’s removal when my husband is finished.”

Jack waited for the door to close before dropping his drawers. He was not surprised to see that he was as stiff as a post.

Livvie glared at it as if accusing it. “And you can put that thing away,” she told him briskly. “You’re not going to be using it tonight.”

He looked down past the bruises and scrapes and cuts to where his rod seemed to be waving greetings and offered a tired smile. “Sorry to say, it has a mind of its own. As long as it thinks it’s going to be entertained, it’ll be on the alert.”

Livvie sniffed like a chaperone and bent to line the tub with a bath sheet. “Well, disabuse it of that notion. There isn’t the time, I haven’t the energy, and you haven’t the stamina.”

His smile grew wry. “Well, there you have me. Will you help me into the tub?”

She helped him in, and Jack had to remind himself that he needed this bath more than he needed sex. Well, more urgently anyway.

He slid into the water with a heartfelt sigh, sure he’d never take hot water for granted again. It was positively life-giving. He would never overlook the sweetness of a woman’s scent or the softness of her hand. Although it occurred to him that Livvie’s wasn’t so soft. She had calluses.

He looked up, intent on asking why, and was immediately distracted. The steam had already begun to destroy her tight chignon. Golden strands had fallen loose and curled around her throat. Her skin was rosy, and her breasts strained against the worn gray of her gown. Her forehead, though, was pursed and her mouth tight.

She met his gaze, and he saw the flood of emotions she had dammed up inside. For just a moment, he thought he understood them. For a moment, he thought he would remember what it was that had robbed her of her joy and whimsy. He thought he might just be able to find the words to recover them.

But that moment passed, and he was still lost in the dark.

“You’re still not listening,” she snapped, her voice not quite as forceful. Her hands were shaking.

Jack shook his head. It was all so funny. She was afraid of him, he was trying his damnedest to be a gentleman, and his John Thomas had obviously decided to ignore them both.

“Pay no attention to it,” he advised, pulling a washcloth from her hand and dropping it over his blatant erection. “If you ignore it, it might just go away.”

And he might decide to join the priesthood.

“I have a feeling I should apologize again,” he said, reaching up to take her hand. She didn’t pull away this time. “You seem so uncomfortable, and it’s something I never thought to see in you. Not anymore.”

And she didn’t even know the worst.

That thought took the rest of his humor. He had no right to insist she be here. He should chase her out of the room and make sure she didn’t come back until he could explain that alley near the river and the people looking for him and the man who might be watching the house. Until he could come to her with a free heart.

But it was so difficult. Giving her hand a tender salute, he let go.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get to this sooner,” she said, her voice uncertain. “You do need a good wash-up. Do you want me to get your back?”

He closed his eyes against every image those words provoked. “Dear God, yes. I can’t remember the last time I bathed.”

Kneeling next to the tub, she picked up another cloth and wet it. “You have so many scars,” she said quietly. “Wherever you were, you fought hard.”

He twisted a bit to look over his shoulder. “Yes. Harper told me I looked like I’d been flogged like a sailor.”

“Caught with the wrong wife?”

“I don’t have a taste for wives, Livvie.”

She paused, as if surprised. “Glad to hear it.”

And he felt worse.

Lathering the rag, she pushed on his shoulder. “Can you bend forward a bit?”

He did, and she laid that cloth against his neck. He swore he’d never felt anything so decadent in his life. Hot water lapping his belly, a warm breeze wafting in through the window, and Livvie bent close, her hand encased in a soft cloth, scrubbing away all the grime he’d collected. She was rubbing hard, as if scraping away years’ worth of dirt, and Jack felt pathetically grateful. Every time she pushed forward, her breasts brushed against his bare back, and he could smell her perfume.

It was all he could do to keep from groaning. His heart was beginning to race. His groin was tight enough to explode. He could smell apples. Apples and the faintest musk of arousal. He sat perfectly still, his head resting on his folded arms, investing all his concentration in Livvie’s touch.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I believe I’m in heaven. You can’t imagine how important this simple thing is if you’re forbidden it, Liv.”

“Forbidden? Why? Were you marching too fast?”

“No. It was dark.”

She stopped suddenly. “Dark? What do you mean?”

He lifted his head, blinking. “What?”

“You said you couldn’t bathe because it was dark. Why?”

He didn’t move. It was there, hovering just out of sight. Something sinister. Something foul and frightening. He clenched his hands, as if to help drag it closer, but it didn’t help.

Feeling absurdly helpless, he laughed as if it didn’t matter. “I’m sure there was a good reason.” He reached up to brush his knuckles across her cheek. “But right now I’d much rather think about how wonderful this feels.”

He knew she didn’t believe him. All she had to do was feel how his heart was racing to know he wasn’t unaffected. He saw the uncertainty in her eyes, the glint of fear, and hated it.

“All right, Jack,” she said, and returned to her scrubbing.

His shoulders. His neck. Each knob on his long spine. Each rib and the slope of his waist and hip, the strokes sending heat spiraling out through his limbs. The warmth of her body against his back lit fires in his belly. He was shaking with the power of his arousal.

“Lean back.”

He leaned back and looked up to see her staring at that washcloth over his groin, which wasn’t doing such a good job of covering anything anymore. Just her gaze had it twitching, as if it was trying to reach her. Jack gritted his teeth against the pain of it, the urgency. The hunger that exploded through him.

“You’re only half finished,” he ground out. “Do you want me to take that rag now?”

She turned to him, and he saw that her eyes were all but black with desire, that they were roiling with distress. He wanted to reassure her. He couldn’t seem to get the words out.

Without answering him, she began to wash his chest, and Jack thought he’d simply die on the spot. She lingered this time, forgetting to scrub, the rag sliding across his collarbones, over the notch in his throat, down the slope of his sternum. She soaped up his shoulders and then lifted his arms to scrub beneath, from his wrist to his armpit to his waist.

He couldn’t watch anymore. He couldn’t bear it. Livvie was washing his body as if it were fragile. As if it were explosive and too rough a touch could set it off. He thought she might be right.

He lay in the water, his body boneless, his world diminished to a cooling cloth in a small hand. Water trickled down his ribs, and it felt like ice against his fevered skin. He felt Olivia sweep the cloth down to his belly. He stopped breathing. She paused, an inch away from bliss. He waited. He hoped. He finally opened his eyes to see her watching him, her hand stilled, her pulse throbbing at her throat.

Caught in the heat of her eyes, he let his conscience go quiet. “Please, Liv,” he begged, his voice a bare rasp. “Please. Touch me.”

He heard her suck in a startled breath. He saw her stiffen, as if she would flee, and he fought the urge to just pull her into the tub with him. It had to be her choice. It had to be her move, but sweet God, he was going to die if she didn’t.

Without taking her gaze from his, finally she reached down and lifted away the insufficient washcloth. She looked to where her hand hovered just above his straining cock, and she seemed to sigh. And then, with exquisite slowness, she dipped her hand into the water and wrapped it around him.

He almost exploded right into her hand. He braced himself, every muscle clenched so tightly he thought he’d seize, his eyes squeezed shut. He could smell the flower scent of her hair as she eased close to him. He could hear the quick, small panting of her breath and knew her mouth was open just enough to slip his tongue into if he wanted. He felt the tremor in her fingers as she began to slide them along his shaft and thought that she was as close to climax as he was.

“Sweet… Jesus,” he gasped, balanced on a shattering edge, his hands wrapped around the edge of the tub to keep him from yanking her to him. “I can’t…”

Her fingers swept over his quivering tip, measured the length of him, then dipped lower to cup his balls. Teasing, tormenting, taunting. “I forgot… ,” she whispered, and he thought how tortured her voice sounded.

She was so close he could feel the heat lift off her skin. He couldn’t help it. He had to touch her. With one hand, he reached up to cup her breast, her full, luscious breast he had once spent a full day mapping. Caressing, suckling, tickling. Laughing when she’d objected to his calling her birthmark the X that marked the perfect spot.

She was so hot, so soft, so ripe. She was everything any man could want.

Why had he wanted more?

It was almost enough to ruin him. If she hadn’t still had hold of him, he might have faltered. If he didn’t have the most disturbing suspicion that he wasn’t the only one who had forgotten how this felt.

“I need a kiss, Liv,” he managed, wanting to hold her. Wanting to ask her if she would take him into her, if she would be his comfort. His resting place. His peace. “Ineed you.”

She lifted her head and looked bemused, as if waking from a dream she couldn’t quite remember. “I love it… ,” she whispered, as if it were being dragged out of her, “when you…”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence. Jack knew it like a brand on his heart. He heard it again, just as she’d whispered it in his ear last spring. Last spring? He wasn’t sure anymore. But he was sure of what she’d said. What gift she’d given him.

Before she could finish, he reached up to cup her face in his hands and brought her to him. And then, without understanding why, without even hearing it until she froze, he murmured into her mouth, “How could I love Mimi more than this?”

Livvie yanked back so fast water splashed all over the floor.

“What?” she asked, her voice deadly quiet.

Jack stared, appalled.

He never got the chance to answer. Suddenly, from the floor below, came a great clattering and the slamming of doors. And then, the bellowing of Sergeant Harper.