Mary Jo Putney (41 page)

She looked up with a brief shy glance, her face glowing with pleasure at his words, then returned to her self-appointed task. He finished the wine, tucking the glass into the corner between tub and wall, luxuriating.

When the rest of him had been roundly scrubbed, Diana moved to the top of the tub to soap his hair, her strong fingers giving his scalp pleasure undreamed of. Her full breasts were tantalizingly revealed by her water-splashed shift, and as she leaned over him Gervase surrendered to temptation and took one into his mouth, feeling the immediate hardening of her nipple through the sheer fabric.

Her eyes widened and met his as she trembled under the warm movement of his mouth. Abandoning her task, her fingers tightened spasmodically in his hair, then relaxed with pleasure. Her arms slid down to lie loosely around his neck as her eyes closed and her breathing quickened.

Raising both hands to her slim rib cage, he held her steady as he moved his lips up above the low neckline of the shift to the cleft between her breasts, brushing kisses to the hollow at the base of her throat. The warm steamy atmosphere of the bath chamber gave her skin a moist, delicate tenderness. The desire that had smoldered became flame.

As their mouths met in mutual hunger, Gervase slid his hand up her shapely leg to the hem of her shift, raising the gauzy fabric. He had to break the kiss to lift the shift over her head, but that deprivation was justified by the uncovering of Diana's full, stunning beauty. Her glossy chestnut hair tumbled loose in wanton tresses and her slender waist emphasized the rich womanly curves. Of their own accord his hands reached out to touch and caress as he tried to touch every silken inch of her.

As he gathered her in his arms to draw her into the tub, she laughed, torn between amusement and misty desire. "Do you really think this bath is large enough for two people?"

"It's a subject that deserves investigation," Gervase replied as she joined him, her body resting lightly on his in the buoyancy of the water. Her taut nipples teased his chest and their thighs brushed before her legs settled outside his. Her wet skin was sleek and smooth as satin, and he understood why sailors dreamed of mermaids.

When kisses and closeness were no longer enough, he cupped her round buttocks in his palms and lifted her easily onto him, sliding deep, deep into her body. She gasped and melted bonelessly against his chest, her long chestnut hair floating fanlike across the surface as their bodies pulsed together in a slow, exquisite underwater dance unlike anything Gervase had ever known. For these moments they were one in body and mind, their feelings so attuned that as they catapulted to rapture he was unsure which of them led the way and which followed, or if there was any difference.

They came down from the peak slowly, still joined while their rough breathing caused ripples in the water. What Gervase felt was far more than satisfaction, or even ecstasy. It was as if he had crossed into some strange new country with Diana, and his emotions were too new and profound to understand.

It was safer to say, "I'm surprised we didn't raise the water to the boil." One arm tight around her shoulders to support her above the surface, he brushed wet hair from her face tenderly as her cheek nestled against his collarbone. "I'm going to have fitted tubs installed in every house I own."

He could feel the vibration of her laughter as they lay breast-to-breast. Raising her head, she replied, "I hadn't realized how enjoyable a bath could be." Cautiously standing up, she climbed from the tub, wrapping herself in one of the large towels folded in readiness. "There seems to be almost as much water on the floor as in the tub."

The water was cold and lonely without her, so Gervase ducked under the surface to rinse his hair, then climbed out and they dried each other with towels and laughter. With both affection and lust satisfied, he was almost unconscious with fatigue. His last memory before falling into the deepest, most restful sleep of his life was enfolding Diana in his arms to hold her by his heart through the night.

* * *

As the young mistress and her lover slept, the French cook efficiently examined the contents of the viscount's abandoned pack with an experienced eye, carefully copying his cryptic notes before returning everything to where she had found it. After months of time wasted here, she finally had something of value to report. Most of what she wrote meant nothing to her, but she did not doubt that the Count de Veseul would understand.

* * *

When Diana woke, it was early morning and Gervase was still sleeping soundly. The gray stranger's face he had worn when she first saw him the night before was gone, and he looked young and peaceful. It pleased her enormously to have that effect. She didn't have the heart to wake him, so she broke another rule, letting him sleep while she had breakfast with Geoffrey.

After her son had gone, she went to her chambers and found Gervase beginning to stir. When she ventured close to see if he was awake, he seized her and pulled her into the bed for a morning greeting that left them both flushed and laughing breathlessly. Afterward they lay face-to-face, his hand cradling her head as he drifted toward sleep again. Then, abruptly, his gray eyes snapped open. "What time is it?"

"About ten o'clock."

"Good Lord, half the day is gone." He sat up and ran one hand through his dark hair, which was in dire need of a cut. Then he slid out of bed and located his clothing, which had been cleaned, pressed, and left neatly folded on a chair.

Diana sighed and got up also. She should have known it wouldn't last. She put her rumpled dress into some semblance of order, then pulled the bell twice as a signal for breakfast to be brought up. She enjoyed watching Gervase dress. Even his shabby clothes couldn't hide the beauty of his lean body. Wide shoulders, narrow hips, long muscular limbs, and that lovely masculine grace of movement.... She gave a sigh of pleasure.

"What are you smirking about?" he asked with a quick smile as he buttoned his shirt.

"I do not smirk," she said with dignity. "I was merely admiring your body."

He rolled his eyes. "I shouldn't have asked."

She chuckled, delighted to see him in such a light-hearted mood. He pulled on his worn jacket, looking every inch a man of distinction. She supposed that when he was skulking around Europe he changed his manner, but now he was unmistakably on his home ground. Breakfast arrived and the smell of hot country sausages persuaded him to stay long enough to eat. In fact, he ate ravenously, having been too tired—or busy—to eat the night before. Having breakfasted with her son, Diana wasn't hungry, but she had tea to keep Gervase company.

When he finished eating, he scooped her up in a playful hug, lifting her off her feet in sheer exuberance. "I'm sorry I have to leave, but as you can imagine, I've a thousand things to do after being away so long."

"Are you sorry you lingered here?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't say yes.

He grinned. "I should be, but I'm not."

"Will you come tonight?"

"Yes. Late, but I'll be here." He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her toward him for a quick kiss that momentarily threatened to get out of hand. Then he was gone.

Diana had her own day's tasks ahead of her, but for a few minutes she curled up in one of the wing chairs with a contented smile on her face. No matter what Gervase said or didn't say, this morning she felt like a well-loved woman.

* * *

Gervase's feeling of well-being was short-lived. He had intended to go directly to Whitehall to find the foreign minister, but his eye fell on the apothecary shop whose owner had watched Diana's house. After the warmth of her welcome, it seemed absurd that he had set a spy on her; time to pay the fellow off.

The shop was empty at the moment, and the apothecary, a dusty little man, greeted the viscount without surprise. "Good morning, my lord. I trust you enjoy good health." Then, with a knowing look, he added, "Yon ladybird is a popular wench."

The words were like a solid blow, puncturing Gervase's warm glow. Schooling his face to blankness, he said coolly, "Indeed?"

"Aye. Mind, I can't vouch for the nights, after I've gone home. During the day, things were quiet at first, but the last few weeks, she's had a fair number of visitors." Malice glinted in his colorless eyes. "Gentlemen visitors."

Gervase reminded himself that it was the apothecary's gossipy interest in his neighbors and his knowledge of prominent Londoners that made him so well-suited to spying; that and his location. And a caller was not necessarily a lover. "Did you recognize any of them?"

"Oh, aye. There was a gentleman we don't see much in London nowadays, Lord Farnsworth. He scarcely left the house for a week or more. And there's a young fellow, comes by in the afternoon. Saw them kissing in the window myself, bold as brass."

Gervase felt ill. Had she taken other lovers from boredom, or because she had reason to believe that he wasn't coming back? It hardly mattered. "Do you know who the young fellow was?"

"Aye. Lad called Francis Brandelin." The apothecary's gaze was voracious as he looked for a reaction; he was a man who fed on the griefs of others. Though Gervase had never identified himself by name, he didn't doubt that Soames knew who he was, and that Francis was his cousin. He'd be damned if he gave the old vulture the satisfaction of a response. "Was there anyone else?"

Soames scratched his head. "Well, in a manner of speaking."

"What does that mean?"

"There's a fellow I've seen hanging about when I've left for the night, a Frenchman."

"Why is he only 'in a manner of speaking'?" Gervase asked, unable to stop twisting the knife in his gut.

"Never actually saw him go in. I expect he was waiting till he was sure she was alone. He'd want her to himself." Soames gave a lewd chuckle. "He's a lord, the Count de Veseul."

Gervase had thought nothing could be worse than hearing that his best friend was one of Diana's lovers, but he had been wrong. The Count de Veseul was his own best guess for the French spy known as the Phoenix, a man of power and depravity. So he too visited Diana. Had he come as a lover, or as a French agent buying information about Gervase? Or both? If she had told Veseul that Gervase was heading to the Continent, she might very well have been shocked by his return.

Blindly Gervase reached into his wallet and took out his last gold pieces and set them on the counter. He was grateful that a customer came in, for it spared the necessity of comment.

As he turned toward Whitehall, he wondered what in all the holy hells he was going to do about Diana.

* * *

Gervase had said it would be late when he came, and the rest of the household was already in bed as Diana waited in the drawing room. She felt a nagging sense that something was wrong, even though he would surely have sent a message if he was unable to visit her. When the knock finally came, she set down her book and flew eagerly to the door. But her welcoming smile chilled at the sight of him. Checking her usual greeting, she looked at him searchingly, trying to decide what was wrong. The exhaustion of last night was gone, and so was the lighthearted openness of the morning. Instead, Gervase was remote, with the cool distance he maintained when matters between them were strained.

"May I come in?"

She had been staring rudely, she realized. "Of course."

She stepped aside and he walked past her. He was in his normal well-tailored attire, a London gentleman again.

"Have you eaten?" She faltered, trying to reestablish the pattern that had been between them for so long.

"Thank you, but I am not hungry." He walked into the drawing room and she followed.

"Then... do you want to go to my room?" she asked uncertainly. Over the months they had been together, food was optional, but the bed was constant.

"Again, no, thank you. I wish to talk to you, and a bed might interfere with that." He stayed on his feet, prowling, as if using one of her chairs would be a commitment.

"Gervase, what is wrong? Is it something I've done?" With growing dread Diana wondered if the crisis she had been anticipating was at hand.

"Perhaps." He leaned against a heavy mahogany table, his hands resting on the edge and one knee bent with a casualness at odds with the tension that radiated from him.

Under her defensive fear, Diana felt a stir of irritation. Choosing a chair, she sat and said crisply, "It's late. If you wish to pick a quarrel, please begin before it gets any later."

"It's not really a quarrel I'm after. It's just that..." He paused, searching for words. "Matters cannot continue as they have been. Whenever I have asked that you accept my protection, you have always refused, so I really have no right to complain that you have been seeing other men. I could live with the idea of... sharing you, as long as it was just a possibility. Now that I know it for a fact, I find it quite unacceptable.

"In the past you have laid down the ultimatums, and after due consideration I always accepted them. But this time the ultimatum is mine: if you will not promise me fidelity, I will have to end our arrangement."

Such cold words for what had been so warm. It was only when she looked deep into his ice-gray eyes that she saw the passion and the pain under the surface calm. Linking her trembling fingers together, she said carefully, "Why are you so sure that I have been seeing other men?"