Imena wasn’t often entertained there, and she wondered at it now. Though they’d never spoken of it, Duke Maxime clearly found her attractive, and she just as clearly never encouraged him in the least. He was her employer, and off-limits.
She’d made that mistake once before. Never again. One unmitigated disaster was enough for any lifetime.
If Maxime hadn’t been her employer, though, he might have been a candidate for a shore-leave affair, except that now he was also a duke, and clearly out of her reach. He definitely wasn’t husband material. Dukes couldn’t afford companionate marriage, and she refused to be merely a concubine or occasional lover.
She tried not to regret his accession to the dukedom. He’d been denied it his entire life; she ought to be happier that he’d achieved his goal. She never could have married him. Dukes or even almost-dukes didn’t marry politically difficult foreign sailors of ambiguous social rank.
And Maxime … she didn’t think he was made for marriage. Not the sort she would want. He had too many sexual partners, both his social equals and his servants alike. She wouldn’t share. She couldn’t see how he could forswear all others.
It was her parents’ fault she’d suddenly become obsessed with marriage. Perhaps Maxime had planned on a bath anyway, and had no ulterior motives. It wasn’t as if he had summoned her to his bedroom. She could use a soak in hot, mineralized water, and perhaps a massage from one of Maxime’s highly trained servants.
Her muscles had been knotted for weeks, ever since she’d arrived home and been ushered aboard her parents’ houseboat. The decks had been crammed with wealthy bureaucrats, swilling her parents’ liquor and estimating the value of the furnishings. One of them in particular, a provincial tax collector, had offended her with his oily grins and the way he took every opportunity to offer her food and drink, as if he were the host and not her parents. He’d touched her arm without asking, pretending fascination with the muscles of a woman who worked on a ship. She’d had to resist planting her knee in his crotch.
She really must stop stewing over it. Her mother meant well. Her father went along because he trusted her mother’s opinions when it came to imperial society, and planned to make the best of it in his own way. That didn’t mean Imena had to go along, as well. She would tell her parents so, as soon as she saw them again. Or, better, she would simply marry here and tell them afterward. She didn’t want to marry for convenience, but offered the alternative of an imperial, she would do it … wouldn’t she? If it didn’t work out, there was always the sea.
The corridor leading to the baths was utterly silent except for the faint rippling sound of lantern flames behind colored glass.
A heavy door, decorated with octopuses, opened and a man stepped out. He was naked, but in the area of the baths that was unremarkable. They exchanged polite nods, and he headed in the opposite direction, toward a row of guest chambers.
Was the man one of Maxime’s lovers? He’d partnered with almost as many men as women. She knew firsthand from two different ship captains that they’d shared liaisons with him.
It shouldn’t matter to her. Maxime was no worse than many a sailor, except he had more opportunity for affairs. She wasn’t sure why it bothered her. She had no business being jealous of his attentions.
She dragged open the door and slipped in, remembering to say, “Your Grace?” rather than “my lord.” She had not seen Maxime since soon after his accession.
He’d looked grand that day, his shoulder-length hair bound back in a sheath of gold filigree, emeralds glinting from his earlobes, encrusting his white gloves and shining from the buttons of his white silk coat, embroidered all over with waving kelp and heraldic octopuses.
Just now, all the panoply was gone; he was naked, and pouring a pail of water over his head. Soap bubbles sped down his muscular back, rear and thighs along with the water, leaving a damp sheen on his pale skin that begged for touch. Also, for her tongue.
Imena shook herself and repeated, “Your Grace?”
Maxime whirled. The pail in his hand did not block her view of his dark chest hair, flat belly and impressive cock. Hastily, she shifted her gaze to his face. Nudity was normal in the baths, but it wasn’t polite to stare.
He didn’t look as if he’d been engaging in sex, and the bathing room did not hold any scent of such activities.
His voice was low and pleasant as usual. “Captain Leung. I hadn’t expected you so soon. It’s good to see you. How was your visit home?”
He turned away quickly and scooped up a towel from a nearby bench, wrapping it around his waist. He wasn’t usually modest at all, so the towel surprised her, but perhaps he was chilled. Perhaps he’d dunked himself in cold water, but if so, surely his genitals. She stopped the thought, and an urge to laugh.
No doubt the towel was intended to let her know he wasn’t trying to seduce her. She hadn’t expected to find him alone, without even a servant. It was the unexpected intimacy that led to such thoughts about him, forgetting he was her employer. She hadn’t ogled him before, in similar situations. Well, not very much.
“I can return later, if you wish,” she said.
He used another towel to rub at his dark hair, thent wisted it back from his face with a ribbon. “No, no.” He gave her a closer look, and grinned. His smiles could be stunning, white teeth slowly revealed in his dark beard, and Imena was momentarily dazed. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked about your visit home. You look as if you could use a nice soak. Here, I’ll scrub you down while you report.”
Men and women were usually segregated in public baths, but in private ones standards were relaxed. She’d more than once visited the castle baths to see servants ministering to guests of opposite gender, or guests doing so themselves. However, she hadn’t thought a duke would take on such a task.
She was being foolish. This was Maxime. Duke or not, he was a very physical man. He wouldn’t change his bathing habits because of a title. And she … would like to have someone else bathe her. She was more tired than she had any right to be, her body tight with stress and unresolved anger. Maxime’s strong hands would feel good on her skin. A little indulgence wouldn’t kill her. This was only a bath.
“That would be welcome, Your Grace.”
She was already sweating in her silk coat and trousers, and it felt good to slip them off and hang them on hooks next to Maxime’s elaborate coat. Her dagger and belt knife went on a shelf next to his. The gold hoops from her ears went into a wooden bowl that already held his lacquered finger sheaths, an official-looking medallion and a pair of immense ruby earrings. Normally, he didn’t adorn himself quite so much. She asked, “Who visited today?”
He grimaced. “An envoy of the king.” Imena glanced around, and he gestured to a wooden bench. “Sit. I’ll carry the water.”
The bench was warm and polished to a sheen with age and scrubbing. Oil lamps in niches lit the stone chamber in sunset shades of red, orange, pink and gold; portions of the stone floor had been mosaicked in similar colors. Steam curled gently from the soaking pools; she inhaled and felt her breathing ease. It felt good to be nude. She could already feel the warmth easing into her as she laid a towel over the bench and sat. She listened to Maxime pour water. As he approached, she asked, “Why did the king send an envoy? Does he want his taxes? Have you been holding back, Maxime? Your Grace,” she added.
He didn’t appear to notice how she’d addressed him. “Close your eyes.” He smoothed a warmed cream around her eyes and gently wiped it away, removing the kohl from her skin. She could feel his breath on her face as he worked, more intimate than his hand’s touch. He cleaned the rest of her face with more lotion and a new cloth, then scrubbed her ears and finally her scalp. Shivers passed down her back with each touch. She was hard put not to shove her head against his hand like a petted cat.
“Why an envoy?” she asked again.
The soapy cloth touched her shoulder blade and he scrubbed vigorously. She