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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 bit back a moan of pleasure and closed her eyes. Maxime didn’t answer her until the delightful scrubbing paused and she heard him rinsing the cloth in the bucket. “His Highness sent the lord Odell, whom you might remember is the chief steward of the Duke’s Council. His Highness King Julien the Seventh, Master of the Eastern Passes, Sovereign of the Eight Duchies—which includes mine, he made sure to remind me—requires me to marry. He is weary of waiting for me to accomplish this on my own recognizance, and has ordered I marry immediately.” He returned to scrubbing her back, more vigorously than before.
She sighed and rested her elbows on her thighs so he could scrub harder. “I suppose since he can’t bear your heir himself, someone under his thumb is the next best thing.”
A moment’s silence, then Maxime laughed. “Julien is an attractive man, but I don’t think his tastes run to partners who are bearded.”
Fighting down an unexpected sharp disappointment, she asked, “When’s the wedding?”
“I refused.”
Imena peered over her shoulder at him, awkwardly because he was scrubbing her arm, shoulder to fingers. He wasn’t smiling. “You’re a duke of his realm,” she said.
“So I am. With all the rights and powers given thereunto. I’m a tad annoyed it took blackmail for that to happen, given that I was born to the position. Julien likely has another envoy on the way. I’ve already begun preparing a legal defense if he should try anything dubious.”
“Do you have an heir already?”
“I wouldn’t be so careless!” he said harshly. Immediately, he released his grip on her. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
His fingers had tightened on her, but only for a moment. “No. Will you scrub the other arm?” She’d never seen him show anger, not like this; not helpless anger, like the kind she felt herself. The rush of empathy she felt for him startled her, and she barely resisted laying her hand on his shoulder.
Maxime was much gentler with her left arm. “You didn’t come here to listen to me complain,” he said. “I have nothing to complain of.” He rinsed the cloth and added more soap; he swept the cloth over her breasts and belly with cool detachment. “Did the mangosteens travel well?”
Imena tried to ignore the warmth of his hands through the cloth. “Exceptionally so. We’ll be stowing them that way next time, as well. The custard fruit also. Chetri will be sending up a crate for you.”
She detailed the rest of the cargo, its cost and the expected profit, grateful for the distraction. As he swept the cloth over her thighs, Maxime said absently, “I like this one.” His fingers outlined an octopus tattoo, concealed within swirling tracery.
She shivered; this touch felt more intimate than the others. She didn’t mention she’d been thinking of him as she chose the design, and seen him in her mind as the needles had punctured her skin. The memory mixed oddly with the gentle pleasure of his touch.
He moved on to the rest of her leg without further comment. He asked other questions, his usual ones involving local conditions at the ports she’d visited, occasionally inquiring after a port official or shipyard master whom he knew. She gave him all the bits of information she’d gathered, no matter how small, including reports she’d had from Chetri, various of her sailors and her cabin girl, Norris.
Maxime listened to it all, an abstracted look on his face, but she knew from past experience he would forget nothing. When she’d finished speaking, he tossed a towel on the floor, knelt and began washing her feet.
He wasn’t massaging, or stroking more than he needed to stroke, but she couldn’t deny the erotic thrill racing up her legs. Imena stared down at the nape of his neck and thought about resting her hand there, or pressing her lips where his hair was pulled aside. She needed to say something, anything to distract her from his fingers sliding soap between her toes. She imagined his tongue sliding delicately between her toes and shivered with desire. Desperately, she said, “My parents want me to marry.”
CHAPTER TWO
MAXIME’S HANDS STOPPED MOVING, AND IMENA slowly let out her breath. He would stop touching her now, and she could relax. He was to marry a courtier’s daughter because his king commanded. She was to marry someone who wasn’t a duke; therefore even the thought of … this … was impossible.
There was no this. Maxime was performing a servant’s duty for her, that was all. One of his odd notions of diplomacy. She was a little overcome by his touch because she’d been at sea for months and was sadly deprived of sex.
She needed to shake off inappropriate arousal, leave here and find Sanji, who was always glad to see her on her infrequent visits to his chandler’s shop. Sanji would take care of her need in his sunny bedroom, and then they’d have a lovely dinner and she would play with his two sons out in his garden, and she might spend the night. He’d be happy to have her spend the night. He always said he’d like to see more of her.
She was having a difficult time remembering why mild, steady Sanji was preferable to Maxime.
After a pregnant pause, Maxime placed her soapy foot on the towel covering his thigh and began washing her calf, his strokes slower than before. She flexed her callused toes involuntarily against hard muscle; his shoulders tightened. She looked away. She would not think of it. She would not. He said, “Did your parents offer you any choice of husbands?”
Never had she been so grateful for conversation. “Nearly a dozen,” she said.
“Were any of them suitable?”
“They were all … very monied. Very eager to marry into the family of Admiral Leung. She chose them, though my father had final say.”
Maxime moved to her other calf. “They were eager to join with her family, but not with you? They object to your father?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “You told me about him, remember? I know he was a foreign captive.”
She’d forgotten that drunken evening, which he’d referred to as her interview for a position as his trusted captain. “Did I tell you what else that means?”
“You can’t inherit a position in the imperial navy,” he said in a detached tone. “Nor can your children. They can’t work for the imperium, at least not for payment, though their children’s children will be allowed to do so, so long as they pass the appropriate examinations. And provided all their other ancestry is imperial. You are, however, permitted to work as a privateer, risking death for the imperium’s glory.” As he spoke, he stood and dropped the cloth in the bucket. His hands closed over her tight shoulders and massaged.
Despite the bitter truth of his words, Imena drooped forward, sighing with pleasure. His thumbs were digging unerringly into the worst knot, just at the base of her neck. She hadn’t realized how much her head was aching until the gnarled muscle released. As if he knew, Maxime smoothed his palm over her scalp before returning to the massage. He said, “So what is the advantage, if you marry one of these men?”
Imena considered, though it was hard to think while his hands squeezed the tension from her shoulders and neck. “Position,” she said. “I’d be absorbed into his family, and would thus be considered trustworthy, at least to a certain extent. My husband would be responsible for me.” She tried to keep the anger from her tone, but couldn’t manage it.
“You’re not going to do that.”
“I might have to.” She slumped on the bench as his hands traveled down either side of her spine, pressing out tension as they went. “I’d have money of my own, to dispose of as I wanted. I would have to give up Seaflower, though. The wives of wealthy men don’t go to sea.”
He said, “It won’t come to that, if you’d accept sanctuary in the duchy.”
She smiled. “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t think King Julien would be happy to have the daughter of an imperial admiral living in his kingdom.”
“What if you married someone here? Your loyalty would be assumed more readily, and your children could do whatever they wished.”
She closed her eyes. “I’ve … considered it.”
“Have you?” Maxime clapped his hand against her shoulder. “Let’s have that soak.”
Imena chose cool water to douse herself and disperse her arousal before she slid into one of the smaller pools, across from Maxime. The stone bench beneath the water was slippery, and she had to brace herself with her toes. A moment later, she realized she’d braced herself against Maxime’s leg.
“I am sorry!” she said, splashing as she hitched herself higher on the bench.
Maxime laughed. He reached out and snagged her arm, drawing her to sit next to him. “If you sit here, you can see the new sculptures.”
Imena eyed him and tried not to grin. “Your Grace, are you trying to seduce me?”
“Only a little,” he said, and slung his arm over her shoulders. “Have pity,” he said. “I’ve had a difficult day, too.” He leered in a patently false way, and she laughed. Perhaps it would be all right. She could indulge, just a little, and harm nothing.
“Just this once, I will sit with you,” she said, and settled back against him. A velvety thrill chased over her skin as their bodies met. She shifted so their shoulders overlapped. His muscular bulk was as solid and comforting as it looked; the hair on his chest was softer than she’d expected. She wanted to rub herself against him, all over, just for the sensual pleasure of it, a reaction she didn’t even have to Sanji.
Such a pity Maxime was a duke, a pity for her and for him. She, at least, could flee the men her parents had chosen for her. She didn’t think Maxime would elude his king’s choices for very long. His arm tightened around her shoulders. It was more difficult to fight her body’s desire when she was this close to him. She slid lower in the water and rested her cheek on his firm pectoral, her nose tantalizingly close to his nipple. He smelled of cedar-scented soap. She could lick him with no effort at all, if she wanted.
Maxime said, “You’re not dozing off, are you? You haven’t admired the sculptures. Over there, in the grotto.”
Imena looked. The grotto had been hollowed out of the bathing chamber’s far corner to reveal stalactites; they’d been embedded with crystals that glowed softly in the lamplight. The new sculptures were small glass octopuses in every color of the rainbow, attached in different positions as if they swam among a forest of stone.
“They’re lovely,” she said.
“I’m glad you like them,” he said. He rubbed his hand over her upper arm. “Captain Leung, what if you married me?”
Imena laughed. “That’s the worst possible solution to both our problems. I would be a terrible liability to you.”
“Not necessarily,” Maxime said. He leaned a fraction to the side and kissed her ear, then the bare sensitive skin above it; the touch resonated down to her toes. Imena shivered and thought about edging away, but her body didn’t want to move. His nearness sang along her nerves. He said, “You have many valuable qualities. I also have many admirable traits that I would like you to consider.”
“Such as?” He was nuzzling behind her ear now, and at the back of her neck, and she really ought to stop him, but just those small touches felt amazingly sweet. She reached out to steady herself and found she’d grabbed his thigh.
“I would make your mother angry,” he suggested. His fingers trailed along her forearm, more gently than she would have expected. “You didn’t say you wanted that, exactly, but—”
“You’re entirely too good at this,” Imena said. Still she didn’t move away from him. She should do it. She should. But his touch felt so good, and she felt … close to him. Close from their talking, not from his body against hers. She wanted more closeness, however she could get it. Just a little. A little while longer.
She could be casual with him. She could keep her emotions under control. She was in no danger from him, nor he from her. She always worried too much. Perhaps she should give that up, and just once take what she wanted when she wanted it.
He said, “I’m too good at enticing you, or at guessing what you want?”
“Either. Both. I don’t know.” His breath was warm on her skin. It was making her flush more than the heat of the water. What if he kissed her? What could it hurt if she kissed him? She’d hardly be the first and would certainly not be the last.
“If you married me, you’d be a citizen of this duchy, and your children would even have diplomatic protection if they wanted to visit their grandparents.”
She said, “I never said I wanted children.” Maxime kissed the nape of her neck and, retaliating, Imena squeezed his thigh.
“You wouldn’t have to give up your ship.”
“Stop it,” she said. She twisted around, grabbed his hair and said, “If you’re trying to seduce me, I’d rather you didn’t talk about impossibilities.” She kissed him, firmly, and had to take a sharp breath at the taste of him. “Your seduction has worked. You don’t have to discuss this anymore.”
“But what if I want to—”
Imena kissed him again. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I have had a very trying few weeks. Do you want to fuck, or not?”
“An interesting question.” Maxime slid off the bench and stood in the pool before her. “I’ve tried that, in these pools, and it really wasn’t as exciting as you’d think. Inconveniently placed lumps of stone, for example, and of course there’s the mineral residue. But if you would just lean back and relax—” He smoothed his hands over her arms, then cupped her breasts. He could cover each one entirely with a hand; she felt her nipples tighten and press into his palms. “Stop scowling.”
His touch felt wonderful, but wasn’t distracting her from her problems. “I’m not scowling.”
“You think this is a bad idea.”
“Not entirely,” she admitted. “I do want you.”
“I suppose my being a cure for a terrible mood is better than some of the alternatives. I won’t be offended if you refuse me. Do you want me to stop?” When she shook her head, Maxime smiled and touched her face. His thumb brushed her cheek like a kiss. “Then perhaps if you come screaming a few times, it will help.”
Startled at his bluntness, Imena laughed. His mouth closed over hers, his tongue searching. She grasped his shoulders, then tangled her fingers in his hair. Wet, it dragged between her fingers. She burrowed down to his scalp and scratched. He moaned into her mouth and pulled back.
“No, no, you’re the one who’s supposed to be moaning,” he said. He rubbed his palms over her bare scalp, sending tingles down her torso. He didn’t stop, and she shuddered, arching up toward his body. “I wonder if I could make you come like this? You just shaved it, didn’t you? Your skin is so smooth. It feels like honey looks.” He leaned forward and licked. “You taste better than honey,” he said, his voice lowering.
He bent and suckled her nipples, one after the other, just enough to tantalize, not enough to satisfy. “Round and firm as grapes,” he murmured, and pressed them with the flat of his tongue, as a tongue might press her clitoris. She spread her knees, using her thighs to grab his hips; he made a needy sound and nestled between her legs. His cock thumped against her belly, enormous and hard and hot as the water, and she squeezed his length with her hand while he rubbed against her. His cock filled her palm, heavy and growing heavier. She wanted to put her mouth on it.
“That feels exquisite,” he murmured in her ear. “Stop, stop. You’ve got to stop that, or I won’t be able to—here.”
He slid his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her out of the water, planting her firmly on the pool’s edge. “Strong,” she gasped. She caressed his shoulders, his skin satiny from its recent scrubbing, his muscles like carved jade beneath.
Maxime rubbed her thighs, then pressed her legs apart and teased her cunt with his forefinger, sliding down the seam of her outer lips, leaving heat in his wake. She stopped breathing. He said, “You’re all gorgeous muscle with this glorious softness in the center. Have you ever sucked the sweetness from an orange? I’m going to peel you open, hold you captive against my mouth and suck your flesh until your juice runs down my chin.”
Imena grabbed his head and tugged him forward. She saw his teeth glint in a grin before he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, on her octopus tattoo, his damp beard rasping softly against her skin as he nuzzled the line where her torso met her thigh. “Your skin is like silk, soft as water, soft as water on my skin,” he murmured. One cheek brushed her cunt, his beard tangling in her hair, pulling with a thousand tiny flashes of pleasure. She dragged his head to her cunt and growled wordlessly, knowing he would allow it, sensing he would even like her forcefulness.
