Duchess in Love (30 page)

“Of course you did,” she said. “You had adorable little black ringlets.”

He smiled into her neck. “I hope you're not one of those people who goes to sleep every time you have a little pleasure.”

“Mumph,” said his wife with a huge yawn. And she seemed to think that her response was sufficient.

But Cam felt as if his body was one huge grin. He scooped her up and strode toward the bath. Then he paused because he didn't want to break a leg. He was pleased to find that he had walked unerringly to the top of the bath steps.

“Cam, what are you doing?” She nuzzled her face against his neck.

By now he was up to the knees in water. “Dropping you,” he said cheerfully.

She shrieked lustily when she hit the water. No reason for that, Cam thought. Lady Troubridge's heating pipe was working just fine. Wait till he dropped her in the Mediterranean in December. Now that was chilly water!

She came up with a squeak and before he knew it she'd
launched a counteroffensive that employed all kinds of body parts generally ignored in polite circles.

“I can't believe you did that,” he said a few moments later, panting and laughing at the same time. He had the advantage because of his uncanny night vision, but she was so slender and slippery that she seemed to disappear from his hand. And she attacked without warning—

“No, you don't!” he said with a shout of laughter, heading off an attack that might have had serious consequences. He caught her against his body and kissed her, a slow molasses kiss. “You wouldn't want to jeopardize our future little buttercups, would you?”

It took her a moment to remember. To think about buttercups, and him and her, in the same breath. But he was crushing his mouth against hers, and if her foolish heart melted even more…well, what could she do about it?

It was the second time that Phineas Finkbottle had observed the duke and duchess crushed in a passionate embrace. In the moment before he turned away he saw the duchess's slender, milky back and the duke's hand on the curve of her bottom. Phineas put down his lantern and turned to go without a sound. He couldn't let his witnesses see the duchess unclothed. But his heart was filled with glee. He, Phineas Finkbottle, had stopped that annulment in its tracks.

“I'm sorry,” he said, pulling the door shut behind him and looking at the little circle of dowagers whom he had promised to escort into the plunge-bath. “I'm afraid that this is not a suitable time to visit the facilities.”

“Why on earth not?” screeched Mrs. Flockhart. “What on earth is stopping us?”

He almost quailed but then he straightened his shoulders. He was a man of resource, a man who got things done. “I
saw a rat,” he said crisply. “Not an appropriate place for delicate ladies such as yourself.”

Mrs. Flockhart voiced what several were thinking. “Well! I do expect that Lady Troubridge,
poor dear,
will be rather horrified to know that she has been sharing her bath with rats! She is so insistent on the health benefits of a plunge-bath!” she tittered.

“D
o you know what I love about your eyes?” Gina said dreamily. “The way your lashes are so black. And they're all spiky from being wet. I would love to have black lashes, truly that color, I mean.”

“I like yours as they are. They're—” Cam broke off. “I can see your eyelashes.”

She turned her head and stared at the stairs up to the house.

“Look at that,” Cam said. “Someone's come in and left us a lantern. Thoughtful of them. Nice not to interrupt us.”

Gina looked down and felt as if her blush must cover her entire body. “I must dress,” she said.

“Yes. I suppose the door is no longer locked.”

He picked her up and strode back through the water and splashed his way up the stairs. Then he let her slide down his body, onto her own feet.

She looked at him, and smiled, a cat-in-the-cream smile. “You didn't seem to mind the dark very much.”

“Think you've cured me, have you?”

“You didn't need curing,” Gina said, standing on her tiptoes so she could look straight into his eyes. “All those
kisses your mother gave you were in your memory. You just needed reminding that she loved you—
Buttercup
.”

His smile was reluctant, but none the less sweet for that. “Perhaps you're right,” he drawled. She turned away to pick her gown off the floor. He pulled her back against him, holding her naked bottom against him.

Feeling rushed through her legs and her knees almost buckled.

“I'll be joining my lady in her bed tonight,” he said.

She couldn't even answer. The blood was pounding so hard in her ears that she wasn't even certain that she heard him correctly.

He let her go and strode over to his trousers. She stood for a moment, letting the fact that she was utterly, absolutely, in love with her fool of a husband sink into her head.

“And I'll be sculpting you with that piece of marble,” he tossed over his shoulder. “I've been working on the sketches for the last two days.”

Wonderful. Now she was to become the naked resident of cloakrooms. She didn't even care. She put a foot on the chaise longue and slowly pulled on a stocking. Her body twinged and protested. She was going to live among naked sculptures, become one herself. Her heart sang.

He was already dressed and had turned off the warming switch. “Cam,” she said, “do you see a garter anywhere?”

He plucked it from the floor and walked over to her. She took it and tied it just over her knee, shaking her gown down to the ground.

“I'm going to do your head and shoulders,” he said, tracing a line that ended just above her collarbone. “I'm not certain that I can do your eyes justice, especially the way they tilt at the corners. But this beauty here”—his thumb rubbed the back of her neck—“this is lovely and I know I can do it.”

Her relief must have showed.

“Thought I'd turn you into a naked Diana, did you?”

She nodded.

“I'll be damned if I ever let another man see your body,” he said. “In stone or in the flesh. You're my wife, Gina. Really my wife now. Not that I won't sculpt other naked bodies,” he added.

Her eyes narrowed. “Marissa?”

“Who else? I'm not putting you out in the marketplace. You'll be naked in my bedroom, and no other place.”

There was something about his eyes that made her trust him. Fool that she was, she couldn't even bring herself to question what he meant. Did he mean to take her to Greece? Or leave her home at Girton? She pushed the thought away.

“Oh dear,” she said with mock sadness. “That
is
a pity.”

“What?”

“If I'm naked only in your bedchamber”—she paused, her face alight with wicked mischief—“I gather we won't make use of the bluebell wood at Girton.” She smiled at him, a smile that licked his bones and made him stand harder than a piece of oak. “I know you're cured of your reluctance to be in the dark, but I thought perhaps we would need to refresh your lessons. At night.”

He concentrated on taking a deep breath. “May I escort you to your chamber, Your Grace?”

She dropped a perfect curtsy. “I would be honored.”

Gina tried to make her husband let go of her arm on the way up the stairs from the plunge-bath, but he ignored her.

“Stubble it, Gina,” he said, amiably enough.

“We should be restrained,” she said halfheartedly, as Cam pushed open the door at the top of the stairs. “I haven't informed my fiancé that I won't marry him.”

“Bonnington is not an idiot. Or perhaps he is. Either way,
it doesn't matter.” He held open the door, and Gina walked into the corridor.

“Cam,” she said, in a stiff, warning voice.

He looked over her head. “Well, if it isn't the ubiquitous Phineas Finkbottle.” He pulled Gina back so she was behind his body. Then he walked slowly toward the solicitor, watching the man's hands.

Faced with a livid nobleman, Phineas began to babble. “I hope I have not misstepped—I most regretted—but Mr. Rounton's instructions—truly, Your Grace, they were quite straightforward—I couldn't think of another—the earth closet—”

Cam stopped short and tried to make sense of Finkbottle's tangled speech. The man blundered on, but nothing he said made much sense. “What the devil are you talking about? What is this talk of earth closets? And what did Rounton tell you to do?”

A nervous giggle escaped Gina. “If I understood him correctly, Mr. Finkbottle almost locked us in an earth closet instead of the plunge-bath.”

Cam put an arm around his wife and pulled her tightly against his shoulder.

Finkbottle started to reply, something about keys and a gardener, but Cam brusquely interrupted. “Let's cut to the chase, shall we? Where the devil have you put the Aphrodite?”

Finkbottle visibly trembled. “The
what
?”

“The Aphrodite, you blithering idiot!”

“I merely followed Mr. Rounton's orders. He said nothing of an Aphrodite.”

“Don't blame this on Rounton. He would never instruct you to steal a precious statue. The man is loyal to our family.”

“I don't believe that Mr. Finkbottle has any idea what the
Aphrodite is,” Gina pointed out. “In fact, I would guess that the Aphrodite is safely in Esme's possession.”

Finkbottle stood there, looking as buffleheaded as it was possible for a young man to look. His face was as flaming as his hair.

“Are you the duchess's illegitimate brother, then?”

Finkbottle's eyes grew large.
“What?”

“The duchess's illegitimate brother,” Cam repeated. “Are you he?”

“No!”

“I can't think how you saw any resemblance between us,” Gina interjected.

“He has red hair.”

“I'm not illegitimate,” Phineas stammered. “I'm poor but that's not the same as being illegitimate. My father is a younger son of an earl. And my mother was a perfectly respectable woman, the daughter of a squire. And they were
married
!”

Indignation seemed to give him something of a backbone. “You have accused me of theft and of being ill-born, my lord, but all I did was lock you in the plunge-bath for a few hours.”

Cam stiffened again. “Well, why the devil did you do that?” he said softly. Phineas instinctively fell back a step. “Mr. Rounton,” he faltered.

“Mr. Rounton told him to do it,” Gina said. “Rounton sent poor Mr. Finkbottle to the house party and told him to compromise us. I believe Rounton might have thought he was protecting the ducal line.”

“Compromise us? Well, we'll see about that,” said her husband in a deadly, cool voice. “Thinks he can simply arrange my life to suit himself, does he? Well, it may please you to know, Finkbottle, that absolutely no one knows that we were in the plunge-bath. It takes more than two to be
compromised. You need an audience. There's nothing—absolutely nothing—to stop Her Grace from marrying that pestilent Bonnington tomorrow. And you can tell Mr. Rounton that from me!”

“Cam,” Gina said.

Finkbottle nodded his head. “I will, my lord. I will tell him immediately.” He edged to the side, obviously about to make a dash for it.

“On second thought, I'll tell him myself,” Cam said. His voice grated with rage. “I don't believe I wish to have a solicitor who takes it upon himself to organize my sexual encounters. Rounton has gone beyond the pale.”

Mr. Finkbottle turned even whiter, if that was possible. “If I might beg your indulgence, my lord,” he begged. “It was entirely my misinterpretation of Mr. Rounton's directions that—”

But a clear voice interrupted them both. “Cam.”

“Yes, darling,” he said, turning to her.

Her eyes were dancing, and her long hair lay damp and tangled over her shoulders. She put her hands on his shoulders and smiled at him, and it was almost enough to make Cam's irritation fall away.

“I disagree with you.”

“About what?” Cam asked, trying not to think about the fact that her lips were swollen and crimson from his kisses.

“I believe I
am
compromised. I am quite, quite certain that we were known to be in the plunge-bath. In fact, I believe my reputation is indisputably compromised.”

She watched as his eyes cleared. “Do you, love?” He lifted her hand to his lips.

“I fear so.” She sighed. “I should hate to think that you are trifling with me.”

He leaned forward and spoke just for her ear. “I fully intend to trifle further, this very night.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Would you feel the same had we been in an earth closet?”

“You could have sat on my lap,” he said with a twinkle. She colored, and he turned back to Finkbottle. “All right. Rounton's won. We're compromised. You can tell him yourself.”

Finkbottle gave a shaky bow. “Please accept my humble apologies for my impertinent action in locking you in the plunge-bath.”

“I am grateful to have been spared the earth closet,” Gina said.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Finkbottle said. “I have these papers for you, Your Grace.” He withdrew a thick folded bundle of parchment from inside his coat.

Cam took them. “Papers for the annulment?” he asked, thinking about ripping them in half.

“Oh no, that
is
your annulment,” Finkbottle said, rather more cheerfully. “Mr. Rounton had no trouble at all obtaining the annulment. Under the circumstances, the Regent waived the requirement for Parliament's approval. There was no question but that—” He ground to a halt.

“—that we never consummated the marriage,” Cam filled in. “And, given that the papers were signed two days ago, we never did consummate our marriage.”

Gina felt a little chill. She could have been a marquess already. She moved a little closer to her former husband and tucked her hand in his arm.

Finkbottle hesitated for a moment. “I hope you understand that while I would be most honored to be your brother, my lady, I could not overlook the fact that my parents were fast married.”

Gina almost laughed and caught herself. “Of course I understand, Mr. Finkbottle. Your kind wishes quite assuage my disappointment.”

He bowed and left.

Cam looked at his wife. “If Finkbottle is not your brother, then who is?”

Gina began walking down the corridor. “Don't you think it's odd that there has been no follow-up letter requesting money? After all, the annulment is in hand. I could marry Sebastian by special license and the writer would have gained nothing.”

“Special license!” Cam snorted. “Entirely too romantic for the wiggy marquess.”

“As it happens, he has been carrying a special license in his pocket for the last month, ever since you announced your return.”

“Well, he shan't have you.” He opened the door to his chamber, and Gina found herself in the room without conscious thought.

“Damned if I can think of anyone who looks like you,” Cam said, staring at his wife. “Red hair is surprisingly rare these days.”

“There's no reason to suspect that my brother is at the house party,” Gina pointed out. “Or that he has red hair, for that matter.”

“If your brother isn't here, who ransacked your room looking for the Aphrodite?”

Gina wrinkled her nose. “There's no one suitable at the house party,” she said with finality. “Why, the only red-haired man I can even think of is Lord Scotborough, and he's forty-five if he's a day.”

But Cam was staring at the wall, obviously not listening. “When did your mother die, Gina?”

“Countess Ligny? She died in March, almost two years ago now. Although I didn't know that she had passed away for quite some time.”

“Damn,” Cam said in a low, vicious tone. “Damnation!” He sprang from his chair.

“What is it?” Gina asked, startled.

“I sent him over here myself. Careless bastard that I am.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“What are you talking about?”

“It's Wapping,” Cam said. “I encountered Wapping just a month after your mother died. He must have thought we were living together. And I sent him over to you without thinking twice about it. Stupid, careless—”

“Be reasonable, Cam. Wapping can't possibly be my brother.”

“Why not? He appeared in Greece at the right time.”

“For one thing, he has brown hair, and for another, he has no idea that the Aphrodite—” She broke off.

“You told him,” Cam guessed.

“No! But I did ask him about Aphrodite—the goddess.”

Cam was at the door. “Come along, then. Do you know where he might be?”

“Upstairs. He works in the old schoolroom, if he's not asleep,” Gina said, joining him. “But Cam, he
can't
be my brother! I'm certain that I would know if I met my brother. I mean, he would be my own flesh and blood, wouldn't he? Wapping is a scholar, not a thief…” She kept the argument up all the way to the fourth floor, stopping only when Cam rapped on the door.