How To Vex A Viscount (28 page)

“Of course, you need a bath, too,” she purred. “Those are fresh linens on the bed. Don’t you think fresh, clean bodies should romp on them?”

Romp? God, yes.

He stood with alacrity and peeled out of his frock coat. He was already fumbling with his waistcoat buttons when Daisy’s laughter stopped him.

“In good time, milord,” she said. “This tub is only big enough for one.”

He eyed it in randy speculation. “I can think of at least three ways we could both fit. I’m certain more will come to me if I put my mind to it.”

She grinned wickedly. “Later, perhaps,” she promised. “For now, I simply want you to relax and enjoy your bath. Would you please bring me that towel over there?”

Relaxing and enjoyment didn’t seem to go together in his mind at present, but he did as she bade. The Turkish cloth, with its tiny loops and silk-embroidered hems, was draped over her vanity chair. As Lucian went to fetch it, he heard her rise from the bath behind him, the water tinkling merrily as it sloughed off her body.

Daisy, naked and aroused and dripping wet. This was more than enjoyment. This was the stuff of his dreams.

He turned and found her standing beside the tub with her back to him. He was disappointed for only a moment before he began admiring the slope of her shoulders, the delicate indentation of her spine, and the curve of her bum. His mouth went dry.

Lucian imagined her in one of the poses from the Roman mosaic, bent double, grasping her own ankles, all her vulnerable parts open to him.

Spread for him.

He swallowed hard. Was it possible for a man to die of an erection?

She lifted her arms and peered over her shoulder at him with an impish grin. “Are you coming, or do you intend for me to drip dry?”

Reluctantly, he brought the cloth.

“This is a great deal too much fabric for the subject at hand,” he said as he wrapped it around her form.

She tucked a corner over her bosom and turned to him. The soft cloth covered her from breast to knee, but the sight of her bare calves and naked feet was still almost unbearably erotic.

“You look like some exotic princess escaping from a Turkish bath, all flushed and rosy,” he said.

“If I were, no doubt I’d have a band of frantic eunuchs at my heels,” she said with a laugh.

He smiled. “And the pasha would be after you, too, if you tried to get away.” Lucian pulled her close, all traces of merriment suddenly gone. “I certainly would if you thought to elude me.”

“No danger of that, my sultan.” She eased herself away from him. “Now, sir, if you’ll stand perfectly still,” she said as she started to unbutton his waistcoat, “I will try my hand at undressing a man.”

Her hands trembled a bit on the last button. He caught them and brought them to his lips for a quick kiss.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “There’s no way you can make a mistake.”

“On the contrary, society would say we are making a huge mistake. Or it would say I am, at least.” She gently pulled her hands away from his and eased his dimity waistcoat off his shoulders. “I’ve a feeling this would be much easier if I were still playing at being Blanche.”

“But it wouldn’t be real,” Lucian said.

“And you want it to be real?”

“Yes, Daisy.” He kissed her softly, then rested his cheek against hers and inhaled the fresh, clean scent of her skin. “What we’re doing is as real as it gets between a man and a woman. And I want you. Not Blanche.”

Her lips turned up in a slow smile. “That doesn’t mean I can’t put what I’ve learned from Mlle La Tour into practice, does it?”

“Not if you care for me in the slightest,” he said fervently.

She stood on tiptoe to kiss him and gave him a quick nip on his lower lip. “I assure you, sir, there is nothing the least slight in the way I care for you.”

Ever since Daisy caught her first glimpse of Lucian with his shirt off at his excavation site, she’d longed to run her fingertips across his broad shoulders. She’d ached to trace the indentations of his ribs and circle his brown nipples with her thumbs. To place a reverent kiss on his belly button and maybe dart her tongue into the space to see what he’d do.

Turned out, he groaned with need.

But he stood perfectly still, just as she’d asked him to. Tease the Statue was one of Blanche’s games, and like all her naughty suggestions, this new diversion was delivering plenty of titillation.

And Daisy hadn’t even gotten to the good parts yet.

She took her time, walking around him, trailing her fingertips along his narrow waist.

My, his fine bum fills out those breeches.

She ran her hand down the indentation between the firm globes of his buttocks, teasing him through the threadbare Manchester velvet of his breeches.

A sharp intake of breath hissed over his teeth.

When she completed her circuit, the front of his breeches was so strained she feared she’d have difficulty with the buttons. She brushed her palm across his erection, caressing him mercilessly through the fabric.

“Have a care,” he said through clenched teeth. “You may push me beyond what I can bear.”

“Then it must be time for your bath,” she said as she undid first one, then the other button on his drop-front breeches. “Before the water gets too cold.”

“At this point, I view cold water as a mercy.”

“Never fear. I have a kettle on the hearth. We can warm the water a bit.”

She knelt to tug the breeches over his hips and down his muscular thighs. His erection sprang free and took aim at her, point-blank, like a loaded pistol at a burglar.

She swallowed her giggle at that thought. She suspected Lucian wouldn’t find anything funny about that part of his anatomy.

Besides, she was quickly overcome with wonder at its thickness and length and the engorged vein that snaked along its left side. His scrotum was drawn tight, the dark skin dusted with darker hair. The sight of him made her belly clench, and moist warmth gathered between her legs.

“You were right,” she said.

“About?” The tension in that one word told her he couldn’t venture more for fear of losing his control.

“That lewd little lamp wasn’t anywhere near life-size.”

Laughter made his balls shake.

She made a mental promise to return to the region for further study while she bathed him. She considered kissing him, pressing her lips to the flesh so aching for release, but she thought better of it. For now.

After all, he’d already complained that she was teasing him beyond what he could endure. Daisy continued to pull down his breeches.

“Can I move yet?”

“Not quite.” She stared at his ankles in consternation. His breeches were hopelessly hung up on his pewter-buckled boots. “I guess I should have taken off your shoes first.”

He grinned down at her, past his waving cock. “And I thought that when it came to undressing a man, there was no way to make a mistake.”

“It appears I’ve discovered one,” she said with a wry grimace. “Perhaps I should grant you permission to move before you topple over like a felled pine.”

He didn’t need further encouragement. He was toeing off his shoes and peeling off his breeches and stockings before she could utter another word. In an instant, he swept her into his arms and kissed her.

They were pressed together, chest to breast, belly to belly. She could feel his hardness, his need. Only her towel separated them. When he released her mouth to kiss her cheeks, her closed eyelids, the sweet spot of her temple, she pushed against his chest.

“Lucian.”

“Hmm?” His kisses headed south now, leaving her jaw and traveling down her throat to the tops of her breasts.

“Your bath,” she reminded him gently.

He released her with a hint of a scowl and stomped to the tub. As she suspected, his derriere was glorious, the tight musculature bunching and flexing beneath his smooth skin as he moved. Lucian Beaumont, clad in only the skin God gave him, was, without doubt, the finest thing Daisy had ever seen.

He stepped into the tub and lowered himself with no concern about the water surging over the sides. Daisy shrugged. Mr Witherspoon could worry about the water stain on the carpet later.

“It’s barely warm,” Lucian said, his knees rising like mountainous isles from the surface of a soapy sea.

“That’s something I can remedy.” She skittered to the fire and brought back the steaming kettle. “Tell me when.” She tipped the spout and, taking care to aim at a place on the surface where there was nothing of Lucian poking out, she let the steamy water flow. As the heat spread throughout the tub, Daisy could see his muscles unclenching in the growing warmth. She emptied the entire kettle. “Better?”

“The water’s warmer, if that’s what you mean.” He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned against the raised back of the tub. “My definition of
better
would be for you to lose that towel.”

“That can be arranged.” She tugged at the corner of the fabric she’d tucked over her left breast and drew the towel off slowly, basking in the complete approval she saw in Lucian’s dark eyes. “And now for your bath.”

She knelt beside him and felt for the soap and washcloth along the bottom of the brass tub. She brushed his skin in several sensitive places before she came up with the items she sought.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what are you doing?”

“Wouldn’t the harem girl bathe her prince?”

“I’d rather find out if Daisy will bathe Lucian,” he said. “Remember, whatever games we may play, this is still real.”

“All right, Lucian. Real it is.” She lathered up the cloth and took one of his hands,

soaping and caressing. She moved up his arm, then across his chest to his other arm. She took her time, committing him to memory, every pore, every inch of skin.

She met his gaze when her hand slipped beneath the water to wash his belly and to dip lower. She held him, rubbed the nubby cloth along the length of him. She handled his balls, lifting and kneading gently.

A fire blazed behind his eyes, but he remained still, except for one hand. He found her breast and teased her nipple with his fingertips while she continued to wash him.

He made her ache something fierce.

She stroked his inner thighs, down to his knees and calves. Finally she lifted his foot from the water and soaped it, massaging the ball and instep with her thumbs.

“That feels wonderful,” he said. “But you’ve had your hand on the tiller of this little adventure long enough. It’s time for a change of command.”

He drew his foot away and crooked his finger at her. “Come here.”

“Lucian, the tub—”

“Let me worry about how we’ll fit.” He sat up straight and caught both her wrists. “Just step in. Here and here.” He pointed to either side of his hips.

If she did as he asked, she’d be astraddle him, totally open to his gaze and whatever else he might have planned. “But that will have me . . .”

His smile grew wicked. “Yes, it will. Soon I’ll know all your secrets. All you have to do is trust me, Daisy.”

Trust him. It was either that or stop breathing. She didn’t think she could live in a world where she couldn’t trust Lucian.

She stepped into the soapy water.

“The thing to remember about adult games is that unlike in whist or hazard, the rules are not hard-and-fast. Laws governing adult play are not to be regarded as permanent. They shift like smoke or disappear entirely in the blazing inferno of molten passion.”

—the journal of Blanche La Tour

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Blanche’s words tumbled through Daisy’s head while Lucian slid his hands up her legs. The teeniest bit of fear tingled alongside his fingers. She couldn’t remember any reference to this sort of game in Blanche’s exhaustive tome, never a mention of letting a man view and handle a woman from Lucian’s unique perspective.

Soon I’ll know all your secrets,
he’d said. He’d know more about her body than she. Daisy had no idea what she looked like from that angle. And there was no way to bring her legs together with one foot on each side of his hips.

Courtesans must be careful always to present themselves to their patrons in the most favourable light, according to Blanche.

Would he find this view “favourable”?

He reached the tender skin of her inner thigh and teased around each leg, front to back. So far, he certainly approved. Heaviness settled in her groin, making her swollen and prickling with sensitivity.

“So soft,” he murmured.

Then he caressed her intimate folds, his fingers sliding easily in her slick wetness. He avoided her ‘spot,’ and she forced herself not to move so his touch would ease the familiar ache. But she clenched her teeth with effort.

“No hair, though,” he said. “That surprises me. Are you always thus?”

“No,” she admitted. “It’s a courtesan’s trick. I kept having the hair removed so I could play Blanche more convincingly. Do you . . . do you like me like this?”

“Daisy, I would adore this part of you regardless,” he said as he touched her gently. “Even if you were hairy as a bushman.”

“A bushman!” She smacked the top of his head. “I rather think I’m not as bad as that.”

“Hold a moment,” he said. “I thought we were still playing Tease the Statue. Since when are statues allowed to move?”

“When the one doing the teasing does so with his mouth instead of his hands,” she said, glaring down at him.

“With his mouth. What a capital idea!”

Lucian sat straighter and grasped her bum, pulling her close. “Now, stand still, Daisy.” He glanced up at her, smiling wickedly. “If you can.”

His breath was hot on her, and when he covered her naked sex with kisses, her knees quivered. When his tongue invaded her, they nearly buckled. The world went suddenly liquid, and Daisy’s only goal was remaining upright. If she went down, it meant he would stop.

And she thought she might die if he did.

He’d avoided her special place before. He did not avoid it now. He twirled his tongue around her seat of pleasure, flicking it with quick strokes. He suckled. He tormented. He danced her to the edge of completion and pulled back in maddening retreat. The empty ache threatened to split her open.