The snug fit of his leather trousers over his high, tight rear was no hardship to her eyes, either. She pondered the lacings down the sides of his legs, and then how easily she might be able to unlace them, either with her hands or with her teeth.
She gathered the skirts of her lavish afternoon gown in one hand and swept down the staircase, fanning herself idly. Various women of the court, in dresses almost identical to hers but for color and fabric, cast sidelong glances at her. The men, as one, stared, and she had to resist a smile at how easy it was to impress them. If only they knew she was merely a maid. Then they might realize how foolish they were, to be so impressed merely by a woman’s appearance.
She recognized three lords who had visited the ducal palace in the past few months. She had escorted all of them at least once from one room to another. None of them showed a flicker of recognition. All the better. If any of them conspired against Maxime, it was best they didn’t recognize her. Several women, in dresses even more elaborate than hers, were gathered along the wall, chatting with each other and ignoring the delicacies laid out on silver trays. Sylvie’s eye was drawn to a woman with a truly magnificent bosom. She wore a golden dress that emphasized her charms, and her masses of hair, pale blond, were dressed with a forest of hair sticks. She recognized the ruddy-gold knobs—they were a less artful version of hair sticks that Duke Maxime had given to Her Grace the Duchess Camille. Sylvie shifted slightly, just enough to glimpse the woman’s face. They’d never met before, but if she wasn’t Lady Diamanta Picot, to whom Maxime had recently refused marriage, Sylvie would eat the hair sticks in a sauce of garlic oil.
In a moment, Diamanta might notice she was being watched. Sylvie took an aniseed sweetmeat from a tray and began walking, as if without purpose. Raoul was not looking at her, but into his goblet. She approached him at an angle, accepting a goblet of wine from a servant on her way. He looked up when she came within arm’s reach. He was just as handsome close up as she had expected, his cheekbones slanting like wings and his eyes arresting.
“Madame Sylvia.” He smiled, a flirtatious smile without apparent pretense. Could he really be so naive as to reveal himself so clearly? “You remain beautiful. The passage of time has, in fact, only improved you. I cannot imagine how beautiful you will become on longer acquaintance.”
“Monsieur Raoul.” She inclined her head, then took her time looking at him on her way back up to his face. She asked, “With whom are you seated this evening for supper?”
“I am the guest of Lord Odell,” he said, “privy to the Duke’s Council. We visitors are not presumed to be loyal to any one duke, of course, so he acts as our docent while we learn the ways of the royal court.”
How convenient for me, she thought. Lord Odell was one of her chief suspects, mainly due to the fact that Duchess Camille did not like him very much. When Madame’s opinions could be pried loose from her, they were often very insightful into a man’s character. Second, Odell held much power in relation to the Duke’s Council and might have hopes of being elevated to duke himself. Third, he had been a messenger sent to Maxime’s duchy with the king’s demands; therefore, he might even have been the man Captain Leung had overhead conspiring. She asked, “Why is he not with you now?”
Raoul wrinkled his nose. “Lord Odell is attempting to speak with Lady Diamanta. See him, over there? He schedules his appointments with her near mealtimes, in the hope she will accompany him.”
“And is he successful?” Her surreptitious glance at the pair told her little, as courtiers were skilled at concealing emotions at public gatherings.
“I am sure she’s begun to consider him an annoyance.” He paused. “But she is very beautiful. I can hardly disparage his persistence, though I myself am a more practical man.” He smiled at her.
Sylvie favored Raoul with a smile in return. “Perhaps I may join you at table later this evening?”
He studied her for a few seconds, then said, “I would be most pleased, but I wonder how I can possibly afford you.”
He had gone to the trouble of learning about her, or whom she pretended to be. “In this matter, I am not for sale,” she said sharply. “I do as I like.”
“And you will request nothing of me after supper? How sad.” He took a sip of his wine. He flicked his gaze to hers, then coyly lowered his long lashes. He tilted his goblet and drank again, more deeply.
Sylvie watched his throat move, and licked her lips. “I did not say that,” she said. “If I did such a thing, however, I would make sure you regretted nothing.”
“Nothing at all, ever?” he asked, lifting his brows. “I wonder that I am the only one seeking you out, if that’s the case.”
Sylvie snapped her fan closed. “Do you imply I am less than desirable?” she said.
“No, only that I am lucky to have seen you first,” he said. “I have much to regret.” Then he smiled and bowed, with a graceful flutter of his gloved hand. It was a smile bright and stunning as lightning, and struck her in the chest with bittersweet pain.
I will have him, Sylvie decided then.
When she met his eyes, his smile broadened. He offered her his arm.
Taking the part of Sylvie’s lady’s maid was Gisele’s fourteen-year-old granddaughter, Alys. Alys had never before been to court, but was well practiced in dressing hair, thanks to her own long tresses and those of her sisters. She’d arrived after Sylvie, with the extensive luggage and an additional footman who would, if needed, serve as bodyguard. No one would think it strange that a rich woman such as Lady Sylvia would bring three retainers with her; in fact, they might be surprised she did not have more.
As Alys unpinned Sylvie’s hair from the day’s coiffure, she whispered into her ear, “Will you find the traitor tonight? Will you shoot him?”
Sylvie gave her a quelling glance. “Your grandmother informed me that your discretion was impressive,” she said loudly enough for any eavesdroppers to hear. “I don’t wish to hear your gossip.”
Alys sighed. “I had thought this would be more fun.”
“We did not come here for your benefit,” Sylvie pointed out. With satisfaction, she added, “I will need to wash my hair tomorrow, and I would like a proper bath each day. Perhaps you could obtain the necessary servants? I would prefer a bath here in my chambers.”
“Of course, madame. I will find rose oil for madame’s hair.” Sighing, Alys removed the last of the pins from Sylvie’s hair and let them fall into a lacquered dish.
Sylvie closed her eyes as Alys began to brush out her hair. She didn’t often have someone to perform that service for her. She’d forgotten how decadent it felt. She determined to enjoy every minute of the pampering.
When Alys began to separate out locks of hair for decorative braiding, Sylvie tipped her head to the side. Very softly, she said, “There is a man named Raoul. He puzzles me. Find out what his servants say of him.”
Alys’s hands froze, then resumed. Breathlessly, she said, “Yes, madame.”
“Also,” Sylvie said, “the lady Diamanta.”
CHAPTER NINE
IMENA’S CABIN WAS SILENT EXCEPT FOR THEIR breathing, and the omnipresent sounds of the sea. She was retreating from their intimacy. Again. Maxime said, “I’m in no danger of accepting a proposal from any of Julien’s candidates. Nor from anyone, except for you.”
Imena looked at him incredulously. “I said this had nothing to do with sex.”
“Oh, so we weren’t just fucking to glorious completion? That had nothing to do with anything? I can still taste you.”
She had the grace to color slightly. “That was my fault,” she said. “I couldn’t concentrate—”
He felt cold. “So you fucked me so you could tell me this had nothing to do with sex,” Maxime said very slowly. “Or perhaps it does have to do with sex. It has to do with you needing a fuck, and me being besotted enough to offer one.”
“You aren’t—”
“I was playing a game, it’s true, but I thought you were p
laying the game, as well. Lovers play games. They pretend to make bargains, but those bargains don’t change what those lovers are to each other.”
“You’re my employer.”
“And now I’m your lover. I’ve had my cock inside your cunt, Imena. I’ve had my tongue in your cunt. Do you think I do that with just anyone?” Her face betrayed her, and suddenly instead of being cold he was hot with rage.
“You do! You think I’d fuck anyone off the street at first glance!”
She crossed her arms across her chest. “You wouldn’t?”
“No!”
“What about merchant captains whom you barely know?”
He gritted his teeth for a moment, then said, “I know certain merchant captains better than you’d think. My spies give me thorough reports. You should know, you’re my spy, too.”
“So now I’m your spy, not your lover, is that it?”
“You said you weren’t my lover,” he observed.
“I did not say that!” Imena hissed. “I only said this wasn’t about sex. By the Great Whales of the Deep, if you would let me finish speaking, then I would tell you what it was about! I cannot believe you are being such a fool. You’re a duke, not a ten-copper lay!” He was being a fool. He sucked in a deep breath, then another. He wanted to leap to his feet and pace the room, but his ankles were still hitched to deck bolts. On any other day he would have laughed at the indignity of it; just now, he couldn’t summon his sense of humor. He crossed his arms across his chest, mirroring her position, and inhaled again, deliberately slowing his breathing to calm himself. After a few moments, his pulse quieted, as well.
“I do not understand you,” he said at last.
“I don’t understand you, either,” she said. “I respect you, Maxime. Don’t think I feel nothing for you.” She lowered her hands as if to plunge them into her pockets, then appeared to realize she wasn’t wearing any clothing. She scooped her trousers off the deck and tugged them on, then put on her singlet, as well.
It was easier for him to be calm once she was no longer naked. He wasn’t sure what to say, but an apology never went amiss. “I’m sorry,” he said.
This time, Imena did plunge her hands into her pockets. “I shouldn’t have left you so long alone, but we were pursued, and I was required on deck.”
Maxime blinked. “Pursued by whom? My aunt?”
“No. A royal cutter, perhaps two. I feared for you.”
That explained a great deal. He said, “Julien will not truly harm me,” he said. “Too much money flows from my duchy into the royal coffers. He will be unpleasant if I refuse to marry as he suggests, but in the end—”
“No. There is a plot of some kind. I don’t know its extent, but from what I overheard, you were in imminent danger. Perhaps in danger of death. I couldn’t think what else to do.”
He’d never before known her to act so rashly. Perhaps she did care about him. He said, “Thank you.”
“Don’t say the rest,” she said. “I know it was foolish to drag you off the way I did. I should have told you what was happening, you and Lady Gisele. But if I hadn’t hurried, we would have missed the tide.” She paused and looked at the deck before looking into his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you immediately. I was angry.”
“Because I approached Chetri?”
“Yes.”
Maxime drew a deep breath and let it out. It wasn’t as if knowing sooner would have done him any good. He still would be trapped on this ship. “Does my aunt know now?”
“I gave Sylvie all the information I had to pass on to your aunt and to Her Grace Camille. It wasn’t much. Sylvie will investigate. When it’s safe, we’ll return you to your duchy.” She went to her desk, unhooked the chair from it and sat down. She drew paper from a drawer and began to make notes.
“That’s all? You know nothing else?” He could feel his muscles tensing again. He strongly disliked helplessness, particularly when helplessness went along with lack of knowledge. “Did you arrange drop points?”
“I wasn’t planning to visit any drop points with you on board,” she said. “That would defeat my purpose in keeping you safe. There’s no guarantee your drop points would be safe.”
He threw up his hands. “You might as well seal me into that cubby under the deck, then. What’s the use of having mercenary captains if they won’t try to obtain information?”
“This conspiracy originates at court, you may wager on it,” she said. She dipped more ink onto her pen. He noted it was the steel-nibbed pen with inlaid lacquer designs he’d given her after her previous voyage.
“And we’re at sea.” Nowhere near court, or anywhere else they might obtain information.
She smiled. “I suggest you set your mind to enjoying your idyll,” she said. “I know you’d rather investigate the danger yourself, but I refuse to allow you to get yourself killed. You pay me, after all.”
“Too generously, I’m thinking,” he said. “Or—” he grinned “—perhaps not generously enough, for such services as rolling me naked into a carpet and carrying me off to your lair.”
He could tell from her voice that she was fighting a smile even as she said, “This is a serious matter.”
“So it is,” he said. “All the more reason not to worry overmuch. You can be frozen with worry.”
“Are you attempting to lull me?” Imena asked. “I won’t have you plotting anything aboard my ship.”
“You said yourself that I was your employer.”
She thought for a moment, then said, “My services as a bodyguard come for free.”
“You can’t forbid me to deal with a problem that concerns me most of all,” Maxime noted. “I also remind you that I am the person aboard this ship who knows the court most intimately. I’ve swum with those sharks since I was a child.”
“So long as you swear to me that you will not attempt to leave Seaflower.” She took a cloth and blotted her ink. He could see the muscles flex in her arm with the motions.
“I can hardly leave the ship while we’re in the middle of the ocean,” Maxime pointed out.
“When we reach port,” she said patiently.
“There might be extenuating circumstances.”
Imena sighed explosively. “You can never agree to anything straight out, can you?”
“Of course I can. I hired you.”
“That wasn’t immediate.” She meant that he’d treated her to a long and elaborate dinner, over which he’d questioned her about her qualifications, followed by an increasingly more drunken evening that had included a tour of the local taverns.
He said, “Actually, it was immediate. I knew as soon as we met. I just didn’t tell you until later on.” He’d decided he wanted to marry her almost as quickly, but now was definitely not the time to bring that up.
She looked dubious. She said, “You should allow me to protect you. I don’t think you give the threat against you enough credence.”
“Well, we haven’t much information, have we?” he asked in as reasonable a tone as he could muster. “I’ve never known you to be so cautious.”
“We’re on the defensive,” she pointed out.
“We don’t know from where attack will come,” he countered. “Imena, it is your profession to gather information. I pay you to gather information. So why aren’t you finding out all you can, instead of merely delegating to Sylvie?”
She turned in her chair, straddling it and resting her arms on its back. She’d straddled him that way and— He looked away, thinking cold thoughts. She said, “You forget, Maxime. I am hardly inconspicuous in your country. Even if I grew my hair to cover my tattoos—and there was no time for that—I am a foreigner. Clearly a foreigner, even in my own land. And I doubt there’s a single person at the king’s court who wouldn’t be able to figure out who I am.”
“There are ways to obtain information quite openly,” he said. “Or for one person to draw attention while another is more discreet. We could still return to shore and
pursue this together, separate from Sylvie’s inquiries.”
Imena closed her eyes, and Maxime inwardly smiled. She hated being idle as much as he did, or even more. She would see the sense of his words and sail them back to the duchies, and then he would find out who was trying to rule his life. Aside from the king, that was. The sooner this was taken care of, the sooner he could resume persuading her to marry him.
Imena met his gaze and said, “I don’t think we should take the risk. I can’t risk your life.”
“You? Speak of risk? After a youth spent chasing pirates?”
She half rose from her chair, then subsided. “You are the duke now, Maxime. You have a responsibility to your people.”
“You have a responsibility to me.”
“It doesn’t involve me getting you killed. I can’t allow it, not when there’s an alternative. Besides, Her Grace Camille would never speak to me again if I allowed you to be killed.”
“If that happened, I wouldn’t be speaking to you, either,” he pointed out, again striving to calm himself. “All right, for now I’ll accept your recommendation.”
“For now,” she said, looking unconvinced.
He grinned at her. “We have other things to do. You gave me four days, with an option on a fifth. Perhaps you might untie me now?”
Imena looked down at the deck. Her hands twisted on the chair’s back. “We can’t do this, Your Grace,” she said. “It’s foolish to pretend you’re persuading me of anything. You know I want you. I know you want me. That’s all there can be—wanting but never really having.”
“I seem to recall having you quite recently,” Maxime said.
“You did. But I’m afraid I can’t go through with it again.”
CHAPTER TEN
TWO DAYS LATER, IMENA SWAM ALONG THE SIDE of Seaflower. “Roxanne! I’ll need a hull scraper!” She plunged beneath a cold wave then let herself bob to the surface, shaking droplets from her head and vigorously treading water. Her hair had grown out to a soft stubble, but it wasn’t enough to keep her warm unless she kept moving.
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