“That was Venetian crystal, Your Grace.” The low voice slid into his veins like honey. His gaze followed the sound to find Sarani curled up in a chair near the bookshelves that was thrown into shadows, observing him over the rim of the twin to the goblet he’d carelessly smashed.
“What are you doing?”
“Thinking.” She held up her glass. “Imbibing.”
Rhystan frowned. She was still dressed in the torn, bloodstained gown she’d had on earlier. His frown turned into a scowl. Hadn’t he instructed his valet to tend to her? A soothing bath would have been the least of it. “Harlowe didn’t run you a bath?”
Watching him, she let out a sigh. “Before you strip the hide off your very kind valet, I dismissed him.”
He approached her cautiously. “Are you all right?”
“Not particularly,” she said. “But this is helping. You really do have the finest whisky. Where’s it from? Scotland?” He nodded, and she smiled, lifting the glass for a sip and then licking the bow of her top lip to collect the moisture there. The provocative swipe made his breath hitch. “Tastes like you.”
Was she sotted?
“My lady—”
“Sarani,” she whispered. “Call me by my name, Rhystan. I’m so sick of pretending to be someone I’m not.” She made a wry smile. “If I’m being honest, you’re the only one I’ve ever been able to be myself with. Then and now. As the princess and as the pretender. I’m so bloody tired of trying to fit in and follow all these ludicrous rules that make no sense. I don’t belong here.” She let out a sound that was painful. “I don’t fit anywhere.”
“You fit with me.”
“You’re a person, not a place.”
Rhystan closed the gap between them and dropped to his knees in front of the armchair. “Belonging isn’t always defined by earthly margins.” He tapped his heart and then his temple. “It can be here and here. Home is where you make it.”
Her soft laugh rasped over his senses. “The Duke of Embry, so poetically mawkish… Who would have thought it?”
“Tell a soul and I’ll deny it to the grave.”
She stared at him, so much swirling in those glittering eyes that appeared dark in the dimness of the study, and took another sip before offering the tumbler to him. He took it and swallowed. It was strangely intimate, sharing her drink. Her hand lifted and reached forward, sifting into a lock of hair curling onto his brow. Rhystan fought the urge to lean into her palm like a cat.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“Helping me.”
He frowned, something in her tone grating at him. Why did it sound like she was saying goodbye? “I didn’t do anything. You dispatched that man on your own. And besides, it was part of our agreement, remember?”
Her face shuttered. “Ah, yes. I’m your pretend fiancée.” She laughed, the sound hollow. “There’s that word again. Pretend. It’s so whimsical, isn’t it? But all it is…is a blade hidden in silk, roses sheathed in thorns. A dangerous lie.” She reached for the glass, wrapping her long fingers over his, and drained the remainder of its contents.
Then she leaned forward and kissed him, the scent of her invading his senses, the press of her lips making his thoughts unravel. “Sarani…what are you doing?”
She uncurled her slender, graceful body from the chair and stood, every inch a princess, ever still a warrior goddess, voice imperious. “I believe you said something about a bath, Your Grace.”
* * *
Sarani’s hands trembled as she disrobed, the sound of running water making her breaths shorten. Thank the goddess for the front-fastening ties of her gown, as it would have tested her mettle to have Rhystan undress her. She was on the edge of absconding as it was. But this had to be goodbye, and before she left, she wanted him to make love to her as herself. Not as anyone else.
She’d never staged a seduction before, but a bath was as good a place to start as any.
She would be naked, after all, and if she had anything to say about it, he would be, too.
A blush chased over her skin. Before she lost courage, she pushed open the connecting door to the bathing chamber and peeked around it. The room was empty, though steam rose from the filled bath, the scent of jasmine oil drifting toward her.
“Rhystan?” she called.
There was no answer, so she darted across the floor and stepped in, sinking into the deliciously hot water of the massive tub. It slid across her skin, the heat seeping into her aching muscles, and Sarani sighed with unbridled pleasure and closed her eyes. It was so large that she couldn’t reach the other end with her toes and she had to stretch her arms wide to reach the sides. It was obvious that this bath was built for two. The thought made more heat drizzle through her.
“Good?”
Her eyes flew open to see the duke standing at the door to his chamber. Sarani’s breath fizzled in her throat. His coat and waistcoat were gone as was his cravat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing thick, muscular forearms. Her mouth dried as he walked toward her, sitting on the carved built-in mahogany bench at the end of the bath. He reached for a cloth and dipped it into the water.
“What are you doing?” she asked over her shoulder, watching as he wrung it out and rubbed a bit of soap on it.
He grinned, his eyes flashing. “Seeing to my duties as a good cabin boy and washing your back. May I?”
“I suppose I could get used to this.” She nodded and bit back a groan when the cloth grazed her nape.
“Lean forward and put your arms around your knees.”
Doing as he asked, Sarani sighed in contentment as he rubbed the cloth over her shoulders, leaving a rash of gooseflesh in its wake. His strong fingers massaged the soap into her skin with small, ever-expanding sweeps, and she couldn’t hold back her moan when they dug deep into the tense muscles of her back. She was nearly purring like a kitten as his hands worked their way down her spine.
After a while, the only sounds were their combined breathing and the soft slosh of the water as he worked the knots out until Sarani was limp and boneless. At some point, he’d discarded the cloth, and it was skin to skin. His fingers caressed her sides, up her ribs, tantalizingly near the slope of her breasts beneath the water, and she shivered.
When he gently tugged back on her shoulders so that she was lying with her nape resting on the lip of the tub, his slippery hands moved down her clavicles in tiny circles. Each sensual dip brought them closer to her tautened breasts. Her nipples ached in anticipation of his touch, and when he finally slid his wet palms over them, Sarani couldn’t swallow her whimper fast enough, arching into his touch and eyes finding his.
His gaze stormed into hers, blue fires lit in his smoldering irises. The blue had darkened almost entirely to slate gray with desire. “Do you have any idea how exquisite you are?”
Words failed her at the possessive look on his face. The slippery feeling of his hands on her skin was intensified as he rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until every inch of her was aflame with arousal. He didn’t release her eyes, and Sarani felt the pressure start to build deep in her core, just from the combination of his touch and the intensity of his stare.
“Kiss me, Rhystan,” she whispered.
He braced his arms on the sides of the tub and hovered over her, taking her lips in an inverted position. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, his tongue grazing along the soft inside of it, the reverse feel so erotic that her entire body shuddered in response. Heat danced across her nerve endings as she parted her lips and invited him in, their tongues teasing and dueling for control. The sultry kiss threatened to incinerate both of them.
“I want you in here,” she moaned into his mouth. “With me.”
Rhystan licked along her swollen lip. “You wish me to bathe with you?”
“Among other t
hings.”
Sarani had no idea where her sudden boldness came from, but an answering groan ripped from his chest. He stood and pulled off his shirt, making her mouth water along with other needy parts of her. She would never tire of seeing him unclothed. He was magnificent—all sculpted, lean muscles and edible masculinity.
Shucking off the rest of his clothes, he stood there in all his ducal glory. His erect male part bobbed nearly at eye level, standing thick and firm, a drop of opaque liquid pearling at the end. Sarani didn’t stop to think. She pulled herself to the side and licked it off. The taste of him was heady and potent. Encouraged by his groan, she rose to her knees, gripping the edge of the bath, and took the rounded crown of him into her mouth.
“Sarani!”
She peered up at him through her spiky, wet lashes. “You like this?”
“Yes.” It was part gasp, part growl as she took him deeper. Emboldened at his reaction and how she’d felt when he’d licked her, she flicked her tongue on the underside of him, working her mouth up and down and adding more friction with one palm curled around his base.
She was just settling into a rhythm when he groaned and pulled himself from her mouth. Water sloshed over the sides as he plucked her from the bath, but Rhystan didn’t seem to care. He sat on the edge and hauled her toward him between his knees until she was flush against his large body, his arousal prodding her stomach. Water from her body dripped down his.
His gorgeous eyes were laced with desire, his thumb caressing the curve of her jaw. “Who are you?”
“A princess,” she whispered. “But you may call me Sarani. In private.”
Fraught with emotion, his gaze captured hers. She’d said it on purpose. It’d been the exact words she’d said to him when they’d met for the very first time. In a way, this was a glimpse into what could have been. And that was all she wanted to take with her when she left—one memory of what they might have been.
“I’m Rhystan,” he replied huskily.
She kissed him then, fitting her mouth to his. “I want you.”
“I am yours to command, Princess.”
Sarani’s eyes widened as he lifted a wicked brow with a slanted glance to their bodies. She blinked in confusion. Did he mean right here? Or for her to mount him as one would a horse? Or both? Some of the erotic sculptures she’d seen in various temples of couples threaded together came back to her, and she felt heat fill her cheeks.
Rhystan answered her unspoken questions when he took her lips in a hungry kiss and lifted her over him so that she was straddling his hips with hers. The intimacy of the position and the slickness of her wet body against his made her gasp. Her legs dangled into the hot bathwater behind him before she wrapped them around his waist.
“Here?” she asked.
“Here.” His voice was as tight as hers, his fingers palming her breasts. “Ride, Sarani.”
His filthy command went straight to her core. She moved then, lifting slightly to notch him at her entrance and then letting gravity do the work. They groaned in unison when she was fully seated, her muscles clenching around him. The upright position added to the heightened sensations, making her breath hitch as he stroked her on the inside.
He placed his large hands over her hips and eased her up before guiding her down again. The slow erotic slide nearly had her eyes rolling back in her head with pleasure.
“You feel so good.”
“So do you, my apsara.”
The endearment, his love, filled her with sorrow-tinged bliss, and she tucked it away deep inside her heart. He might not truly love her or be willing to make her his duchess, but at least she would always have this part of him and this memory. In this moment, he was hers forever. In this moment, she felt cherished. Maybe even a little loved.
Sarani closed her eyes and quickened her movements, letting the glorious sensations build inside her until they were nearly impossible to bear, until she could only whimper as her body repeatedly impaled itself on his, taking everything he could give.
“Rhystan…”
His hand slid between their writhing bodies, his thumb circling the pearl of her sex where everything coalesced, and then her vision went to white as everything detonated. Pleasure shivered through her veins as she clenched around him. With a growl, Rhystan sped up his thrusts until he, too, was on the brink of eruption before yanking himself from her and roaring his release.
Sarani collapsed onto him, breathing hard and listening to his pounding heartbeat as it slowed. Her skin grew chilled as the heat dissipated, but nothing short of a miracle would incite her to move.
Tonight, something profound had shifted between them. An understanding. A release of past hurts. An acknowledgment of what they’d been and what they were now.
Friends. Enemies. Shipmates. Lovers.
“What are you thinking?” he asked after he’d caught his breath, fingers trailing down her back.
Her smile felt bittersweet. “That I wish we could stay here forever…and that we probably both need a bath.”
Rhystan gave a chuckle as he stood, scooping her up into those strong arms, and then stepped into the still warm water. He sighed, once she was propped against him, her back to his chest. “I know the situation isn’t perfect. Once things are settled with Ravenna, I’ll free you from our agreement and see you settled anywhere of your choosing.” He paused, and Sarani’s heart squeezed, predicting what was coming. “Perhaps we can still find a way to see each other? I could…visit you.”
Like a paramour.
Sarani didn’t answer. He didn’t have to say the words, though they hung between them like a cloud. A tiny part of her screamed that she would do anything to see him, even for a few stolen moments, and even if she was hidden away like something to be ashamed of. But the rest of her railed. She could never be anyone’s mistress…not even the man she loved.
She deserved more.
But Sarani understood all too well about the demands of duty and the bonds of family. She would never begrudge Ravenna, whom she adored, a good match. And the dowager duchess… Well, she’d lost nearly everything—a husband and two sons. Sarani did not blame her for wanting to protect the family she had left. If she were a mother, she’d do the same thing.
Logic did not make the thought of what she had to do hurt any less. She let out a breath. She would start fresh, store away her memories, and treasure the time she’d had. Sarani felt a tear trek down her cheek and was grateful for the humidity of the chamber and the bathwater to disguise it. How would she ever be able to leave?
How would her body survive without its heart?
Twenty-Four
“Good gracious, this is the worst kind of crush,” Ravenna complained sotto voce. “I can barely move, and have you ever noticed how much it stinks? Underneath the oils and the perfumes, you’d think people would smell pleasant, but no, it’s sweat and grime and goodness knows what else. Honestly, if I breathe in this putrid air much longer, I might die.”
Rhystan frowned at his sister’s diatribe, but Sarani hid her smile behind her fan. “Surely, you must love Eau de Smelly Sirs by now?” she teased and then winked at Ravenna.
His sister, the very soul of indiscretion, threw back her head and laughed, drawing the attention of many in the ballroom, including their mother. He resisted the urge to tug on his collar. Being in this sweltering ballroom was torture, but it had to be done for Ravenna’s sake. The sooner she married, the quicker he could leave.
The hypocrisy weighed on him, but he shoved it down.
He cleared his throat. “Then be sure to set your attentions on the least smelly suitor. I wouldn’t want my only sister to perish because of sensitive nostrils.”
Both ladies stared at him in astonishment, Sarani pinning her lips to stop from grinning and Ravenna gaping, but their responses disappeared as his mother neared with her usual entourage. Lady Pene
lope, rather surprisingly, was on the arm of Lord Talbot. Rhystan did not miss the earl’s lustful stare trailing over Sarani, and he fought a spike of anger. He frowned, scanning the crowd. Would Markham dare to show his face as well?
The bastard wouldn’t be far off, and God knew that he’d been persistent in his efforts to gain another audience. He hadn’t heard from Gideon about Finn Driscoll, but it was only a matter of time. And Markham was desperate enough not to risk the bird he thought he had well in hand.
Rhystan’s gaze flicked to Sarani, but if she noticed her former betrothed with her archenemy on his arm, she did not show it. Her expression was unruffled, eyes displaying none of the sparkling humor from earlier. One wouldn’t guess that she’d been in a knife fight with an assassin just a handful of days before. Princess on the surface, warrior beneath.
He hoped she would consider maintaining a friendship, but he knew it wasn’t likely. She deserved better than a half-life with a duke who could not marry her. She deserved a chance at a loving husband, children, and a home full of laughter.
Not a man who didn’t even know who he was.
“Embry,” someone said, interrupting his thoughts.
Rhystan inclined his head to an old acquaintance, a Frenchman, who had approached with another gentleman. “Lord Marchand. Fishing for prospects on this side of the channel?”
The marquis grinned. “I cast my nets where I can, Your Grace.”
Introductions were made, including the young buck who’d been angling to meet the Huntley heiress. He watched as Ravenna and Sarani were led off by Marchand and the hopeful suitor for the start of the next dance and suppressed his groan when his mother arrived at his side where he’d walked to stand in a quieter corner of the ballroom.
“Ravenna is in good spirits tonight,” she said. “The gentleman she is dancing with is the son of an earl, and the one dancing with…”—she broke off, lip curling—“and the other is a French marquis.”
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