The Dream of a Duchess

by Sande, Linda Rae

  When Enyo suddenly knickered and her hind legs moved, Isabella pulled away and quickly scrambled to her feet. She held out a hand to Octavius. “She’s going to clean her,” she said in a whisper.

  Octavius regarded her hand a moment before finally gripping it. He leaned forward and pushed himself up from the straw bedding, eventually wrapping an arm around Isabella’s shoulders as they both turned to watch as Enyo slowly got to her feet and began cleaning the filly.

  The first foal was soon next to his mother, his head nudging her belly in an attempt to locate an udder. And while Enyo cleaned up the filly, the colt helped himself to his first meal.

  Exhausted, Octavius leaned over and plucked his shirt from the straw. “Despite your hesitance to do so, we are waking Master George so he can see to mucking out this stall and putting in some fresh bedding,” he said in a voice that belied his tiredness.

  Before he could lead Isabella out of the stall, though, the stableboy appeared at the door. “No need, Yer Grace. I’m awake. I’ll see to Enyo right away,” he claimed, his eyes widening when he spied the two foals. “Twins?! Congratulations, Yer Grace,” he said with a bow.

  Octavius allowed a grin. “Thank you, although I do think most of the credit goes to her,” he said as he pointed towards the mare.

  “Whatever you say, Yer Grace,” the boy replied with a nod. He hurried off to retrieve a pitchfork as Octavius held Isabella. They watched until the filly had located a teat not already claimed by the colt. When he was sure the filly was nursing, Octavius led Isabella out of the stall.

  “Stay, Nelson,” Isabella ordered as she held a hand up in the direction of the dog. Immediately lowering himself to the ground, Nelson allowed a huge yawn and then settled his head between his front paws.

  Octavius was stunned to find it was still dark outside. Having left the lantern back in the foaling stall for the stableboy to use, he was about to go back for it. “Do we need the lantern?” The cool air felt good against his bare skin, the half-moon providing enough light to see the flags in the clipped lawn.

  “Not at all,” Isabella replied. She thrilled at how his arm gripped her shoulders as they made their way toward the house. “I need a bath, though,” she murmured when they reached the crushed granite path. The darkness once again enveloped them as the roof of the east wing of the house blocked the moon’s pale light.

  “I’ve a shower bath in my chambers,” Octavius murmured. “Although I do not believe I have the strength to stand under it.”

  Isabella sighed. “Cook has some pails of water on the stove.”

  Octavius frowned. “Why?”

  “Because I told her Enyo would be dropping her foals tonight. She knows I need a bath after such an event.”

  Octavius paused before they entered the back door from which they had emerged only the hour before. “How many of my mares have you attended whilst they foaled?” he asked in surprise.

  Grinning in the dark, Isabella sighed. “These are my sixth and seventh foals since coming to Huntinghurst. I attended many more in the stables at...” Her words were interrupted when Octavius’ lips were suddenly covering hers again, as if he didn’t want her to say the word she was about to say.

  The name of Craythorne’s estate.

  “I had no idea,” he murmured when he finally released her from his hold.

  Breathless, Isabella regarded the duke for a moment. “Then I suppose we’re even,” she said, remembering how he had simply known what to do with Enyo.

  And with that, she entered the house and headed straight for the kitchens for the pots of water.

  They both desperately needed a bath.

  Chapter 34

  Bathing is Such an Interesting Endeavor

  A few minutes later

  “This seems like an awful lot of work,” Octavius murmured as he carried two pails of hot water up the stairs. In front of him, Isabella carried two more, and he was surprised she didn’t seem the least bit bothered by their weight.

  “I don’t know if it is or it isn’t,” she replied in a whisper. “But it’s how I do it every day.”

  When they reached the top with their burdens, she was about to head for her own bathing chamber, but Octavius directed her into a different bedchamber before they were anywhere near hers.

  He wasn’t about to be caught taking a bath in Isabella’s bathing chamber should any of the servants begin their workday before he had a chance to get into bed.

  A connecting door to a dark bathing chamber had Isabella stopping in her tracks for fear she might walk into something. The inky blackness seemed to swallow what little light there was in the bedchamber. Whose room is this? she almost asked, but Octavius struck a flint and a candle lamp illuminated a vanity and copper tub.

  “Are there bubbles, do you suppose?” Isabella wondered as she lowered her pails to the floor. Even with the room fairly dark, she didn’t want the duke seeing her as she bathed.

  “I can’t say as how I would know,” he replied. “I haven’t taken a bath since I inherited the dukedom.”

  Already on her way to the vanity, Isabella resisted the urge to make a sound of disgust. “But you said you have a shower bath,” she countered as she lifted a couple of bottles and attempted to read their labels by the dim light from the candle lamp. She finally took one over to the tub and spilled some of its contents before returning the bottle to its place on the vanity. Then she dumped one of her pails into the tub.

  Having already emptied two pails of steaming water into the tub, Octavius was amazed when a mass of bubbles appeared atop the water, barely visible in the dim light. “I do have one, but it’s in my bathing chamber,” he replied.

  Isabella regarded the room they were in, just then realizing this wasn’t the duke’s bathing chamber. “Would you prefer to use it? I can see to heating some more water—”

  “No. This is fine.”

  Blinking, Isabella regarded the duke for a moment. Certainly they wouldn’t be taking a bath at the same time?

  Would they?

  Could they?

  Octavius wondered at why Isabella stared at him just then before he remembered he was still bare-chested. She probably hadn’t seen a man in such a state of undress. He hoped she hadn’t seen a man in such a state of undress. He wondered if she found him frightening or if she was simply embarrassed. Jane had claimed neither, merely saying his chest was like those she had seen in statuary. But once they were in bed together the first time, she had been frightened. She had shook and shivered and squeezed her eyes shut through most of their first experience at sexual intercourse, as if she couldn’t bear the thought of being bedded. Subsequent couplings hadn’t gone much better, although she no longer seemed frightened of him. His attempts to use the skills he had learned from Ava were rebuffed in favor of pleas that he simply bed her as quickly as possible.

  Shaking the odd memory from his head, Octavius concentrated instead on the copper tub. He was trying to imagine how it might hold both of them when Isabella turned to retrieve a pail of water drawn straight from the chamber’s pump. He intersected her hand, though, and lifted the pail himself. He dumped it into the tub.

  Isabella was about to strip her ruined night rail from her body, but modesty had her regarding the duke for a moment. Ready to ask if he might leave for a few minutes—she thought to merely bathe quickly and then make her way to her own bedchamber so he could bathe—she gave a start at his next words.

  “Given how tired I am, I shall give this a try,” he said as he undid the fastenings of his breeches, well aware she would pay witness to his hardening manhood when the placket was loose. Despite the hour—he was quite sure it was well past three o’clock in the morning—tiredness had his mind in a jumble, and his adrenalin-robbed body was quaking. The mere suggestion of bathing with the young woman should have had him practicing chivalry. Should have had him excusing himself from the bathing chamber and returning when she was done and safely tucked into her own bed. Should have had him
remembering she had been his ward.

  Untouchable.

  Vulnerable.

  Innocent.

  Instead, he found he wanted nothing more than to hold her whilst he soaked in the warm water. He gave half a thought to proposing just then, but thought better of it.

  He intended to propose with a ring.

  The entire experience in the stables had been so intense, so arousing despite the messiness, despite the general gore of a foal’s birth, that he wondered at how his body had reacted. While he felt entirely spent—tired beyond words—he found his curiosity about Isabella too great to return to his apartments and simply wash using the pitcher of water in his bathing chamber.

  “Would you mind turning around, Your Grace?” Isabella wondered, her eyes downcast as she made the request.

  Octavius stiffened. “Call me ‘Hunt,’” he whispered. “Or...” He allowed the alternative to trail off, rather surprised at what he was about to suggest.

  “Or?” she prompted.

  “Octavius is my given name,” he murmured. “But only when we’re alone.”

  Isabella blinked at hearing the Roman name. It suited him far better than ‘Hunt’. “Then, do you mind turning around, Octavius?” she repeated. “I’ve never... I’ve never before bathed whilst a man watched.”

  “Well, I should hope not,” the duke replied, rolling his eyes as he slowly turned around. He turned his head to one side, though, watching her from one eye as she stepped into the tub and quickly stripped the ruined night rail from her body. He had to resist the urge to inhale sharply at seeing her luscious body before it disappeared beneath the bubble-topped water.

  When had her breasts become so full? So delectable? When had her hips rounded and her waist thinned so her figure looked like the hourglass he kept in his study back in London? Jane had never...

  He closed his eyes, determined to cease thoughts of Jane just then. Jane was dead. Had been for several years. It was past time he quit mourning her. Past time he quit mourning their son.

  “I’ll just be a moment.”

  Jolted from his reverie, Octavius turned around to find Isabella completely settled into the tub. “Is there enough room in there for me?” he asked, his voice filled with doubt.

  Or was that disappointment?

  Isabella blinked, stunned he was considering sharing the tub with her. “I... I suppose so,” she managed as she drew up her knees and slid forward, her head angled to one side to indicate the space behind her. She wrapped her arms around her bent knees, hoping they weren’t too evident above the level of bubbles.

  “Turn around then. I’ve never bathed with a woman before,” he claimed in a hoarse whisper. He was sure Isabella boggled at his words, but she quickly turned her head to the right and lifted a hand as if to hide the side of her face. He couldn’t help but grin when he realized she probably had a clear view of his reflection in the cheval mirror that stood against the far wall.

  Octavius removed his boots and shed his breeches, a bit surprised when his cock bobbed out straight from his body. How can I be so tired and be so aroused at the same time? he wondered.

  He moved to join Isabella by stepping into the tub behind her. Once he had his bottom down, he slowly straightened his legs along the outer edges of the tub and then snaked an arm around Isabella’s waist. He felt more than heard her gasp as he pulled her body backwards until she fell against his chest, a wave of water threatening to escape the tub before settling beneath the bubbles. Isabella’s curls tickled his shoulder, but he didn’t have the strength or the inclination to move her. The combination of the water’s warmth and her body leaning against his had a sigh of contentment escaping as he settled his head against the tub’s higher back and closed his eyes.

  Isabella concentrated on controlling her breathing. Although she thrilled at the thought of the duke completely naked and holding her as he was doing—hadn’t she imagined a scenario much like this when she wasn’t of a mind to wallop the man?—she had no idea what he intended.

  I’m as good as ruined no matter what, she thought, her mind going back to the day she had burst into The Elegant Courtesan, desperate to locate David Fitzwilliam. At least he had ensured her identity remained a secret.

  Plucking the ball of soap from the small table next to the tub, Isabella dunked it into the water. When she began stroking her arms and torso with the soap, she felt the duke shift a bit behind her. A part of him was suddenly pressed into the base of her spine, and the memory of admiring the Greek statuary in the hall downstairs suddenly had her remembering how the duke’s manhood had been bobbing straight out before he buttoned it into his breeches earlier that night.

  None of the statues in the hall depicted a man’s member quite like that, she thought.

  Well, except for Dionysius. But he was the god of wine.

  Or was that Bacchus? Or were they the same? Certainly one was Greek and the other Roman...

  “What ever are you thinking about right now?” Octavius asked suddenly, one of his legs bending so a knee surfaced next to Isabella’s arm. She nearly let out a shout of astonishment at seeing his bare flesh rise above the water line.

  “What was Dionysius the god of?” she asked, not realizing it was probably the worst question she could ask just then. She felt more than heard his burble of laughter erupt.

  “The grape harvest,” Octavius whispered. “Winemaking and wine. Madness.” He was about to add ‘fertility’, but thought better of it. Despite the warm water and his exhaustion, his manhood was under the impression it was to find a new home on this night. “Why ever do you ask?”

  “Didn’t he have a rather large...?” Isabella stopped, her eyes squeezing shut when she realized what it was she had been about to ask the duke.

  “Member?” Octavius offered, the arm around her waist giving an involuntary jerk just then. “Yes, he did,” he answered calmly, daring a glance in the direction of the cheval mirror. Although it was rather dim in the bathing chamber—the flame on the single candle lamp was turned down—if he angled his head just so, he could make out Isabella’s reflection. Either her reddened face was a testament to her embarrassment, or else the water in which they bathed was far hotter than he realized. “Why ever do you ask?”

  About to counter his question with a comment as to what was pressed into her back, Isabella instead let out a sigh and relaxed once again against the duke. “No reason,” she murmured. She was sure his manhood stiffened even more, nearly pushing her forward in the tub.

  “Minx,” Octavius accused, his head dropping so his chin was next to her left ear.

  Isabella gasped. “I am not,” she countered, bending her legs tighter so she was no longer pressed so close against his body. The ball of soap was suddenly back up on the table.

  “I’m too tired to argue,” Octavius whispered.

  Isabella turned her head so her chin rested on her shoulder. She regarded him from the corner of her eye. “As am I. I’m going to get out now,” she murmured. “For if I don’t do it now, I may not have the strength to do so later, and I rather rue the idea of Thompson, my occasional lady’s maid, finding me still in this tub in a few hours.” She had half a mind to continue by describing how wrinkled her fingertips and toes would be from soaking in the water too long, but thought better of it. The image wasn’t pleasant, and besides, she didn’t want to be guilty of babbling in the duke’s company.

  Especially when she was bare naked.

  She bent her legs and placed her hands on either side of the tub’s edges, intent on lifting herself up. But the arm around her waist tightened and her head was suddenly back against the duke’s shoulder.

  “Stay with me.”

  The words were said in a hoarse whisper. They sounded as desperate as they were urgent. Not a request so much as a demand.

  “To what end?” Isabella whispered in reply, her breath caught in her throat.

  “A good night’s sleep.”

  Isabella frowned. Is he serious? �
�I hardly think—”

  “Please.”

  The simple word had her relaxing once again against the front of the duke’s body. “In whose bed?”

  There was a moment when the bathing chamber was so quiet, Isabella was sure a water droplet’s fall to the floor would have been audible. And then Octavius said, “Mine, I should think. We won’t be disturbed until I ring for Cooper in the morning.”

  A shiver passed through Isabella’s body. “Where is it? From here, I mean?” she asked, remembering they weren’t in her bathing chamber, but rather one far better appointed.

  “Through that door over there.” His free hand lifted from the water and pointed to the door just beyond the cheval mirror.

  “But, I thought this wasn’t your bathing chamber,” she countered in a whisper, wondering where the shower bath was located. She remembered that one of the footman had claimed to be the servant assigned to pour hot water into a container mounted above where the duke stood to take his daily shower.

  “No.” He didn’t offer that Jane was to have used this bathing chamber. That is, if she had ever deigned to make the trip to Huntinghurst. Despite his assurances that the estate home wasn’t as rustic as she imagined, Jane refused every overture Octavius had made about them spending time together at Huntinghurst.

  He also didn’t mention that the room through which they had come to enter the bathing chamber was the mistress suite. That every bottle on the vanity matched what Jane had on her vanity in the London mansion. That he had seen to making her rooms here as comfortable or more so than what they enjoyed in London in the hopes she might capitulate and one day make the trip with him when he checked on his horses or came to hunt.

  Nor did he mention that he had been the one to purchase the bath bubbles that now barely danced on the water’s surface. Bubbles that no longer hid Isabella’s nakedness nor his own. “You’re welcome to use this bathing chamber whenever you wish.” Despite the whispered words, they sounded loud next to her ear.

  Isabella turned her head slightly, a shiver passing through her entire body at the thought that his bedchamber was right next door. “Thank you for the offer,” she whispered in reply.