Leo had never seen a more erotic sight. This lovely creature wore no corset and sat passively while a film of water soaked her chemise, flattening it against her skin and exposing pert, rock-hard nipples through the thin material. Her face was a study of surprise and innocence as she looked up at him as though in a trance and made no move to cover herself. He bent his head and suckled one nipple through the fabric. She responded with a series of guttural moans as her fingers coursed their way through his hair. It was almost his undoing, mainly because her unbridled passion appeared to surprise her almost as much as it did him.
Leo took his time, even though he knew it was risky. He simply couldn’t help himself. At any moment she might remember who she was supposed to be. She certainly wouldn’t agree to go to his chamber, and he could hardly invade hers without encountering her maid. Or rather Julia’s maid. The thought made him pause, causing a small exclamation of displeasure from his nameless companion.
Julia’s maid. He’d briefly forgotten about her. What part did she play in all this? But thoughts of any females left his head when he felt cold water slipping down his chest and soaking his shirt.
“What the…”
The sound of her musical laughter echoed round the courtyard. Not Julia’s laughter but a mischievous explosion of pleasure that was entirely her own.
“It seems only fair,” she pointed out reasonably. “After all, I’m already quite soaked through.” She stood and patted the back of her gown to demonstrate her point.
But Leo wasn’t about to back down just because of a little water in inconvenient locations. He picked her up and placed her more firmly still in the fountain. “In that case, I see no occasion to return to the house.”
Leo leaned towards her. Water cascaded over his head and dripped from the ends of his hair, falling onto her bare bosom. It was the most erotic situation he could ever recall and too late—far too late—to examine the wisdom of his actions. It would be as hard to end matters as it would be to put a name to the woman in his arms. He contrived to imagine some of the horrors he’d witnessed during his travels through war-torn Spain but it was insufficient to dampen his ardour. He sighed, waiting for his tumescence to subside in the vain hope that his common sense would be restored to him. It didn’t appear to be happening.
“Talk to me,” he said softly, running a finger lightly across one of her breasts. “Tell me why you’re really here.”
She paused for so long that he thought she was about to confide in him. Instead she gave herself up to his attentions with a wholeheartedness that drove all other thoughts out of his head. She threw her head back, directly into the path of the spouting water. He sucked a swollen nipple into his mouth, nipping gently at its pebble-hard surface, agitating the areola with the tip of his tongue as his hands moulded and caressed her breasts.
She leaned back even farther, pushing her groin closer to his, all inhibitions abandoned. For one exquisite moment he held that pose, even as it brought him to his senses. He couldn’t afford to let matters progress.
Not here. Not now.
He wouldn’t have her until she’d revealed her true identity and placed her complete trust in him. Nothing less would do. He stifled a sigh, broke their last passionate kiss and pulled her clear of the water.
“Your neckcloth is quite ruined,” she told him in a dazed voice, not meeting his eye.
“My valet will likely give notice.” Smiling, he kissed the end of her nose. “Will you trust me now, my little Tethys? I’ve ruined my neckcloth and risked losing the services of a first-class valet for your sake. You owe me something in return.”
“Tethys? The goddess of the sources of fresh water?”
“Yes.” He chuckled. “A very apt description.”
She glanced down at her naked, damp torso, shook her wet head and smiled. “The wife of Okeanos. I’d quite forgotten about her.”
Her response activated the small part of Leo’s brain still capable of rational thought. If this woman knew her Greek mythology, then she was obviously well educated. But far from solving the riddle of her identity, this discovery merely muddied the waters.
The sound of raucous voices coming from the servants’ hall startled them both. Perhaps Marshall had arranged for a keg or two of ale to be provided by the local inn, for them to make merry now that they’d attended to the gentry. That wasn’t unusual. He’d often wondered how servants coped with a full household and still found the energy to enjoy their own entertainments. If the increasingly riotous sounds reaching the courtyard were anything to do by, Marshall’s contingent had mastered the art.
“Come, sweet Tethys.” Leo helped her back into her bodice. “I shall call you Tethys until you trust me with your real name.”
She still seemed dazed and said nothing. Like a small child she allowed him to dress her without showing any interest in the process. Her hand trustingly clasped in his, they slid quietly into the deserted corridor leading to the green baize door and thence to the main hall of the house.
Leo delivered her to her corridor. “Lock your door when your maid leaves you. And the door to your husband’s room too.”
“Why is that necessary?”
“Come, Lady Dupont,” he said, the spell between them broken by the mention of Dupont. “You of all people ought to know how determined Lord Gower can be.”
“Oh yes, I—”
“Good night,” he said curtly.
He watched her disappear into her room, a small frown causing vertical lines above her nose. Then he turned on his heel and walked away, already regretting that jealousy had caused him to speak so abruptly. Wondering what in the name of Hades his Tethys was doing to him.
Chapter Fifteen
The gods were smiling on Amos at last because here he was, dressed up like a dog’s dinner at Upton Manor, overseeing the supply of ale for consumption in the servants’ hall. He slipped an arm round the waist of the pretty chambermaid who’d sidled up to him and planted a smacking kiss on her half-exposed bosom. She roared with laughter and playfully slapped his rear, which immediately made Amos lose interest. He hated women who were too willing.
The party raged on round him but Amos, for once, held back. He was a nosy sod and, with a party in full swing, what better time to do a bit of snooping? Knowledge was power and he wanted to know what the hell Madam Katrina was doing here, posing as a grand lady. Her maid had to be in on it—she wouldn’t have lasted five minutes otherwise—and Amos could smell profit in this situation. The maid was a pretty piece but buttoned up tighter than a frigid spinster and none of his charm cut any ice with her. Which only made Amos more curious. He’d followed her earlier, seen her disappear off with that coachman James and could tell from the gleam in her eye and spring in her step when she returned just what she’d been up to. She didn’t look quite so frigid now. In fact, she looked as though she’d just enjoyed a right drubbing. And Amos knew who’d jiggled her strings.
He stored that interesting development away and sauntered past the butler’s pantry. He might just take a peek round the door whilst he was here and see if there was anything worthy of his attention. People were so careless with their possessions that they deserved to be relieved of them. Except the door was closed and lowered voices were coming from within. Lowered voices meant confidences being exchanged, which was right up Amos’s alley. He pressed his ear to the door and listened. One voice belonged to that dry old stick Dawkins. He couldn’t place the other but that didn’t matter. It was the nature of their discourse that brought him up short. Something about a duchess who was due to attend the ball and a priceless tiara that the nameless speaker was concerned might be stolen.
Everything fell into place. He now knew precisely what Katrina was up to, and he slapped his thigh in jubilation. He didn’t have the slightest difficulty imagining her as a thief. Hadn’t she killed her husband without any qualms, just to get at his money? Well, he still had a score to settle with her in that respect but wasn’t about to sit in j
udgement on her latest deception, just so long as he got part of the action.
The door to the pantry opened and Amos quickly concealed himself. The person who’d been talking to Dawkins was the valet who served Lord Kincade. Amos felt a moment’s uncertainty. Locking horns with the likes of Kincade wasn’t something he’d normally consider. But if Katrina had progressed her plot this far, who was he to doubt the little whore’s nerve, especially as she was the one taking all the chances.
Amos strolled away, feeling very pleased with life in general. He glanced out the window and stopped dead in his tracks. Katrina was in the courtyard enjoying the attentions of some toff right there in a fountain. Amos slipped below the open window, just in case they happened to glance in his direction and noticed him watching. Not that that was likely to happen. They were far too taken up with each other to spare a thought for anyone else.
Just looking at Katrina caused his relaxed mood to disintegrate. Such a violent surge of anger beset him that he had difficulty breathing. Katrina and that snobby marchioness she was so pally with were two of a kind. Mistress Katrina had turned her pert little nose up at him, her own husband’s brother, like he was beneath her notice. He’d only tried to comfort her when Jeb was away and she’d been upset about something stupid. Instead of being grateful she’d looked upon him like he’d sprouted horns and slammed the door in his face. The memory still rankled, especially when he watched her now, all laughter and provocative encouragement because it was some titled nob making up to her.
Then the titled nob in question turned his head in Amos’s direction, causing him to have an abrupt change of heart. The cunning little minx was seducing Lord Kincade, softening him up so he wouldn’t know he was being outmanoeuvred by a thief. Amos had always known she was quick-witted, but to attempt something so outrageous earned his reluctant admiration.
And she wasn’t holding back. Amos was spellbound. Katrina was soaked through but didn’t seem to care. The bloke was pouring water over her exposed breasts and then licking it off. It was so painfully erotic that had it been anyone other than Katrina he was watching in action, Amos would have long since abandoned his voyeurism in favour of finding gratification with his willing little chambermaid.
He moved closer to the window ledge and closed his eyes for a moment, pretending he was the man giving it to her. Katrina threw her head back into the path of the water and moaned whilst Amos stood upright and swallowed a deep breath. Even though he knew why Katrina was seducing the nob—she was still an out-and-out trollop.
He contemplated the situation for a minute or two, relishing his moment of revenge, thinking about the pleasure he would get from seeing Katrina brought down, meek and subservient at last after all the hardship she’d caused him. Her friend was no better but she was plump in the pockets. If she didn’t want her husband to find out about the deception, then she’d pay heavily for his silence.
And keep on paying.
And as for Katrina…if she enjoyed playing the water nymph so much then she could repeat the act with him. There were other things she could do for him after that, which she wouldn’t find nearly as enjoyable. And when she’d worn him out, he’d have Meg set her to work and earn him a few shillings in the Fox and Hounds.
His lips twisted as the two of them readjusted their clothing and headed for the house. Katrina looked far too comfortable in her role as lady of the manor. Time to remind her who she really was, where she came from and who she owed her allegiance to. The show was over but Amos had a raging hunger to satisfy. He’d see to that and then leave her a little keepsake.
Grinning at the prospect, Amos caught up with his chambermaid and pulled her into a deserted storeroom. Pretending she was Katrina, he stuck it to her from behind, so hard that he had to clamp a hand over the little slut’s mouth to stop her screams being heard above the raucous noise of the servants’ party.
* * *
“Good heavens, milady, whatever happened to you?”
Celia’s horrified expression failed to penetrate Katrina’s befuddled brain and she had to repeat her question twice before Katrina even heard it.
“Oh, I got wet.”
“Well, I can see that.”
“Then why ask?”
Celia sniffed. “Did you have an accident? What happened?”
“I’ve already told you. Nothing happened.” Katrina was not in the mood for Celia’s intrusive questions.
“Your gown is ruined,” she said tartly.
“It will dry out.”
“That’s as may be. I was hoping you would get away before now and we could practise dancing. You still have much to learn if you’re to fool the gentry. The servants are having a party so no one would have disturbed us.”
“Then why are you not at the party?” Katrina sat on the edge of her bed and removed her sodden slippers.
Celia wrinkled her nose. “I have no interest in parties. My only reason for being here is to help you,” she said, investing her tone with a wealth of condemnation. “I slipped out onto the terrace when the entertainments ended but you were nowhere to be seen. Where did you go?”
Something about Celia’s determination to know all her business disquieted Katrina. “I’m far too fatigued for more dancing tonight,” she said firmly. “Help me out of this gown please.”
“Very well.”
“Why did you not warn me to expect Lord Gower?”
“I didn’t know he was coming.”
Katrina didn’t believe her. Celia made it her business to know everything that went on in the house. “It left me in a very difficult position. I didn’t know how things stood between his lordship and your mistress. He appeared to think I’d be delighted to see him.” She paused significantly. “And more.”
“My mistress was once very attached to his lordship.”
“She might have been but I’m not. I had a very hard time avoiding him.” Katrina sighed. “I can’t go on with this deception. It’s a miracle I haven’t already been rumbled.”
“Only one more day and then you can go back to being yourself.”
“Yes, but what a day it will be. I have to avoid Lord Gower, avoid Lord Kincade and pretend to be the master of a dance I don’t even properly understand.” She felt like throwing something to ease her frustration and she’d never thrown anything in her entire life. Not even her late, unlamented husband down the cellar steps, in spite of the rumours his brother spread abroad. “It will be a disaster.”
“No, it won’t.” Celia’s voice was firm. “We’ve come this far and will get past the final hurdle.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Katrina dried her hands and gave up the argument. Celia was intransigent, completely without sympathy for the tangle Katrina found herself in. If she wanted out she would just have to appeal to Lord Kincade. The thought brought her up short. Just because she enjoyed his kisses, that was no reason to trust him. He knew she was an impostor, but the moment she actually admitted it, he’d want to know where Julia was. He’d never believe she didn’t know.
Katrina slipped into her nightgown and bade Celia good-night.
“Don’t bother to braid my hair,” she said, waving her efforts aside. “I’ll sit by the fire until it’s dry and then do it myself.”
And use the time to think.
As soon as the door closed behind Celia’s disapproving form, Katrina followed Leo’s advice and locked all the doors. And then, mindless of her damp hair, she slipped between the sheets, exhausted but too keyed up to sleep.
She was deeply shocked by her behaviour. Whatever could Leo have thought of her? No wonder he was so cold when they parted in the corridor. He wasn’t at fault. Men were supposed to try these things. Ladies—real ladies—shouldn’t even permit a chaste kiss. Katrina shuddered to think what might have happened if he’d attempted to go any further, since she doubted she would have found the strength to stop him. Was certain she wouldn’t have wanted to. She sighed.
There was just so
mething about him that compelled her, making her forget who she was supposed to be. When he held her she floundered in a morass of uncertainty, impulse waging war with propriety. But as soon as she looked into the depths of his smouldering brown eyes, all reason deserted her. She emptied her mind and followed wherever he led.
No one had ever looked at her so appreciatively before. Even so, she was absolutely astonished at her brazenness, since she’d never consciously reacted to a gentleman’s overtures before. The only man she’d ever known was her husband. At first that situation had been—if not pleasant—at least bearable. But as he grew more confident in his mastery of her, Jeb’s attentions became clumsy and coarse. Katrina encouraged him to drink more than was healthy in the hope that it would render him insensible. It seldom did and she suffered more in direct proportion to his state of inebriation. If he was unable to achieve release he held her responsible.
Little wonder then that marital relations repulsed her. And yet, what Leo made her feel this evening was beyond anything she’d imagined possible. Her whole body trembled to his touch, flooded with an alien longing that pooled in the pit of her stomach and spread slowly through every inch of her. He made her feel desirable and alive in oh so many sensual ways. She felt it again now, just by reliving the feel of his lips gently exploring her breast. The soft light of admiration in his eye as he took a swollen nipple in his mouth.
But he knew she wasn’t Julia. The reminder made her feel as though she had again been drenched in cold water, effectively banishing her lascivious thoughts. Would he give her away? She trembled at the prospect of being exposed as a fraud, but as a gentleman of honour what else could he possibly do? Lady Marshall was his godmother. First thing in the morning explanations would be demanded and she would be unceremoniously evicted from this place.
The Perfect Impostor Page 17