Damian laughed. “Sir Humphrey naked—now there’s a sight that would turn one to stone. Just the thought roils my stomach. But no, I don’t think so. At least not yet.” He pushed open the door and a blast of frigid air accosted them.
Jo shivered. “I can’t imagine going out without a warm coat let alone without a stitch of clothing.”
“They were all gathering in the study to fortify themselves with Greyham’s brandy, so they’ll be as drunk as emperors when they venture outside. They won’t feel the cold—they won’t feel anything. Pull up your hood and lead the way.”
It was a clear night. The moon was almost full, and Lord Greyham, anticipating the Lupercalia festivities, had hung lanterns from the trees, so it was easy to follow the path down through the garden. They saw the bathhouse as soon as they rounded the last curve. It was a long building with a barrel-vaulted roof. Lights flickered in the windows. Jo stopped short, causing Damian to bump into her. He pulled her off the path behind a tree.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“We’re too late. See the lights? They are already there.”
He looked at the building. “No, not necessarily. Greyham said the festivities are to end in the bathhouse; he probably sent servants down earlier to get things ready.”
“Oh.” Jo let out the breath she’d been holding. She was not used to sneaking around in the dark, and she was still rather unsettled from the events in Lord Kenderly’s room. She could not get the picture—or the feel—of his naked chest out of her mind. “You are probably right.”
“Of course I am. You said Maria specified midnight in her card, which is shortly before the revelers should arrive. I think she realizes Stephen is becoming disenchanted with her, and she needs to spring her trap tonight if she wants to catch him.” His even, white teeth flashed in the moonlight as he grinned. “She’s not shown herself to advantage here.”
“That’s an understatement. I’d say she was a complete harpy.”
He laughed. “Exactly.”
They continued down the path, approaching the building cautiously. Damian tried the door; it was unlocked. He cracked it open, and they paused, listening. Jo heard the quiet lapping of water against the sides of the pool, the drip of condensation, the hiss and pop of a fire—but no footsteps or conversation. “They aren’t here yet.”
“No, they aren’t.” Damian pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Blech, what is that smell?”
Jo wrinkled her nose. “The minerals in the water, I think. I don’t remember it being so strong, but then, I haven’t been here in probably fifteen years.”
“Perhaps the heat makes it worse. Greyham has five—no, six—braziers going.”
“It is oppressive.” Jo unbuttoned her pelisse; Damian helped her off with it and then shed his cloak, coat, and waistcoat. He stuffed all their outer garments in a corner, out of sight behind a large, decorative urn.
They walked farther into the bathhouse, their feet echoing on the tile floor. The room was about forty yards long and perhaps twenty yards wide with large stone pillars along each side. The pool, dark and murky and green, took up most of the space.
Perspiration beaded on Jo’s lip, rolled down her sides, pooled between her breasts. It was hotter than Hades—or so she would imagine, not having yet visited that place; however, given her reaction to Damian’s broad shoulders, narrow waist, and splendid arse, she might be heading there shortly.
“I suppose Greyham wanted to raise the temperature to thaw the naked idiots,” Damian said. He turned and frowned down at her. “Which you should not be here to see.”
“I will close my eyes.” She should close them now. Damian’s fine lawn shirt was plastered to him, revealing his wonderful chest and shoulders. She forced herself to look away before he noticed she was staring at him like a child at a sweets counter. “There aren’t any good places to hide, are there?”
“No, unfortunately. We’ll just have to stand behind a pillar and hope for the best.”
They positioned themselves so they were hidden from the door. Damian was still frowning.
“I do wish I didn’t need you here,” he said. “If only I could—but it’s too late for second thoughts. I don’t have time to escort you back, and with drunken idiots running wild, it’s not safe for you to go back by yourself.”
She had no intention of leaving, but it wasn’t fear of naked nodcocks that kept her in the bathhouse. “Oh, I’m sure the revelers would just pass me by. Even Papa says no one would take liberties with me.” That comment still rankled, even if it was true.
“What?” Damian’s eyebrows shot up. “Haven’t I already proved him wrong?”
“Oh. Well, er . . .” Damian had kissed her when she’d fallen from the cart and again when she’d hidden in the library. And he’d taken more than a few liberties with her in his room.
Heat that had nothing to do with the bathhouse washed through her. She was going to melt into a puddle—she felt a distinct dampness between her thighs already.
He took her by the shoulders. “Have you forgotten?” His hands slid down her back, coming to rest on her hips, and he pulled her tight against him. With the heat and the damp, it was almost as if they were naked . . . almost, but not quite, blast it. “Let me remind you.”
His mouth covered hers as his hand moved to her breast and his leg . . . oh! His leg slipped between hers so his thigh pressed against her most feminine part. She rocked against him by accident and thought she would faint with pleasure.
Her fingers found their own way to his waistband and started pulling his shirt free. She had to feel his skin again.
“God, Jo,” Damian muttered, his lips moving to a sensitive spot just below her ear, “you make me forget propriety. Hell, you make me forget my own name.”
“Mmm.” She tilted her head to give him more room to explore as she succeeded in freeing his shirt from his breeches. “Mmm.” She ran her hands up his back. If only she could—
His fingers dipped below her bodice and rubbed over her nipple. Lightning shot through her body to lodge . . . she pressed herself more tightly against his thigh and moaned. “Damian—”
Suddenly her face was crushed against his chest again. “Shh,” he breathed by her ear. “I think they’re here.”
Her pleasure-soaked brain tried to recall whom they were expecting when she heard Lady Noughton’s voice.
“It’s Lupercalia, Stephen.”
Jo looked up at Damian; he pressed a finger to her lips, and then they both moved to peer around the pillar. Mr. Parker-Roth stood just inside the door; Lady Noughton had ventured farther in.
“Right. Hard to forget after seeing all those naked arses flashing across Greyham’s lawn. I’ll have nightmares about that for weeks.” Mr. Parker-Roth’s voice acquired a new edge. “I’m surprised you didn’t join in, Maria.”
“I might have if you’d done so.” Lady Noughton’s voice was low and sultry, rather appropriate given the oppressive heat.
Mr. Parker-Roth snorted. “I don’t care to have frosted ballocks.”
“No, that would never do.” Lady Noughton ran her hands down her sides and gave a slow little wiggle—Jo wondered if she should practice such a move.
It seemed to have no effect on Mr. Parker-Roth, however. He turned away to examine the windows. “What did you drag me down here for, Maria? I was planning to spend a quiet night”—he looked at her, his lips twisting into something of a sneer—“alone with a good book.”
“I thought we might go for a swim.” The woman gave another wiggle and somehow her dress slipped down to reveal she had nothing at all on underneath.
She had a very impressive pair of . . . well, it was quite obvious why she was such a success with the male members of the ton. Jo looked up to see if a specific earl was impressed, but Damian was watching his friend.
Mr. Parker-Roth’s eyes never strayed from Lady Noughton’s face. “It’s over, Maria. We had a pleasant association, but it’s done. I’ll
send you a draft on my bank, and you can pick out a suitable bauble at Rundell and Bridge to assuage your wounded feelings.”
“But I love you, Stephen.” Lady Noughton spread her arms wide in case Mr. Parker-Roth had perhaps not noticed her very large breasts.
He still did not appear interested, but then he’d probably had many past opportunities to examine them thoroughly. “I don’t think you do, Maria. It certainly hasn’t kept you from sharing your favors with an assortment of men—something I would never tolerate in a wife, by the way.”
She dropped her arms and glared at him. “I’ll tell everyone you offered marriage, Stephen. Many will believe it; you’ve been showing me very marked attention these last few months.”
“More fool I.” He put his hand on the door. “You may do as you like, Maria. I know it is a lie, and I imagine most of the ton will know it, too. You will only make yourself look foolish.”
“Especially when I corroborate Stephen’s side of the story,” Damian said, stepping out from behind the pillar.
Lady Noughton spun toward him, sending her large breasts bouncing. “You!”
Mr. Parker-Roth grinned. “Damian, I hate to say it, but you were right. I should have listened to you.”
Lady Noughton put her hands on her hips—apparently she was completely at ease with her nakedness—and tossed her head. “People will only say you are supporting your friend.”
“They’d best not suggest I am lying.” There was more than a touch of steel in Damian’s voice. “Dueling may be illegal, but I have many other methods at my disposal to make life uncomfortable for anyone who dares question my honor.”
“And I shall support Mr. Parker-Roth as well,” Jo said, going to stand by Damian. Not that anyone would care what a provincial spinster said, but it just didn’t feel sporting to stay hidden behind the masonry any longer.
Damian scowled at her. Clearly as soon as they were alone he was going to let her know she should have stayed out of sight.
She was rather looking forward to that argument.
“Miss Atworthy.” Mr. Parker-Roth’s grin widened; he bowed.
“Miss Atworthy.” Lady Noughton almost spat the words. “I don’t believe you’ll be in a position to say a thing after everyone learns you were here with Lord Kenderly.”
Jo shrugged. “Since—as you know—I’ve never been to London and probably never will, I can’t imagine anyone will care what I was doing.”
“Ah, there you are wrong, my love,” Damian said, putting his arm around her and pulling her scandalously close. “Society will be very anxious to hear everything about the new Countess of Kenderly.”
Jo’s gasp was drowned out by Lady Noughton’s screech—and that was drowned out, quite literally, by the Lupercalia celebrants as they stampeded into the bathhouse and into the pool in all their naked glory.
Chapter 9
“I fear I will go to my grave with the image of fat, balding Sir Humphrey running naked into that damn bathhouse,” Damian said, hurrying Jo up the path to the house. Her teeth were chattering. He was damn cold, too, but there’d been no time to collect their coats. With all the naked revelers, a hasty departure had clearly been called for.
“Ah, but then think of Maria’s expression as he barreled into her and took her into the pool with a mighty splash.” Stephen looked down at Jo. “Miss Atworthy, are you certain you won’t take my coat,” he said for the third time.
“N-no, th-thank you.” Poor Jo was so cold she could barely speak. “W-we are al-almost th-there.”
Thank God they were. Damian hustled Jo over the last few yards, through the servants’ entrance, and up the flight of stairs. They stopped at Damian’s door.
Stephen clapped him on the back. “My heartfelt thanks for all your efforts, my friend. As I said in the bathhouse, you were right about Maria. I shouldn’t have come to this infernal gathering.” He grinned. “But if I hadn’t, you would have stayed sequestered in your study and never met the lovely Miss Atworthy, so I can’t repine too much.”
Zeus, Stephen was right. Jo felt like such an important part of his life now, but he’d only known her a handful of hours.
No, that wasn’t true. He’d known her for months through her letters.
“I warn you, Miss Atworthy,” Stephen was saying, “Damian has the highly annoying habit of being correct in his advice nine times out of ten.”
“I d-don’t know about th-that.”
Jo’s teeth were chattering again, damn it. “I need to get Miss Atworthy warm,” Damian said, an edge creeping into his voice.
“And here I am, jawing on and on. I will take myself off immediately.” Stephen frowned. “I don’t put it past Maria to find a way into my room tonight, so I’m going to borrow one of Greyham’s horses and decamp to a neighboring inn. Would you take anything I must leave behind with you when you leave, Damian?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.” Stephen took Jo’s hand in his. “I look forward to dancing at your wedding, Miss Atworthy.”
“Oh, I—” Jo shook her head. “There’s no w-wedding. L-Lord K-Kenderly just said that to avoid a s-scandal.”
Stephen laughed. “Trust me, an earl doesn’t ‘just say’ such an interesting thing to Lady Noughton unless he is willing to have the information spread far and wide.”
“Oh.” Jo chewed on her bottom lip and shivered some more.
Damian glared at Stephen. Why wouldn’t the man move along and let him get to his wooing before he and his bride-to-be turned into icicles? “Didn’t you say you were leaving, Stephen? Immediately?”
Stephen grinned. “I did. I am.” He looked back at Jo. “Don’t worry, Miss Atworthy; people really will be delighted. I, for one, must thank you for bringing Damian out of his cave. He’d become quite the hermit.”
“I like being a hermit,” Damian said. “I hope you don’t expect me to start showing up at all of London’s inane parties.”
“Well, you’ll want to introduce your bride to society.” Stephen’s grin widened. “But if you’re absent, I’ll know you’re at home doing something more interesting than translating dusty Latin texts.”
Damian put his arm around Jo as a particularly nasty shiver shook her. “Good-bye, Stephen.”
“Good-bye.” Stephen laughed, looking as innocent as sin, damn him. “But before I go”—he waggled his brows—“does the Prince of Hearts need any advice from the King on how best to get warm?”
“No.” Damian jerked his door open. “You may go to the devil with my blessing.” He pulled Jo into his room and slammed the door on Stephen’s laughter.
“I-I should go to my own room.” Jo tried to keep her teeth from chattering. She was cold, but she was also nervous . . . and excited.
She didn’t want to leave; she wanted to stay right where she was.
It had been such a bizarre evening, starting when she’d come flying in this door and landed against Damian’s chest. His naked chest.
Mmm. She’d like to be up against his chest again, but this time she’d like to be naked, too. He was moving in the right direction: he was pulling off his wet shirt.
To think she’d never seen a naked man before, and then tonight she’d seen a herd of them, pale and hairy with their little dangly bits bouncing as they ran for the pool. They’d looked rather comical, once she’d gotten over the shock.
There was nothing comical about Damian’s body. She watched the muscles in his back flex as he yanked the wet shirt over his head. Damian’s chest was far more impressive than any of the others she’d seen tonight, and if the sense she’d got when she’d been pressed against him was any indication, his dangly bit was also. She would very much like to inspect it more closely. She’d—
But her feminine bits were not very impressive, especially when compared to Lady Noughton’s. Would he be disappointed?
And why was she considering letting him see them at all? God should strike her dead where she stood for thinking such a thing.
> “We need to get you warm, Jo,” Damian said, dropping his shirt by the fire and coming over to her.
“Ah.” She swallowed. Her mouth was dry. He was so handsome. “I sh-should go back to my room. I can g-get Becky to help me.”
He put his hands on her shoulders. “Do you want to go back to your room?”
She should say yes. Of course she should say yes. Miss Atworthy, the staid, boring, shrewish Latin tutor would say yes.
She was a twenty-eight-year-old spinster. She might never again get a chance like this to sin.
“N-no.” Another shiver set her teeth to chattering.
He smiled. “Good. Now let’s get you out of those wet clothes.” He turned her around, and his nimble fingers flew down her back, unbuttoning her dress. He tugged it off her shoulders, down her arms, and over her hips. It felt wonderful to get the cold, damp fabric off her skin. She stepped out of it, and he undid her stays. As soon as they hit the ground, he grabbed the hem of her shift and pulled it up and over her head.
She was completely naked except for her stockings. She tried to wrap her arms around herself to hide her poor little breasts and her nether region. She should be mortified, but she was shivering too much.
“Under the covers with you now,” Damian said as he lifted her up and laid her on the bed, pulled off her stockings, and tucked her in. He might have been her nurse for all the interest he showed in her body.
She shivered again and curled up, turning her back to him. Apparently, she needn’t have worried about sin. She—
She felt the mattress depress, and then a pair of naked arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against a very naked male body.
“Sharing heat is the fastest way to warm up,” he murmured by her ear as his hands moved, one to cup her breast and the other to rest low on her belly.
“Um.” Her temperature was certainly rising. His must be, too. He was like a furnace all along her back.
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