her own share, and that of Chetri and her sailors.
The duke’s aunt, Lady Gisele, was seated on a high stool near the door, reviewing columns of figures while a senior clerk stood by attentively. The pen Gisele held looked more incongruous in her scarred hand than the sword that hung at her hip. She looked up when Imena entered. “Captain! How very good to see you back. Will you have time for an evening of cards while you’re here?”
Imena was always surprised that Lady Gisele welcomed her personally. She’d seen the older woman stand on much more ceremony with other captains in Maxime’s employ. She replied, “I’ll find out shortly, from His Grace. Chetri is arranging for your special shipment to be carried to the castle.” Imena usually obtained some of Gisele’s favorite teas on each voyage, along with new types for her to try. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a tin box. “I’ve also brought you more of the balsam ointment.”
“Thank you!” Gisele beamed. “I used the last pot you brought me on an old scar. It’s much better, look.” She swung her arm in a full circle and added, “Sylvie is visiting. Perhaps she will join us for cards later. Maxime is in the baths. He asked that you be sent to him whenever you should arrive.”
Imena had last seen Sylvie, the duchess Camille’s bodyguard and lady’s maid, at Maxime’s accession. Sylvie had lost to her at cards, but, Imena later learned, had seduced Imena’s card partner, a wealthy merchant. And the wealthy merchant’s male paramour, an acrobat. And the acrobat’s female performance partner, a contortionist. All at the same time. Imena was not in the mood for hearing about such adventures today. She resolved to avoid seeing Sylvie this trip.
She said, “I’ll find His Grace in the baths.”
Maxime often welcomed his guests in the extensive system of steam baths in the castle’s lowest level. Sometimes sexual pleasures were offered, as well. Imena wasn’t often entertained there, and she wondered at it now. Though they’d never spoken of it, Duke Maxime clearly found her attractive, and she just as clearly never encouraged him in the least. He was her employer, and off-limits.
She’d made that mistake once before. Never again. One unmitigated disaster was enough for any lifetime.
If Maxime hadn’t been her employer, though, he might have been a candidate for a shore-leave affair, except that now he was also a duke, and clearly out of her reach. He definitely wasn’t husband material. Dukes couldn’t afford companionate marriage, and she refused to be merely a concubine or occasional lover.
She tried not to regret his accession to the dukedom. He’d been denied it his entire life; she ought to be happier that he’d achieved his goal. She never could have married him. Dukes or even almost-dukes didn’t marry politically difficult foreign sailors of ambiguous social rank.
And Maxime … she didn’t think he was made for marriage. Not the sort she would want. He had too many sexual partners, both his social equals and his servants alike. She wouldn’t share. She couldn’t see how he could forswear all others.
It was her parents’ fault she’d suddenly become obsessed with marriage. Perhaps Maxime had planned on a bath anyway, and had no ulterior motives. It wasn’t as if he had summoned her to his bedroom. She could use a soak in hot, mineralized water, and perhaps a massage from one of Maxime’s highly trained servants.
Her muscles had been knotted for weeks, ever since she’d arrived home and been ushered aboard her parents’ houseboat. The decks had been crammed with wealthy bureaucrats, swilling her parents’ liquor and estimating the value of the furnishings. One of them in particular, a provincial tax collector, had offended her with his oily grins and the way he took every opportunity to offer her food and drink, as if he were the host and not her parents. He’d touched her arm without asking, pretending fascination with the muscles of a woman who worked on a ship. She’d had to resist planting her knee in his crotch.
She really must stop stewing over it. Her mother meant well. Her father went along because he trusted her mother’s opinions when it came to imperial society, and planned to make the best of it in his own way. That didn’t mean Imena had to go along, as well. She would tell her parents so, as soon as she saw them again. Or, better, she would simply marry here and tell them afterward. She didn’t want to marry for convenience, but offered the alternative of an imperial, she would do it … wouldn’t she? If it didn’t work out, there was always the sea.
The corridor leading to the baths was utterly silent except for the faint rippling sound of lantern flames behind colored glass.
A heavy door, decorated with octopuses, opened and a man stepped out. He was naked, but in the area of the baths that was unremarkable. They exchanged polite nods, and he headed in the opposite direction, toward a row of guest chambers.
Was the man one of Maxime’s lovers? He’d partnered with almost as many men as women. She knew firsthand from two different ship captains that they’d shared liaisons with him.
It shouldn’t matter to her. Maxime was no worse than many a sailor, except he had more opportunity for affairs. She wasn’t sure why it bothered her. She had no business being jealous of his attentions.
She dragged open the door and slipped in, remembering to say, “Your Grace?” rather than “my lord.” She had not seen Maxime since soon after his accession.
He’d looked grand that day, his shoulder-length hair bound back in a sheath of gold filigree, emeralds glinting from his earlobes, encrusting his white gloves and shining from the buttons of his white silk coat, embroidered all over with waving kelp and heraldic octopuses.
Just now, all the panoply was gone; he was naked, and pouring a pail of water over his head. Soap bubbles sped down his muscular back, rear and thighs along with the water, leaving a damp sheen on his pale skin that begged for touch. Also, for her tongue.
Imena shook herself and repeated, “Your Grace?”
Maxime whirled. The pail in his hand did not block her view of his dark chest hair, flat belly and impressive cock. Hastily, she shifted her gaze to his face. Nudity was normal in the baths, but it wasn’t polite to stare.
He didn’t look as if he’d been engaging in sex, and the bathing room did not hold any scent of such activities.
His voice was low and pleasant as usual. “Captain Leung. I hadn’t expected you so soon. It’s good to see you. How was your visit home?”
He turned away quickly and scooped up a towel from a nearby bench, wrapping it around his waist. He wasn’t usually modest at all, so the towel surprised her, but perhaps he was chilled. Perhaps he’d dunked himself in cold water, but if so, surely his genitals. She stopped the thought, and an urge to laugh.
No doubt the towel was intended to let her know he wasn’t trying to seduce her. She hadn’t expected to find him alone, without even a servant. It was the unexpected intimacy that led to such thoughts about him, forgetting he was her employer. She hadn’t ogled him before, in similar situations. Well, not very much.
“I can return later, if you wish,” she said.
He used another towel to rub at his dark hair, thent wisted it back from his face with a ribbon. “No, no.” He gave her a closer look, and grinned. His smiles could be stunning, white teeth slowly revealed in his dark beard, and Imena was momentarily dazed. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked about your visit home. You look as if you could use a nice soak. Here, I’ll scrub you down while you report.”
Men
