CHAPTER 29
Josephine scurried through the hallway that ran down the length of the family wing toward the ducal bedchambers. She spared a glance behind her, making sure she was not observed. It always gave her an uneasy feeling to come into this area of the house.
Not that she expected to encounter Michael here. That’s why she dared intrude into such a private part of the residence. The luxurious suites were not occupied. The dowager had moved out of the ducal bedchambers since her husband’s passing, and Michael had never moved into them.
However, the most magnificent bathing chamber she had ever seen was adjacent to the duke and duchess’s suites. These were the only rooms in the house that had such modern accommodations. And yet, they sat empty. Which made no sense to Josephine. Why build such a bath, and then not use it?
She had always enjoyed decadent baths, and it was the one thing she had missed since returning to England; the pools and baths that graced the women’s quarters in the Pasha’s palace.
Alas, her home did not have modern bathing chambers.
Instead, every time she wished to take a bath, servants had to heat and haul several buckets of water up to her bedchamber.
She didn’t want to overburden the staff, so she had requested them sparingly.
Making do with quick washes that were not satisfying.
But here at Oakleigh Hall, thanks to a clever plumbing system that, according to the duchess, Michael had helped design himself, one could draw hot and cold water at the turn of a tap.
Which meant she needn’t feel guilty about overworking the servants, and she could indulge in these baths as much as her heart desired.
She had been doing so ever since the duchess had graciously offered her.
She would have to see about having one of these installed at Dunn Towers at some point, because there was nothing as heavenly as sinking into a hot steaming tub.
Although Dunn Towers was not really her estate, but Edwards.
Would such an addition be considered frivolous?
Did she have the right to incur such an expense?
So many things were still unclear. She would have to ask Michael. He would know.
However, since that harrowing conversation in the gardens, Michael had retreated. Ostensibly, because he had work to do at the estate. She suspected it was because he at last understood she was in earnest when she refused his suit.
Regardless of the reason, he left the house early in the mornings and didn’t join them for luncheon or tea.
Sometimes she didn’t even see him until dinner.
He missed him every day. Found herself wanting to talk to him, consult him on a myriad of subjects, or simply bask in his presence.
But she reminded herself this was as it should be.
Maybe she had given him a disgust for her.
God, she had been crude. Laying out her degradation in front of him, where he could not escape it.
She had been hurt and desperate, because he was unwittingly prodding the wound in her soul.
Offering the things she most wanted, but knew she could never have.
She had reacted out of protective instinct. Shoving him away with all her might.
Now she regretted having said so much. It left her feeling exposed, naked. Tainted. Maybe that’s why she was bathing so much of late?
Slipping into the empty bedchamber of the mistress of the house, Josephine undressed, and, wrapped in a plush velvet robe, she approached the dressing room and the bathing chamber beyond, looking forward to the luxurious treat of sinking into the deep tub of fragrant, steamy water.
However, as she approached the ajar door to the bathing chamber, she heard a splashing sound from inside. Was it a servant cleaning the room? Or perhaps drawing the bath for her? No, she never asked for a servant’s help with her bath, and they never cleaned at this hour.
Before her mind arrived at the other logical conclusion, it was too late.
Her eyes had strayed to the crack in the doorway, and her gaze had locked on an image that set fire to her blood while simultaneously freezing her in place.
There, in the enormous tub inset within an intricately carved walnut cabinet, illuminated by the multicolored light that passed through the stained glass skylight, was Michael.
Naked.
In the bath.
And he was… touching himself.
Every thought left her brain. Her heart stuttered and then took off galloping.
She licked suddenly dry lips while her gaze devoured him.
His magnificent chest. His broad shoulders that filled the bathtub from rim to rim.
He sprawled with his thighs casually open, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out.
With his head thrown back, his strong, muscular neck was revealed.
His deeply muscled chest that had once made her feel safe and cherished.
She knew the texture of the hairs smattering the expanse.
Could almost feel them under her cheek with the memory of rubbing her face there, inhaling his scent, absorbing his warmth.
And his arms. One was bent and thrown backwards, behind his neck, pillowing his head, while the other flexed with the rhythmic motion of his pleasure, mesmerizing her, drawing her attention to his rod.
That tool of masculine power ought to repel her.
After her years as a captive, where her master had used it to humiliate and defile her, she should feel nothing but revulsion at the sight of Michael’s impressive rod.
It was big, powerful, dangerous. And yet it was not fear nor revulsion that started a fire low in her belly.
It was desire.
Something she had not felt in an eternity. Since Michael. Only with him. Always with him.
A small groan tore from his throat as his brow furrowed, his eyes scrunching closed and his mouth slackened as his fist pumped faster.
Every muscle in his body seemed to tense, harden.
There was undeniable power in his warrior’s body.
And yet there was vulnerability too. He was exposed. Unaware of being observed.
What on earth was she doing? She was intruding on a private moment. Violating his privacy by ogling his body without his consent or even knowledge. How was that better than what had been done to her? The realization sent a bolt of clarity through her befuddled brain.
She turned away, aghast at her behavior, resolved to leave and do her best to forget the erotic image of Michael naked in the bath, when the sound of his voice froze her in place.
“Josie…”
Her head whipped around so fast at the husky notes of her name on his lips that she was almost dizzy. Or perhaps it was the effect of all the blood leaving her head in a rush of…what? Fear? Excitement? Arousal? Definitely arousal. Her intimate flesh was slick and pulsing.
For one heart-stopping moment she thought he had seen her and was calling out to her. But no. His eyes had not opened. His hand continued to pump his flesh. It was obvious he was deep in his fantasy.
A fantasy that apparently involved her.
“Oh, Josie. My darling…”
His fist moved faster, his muscles bunching and tensing a moment before he let out a guttural groan and a long stream of pearly fluid jetted out from his member, landing on his belly and chest.
She was not aware she had made a sound until his alert senses snapped to attention. He sat up as if scalded, water splashing out of the tub while his body twisted around and his piercing gaze impaled her through the door opening.
“Josephine.” His voice was not the needy rasp of a moment ago. It rang out fierce and intense. Direct, focused. Radiating command.
She wanted to flee in fright. She wanted to run to him seeking protection. In the end, the opposing forces canceled each other out and she stayed in place, watching him wide eyed as he stood from the tub and stalked toward her without a hint of modesty. Gloriously naked and still hard.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude…” Her voice trailed off at the sensual heat he radiated. It scorched her and she fell back a step.
“How long have you been standing there?” His voice was silky and seductive
“Long enough.” She took another instinctive step back.
“Did you like what you saw?” He was almost upon her.
Had she liked it? Like did not even begin to describe it. It had moved her, disquieted her, caused a riot inside her. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thoughts, and he took it as a denial.
“Liar.” Her retreating back found a wall, and he leaned into her, one arm braced behind her. “I can see your flushed face, your agitated breathing, I can smell your arousal from here, Josephine.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that because he was right.
“If you want, you can do a lot more than watch. You already know that I want you. It was your name on my lips, it was you featuring in my fantasies. Always you. Let me pleasure you until you scream my name in return.”
A tremor shook her at his words. He still had not touched her. She knew he wouldn’t until she gave him permission. Did she dare?
A month ago it would never have occurred to her that she would even contemplate the idea.
But that was before reuniting with Michael.
The memory of their one night together, so long ago but never forgotten, came back to remind her that, once upon a time, she had enjoyed the physical aspect of love.
Only with this man. And incredibly, miraculously, he seemed to want her still.
Even after all these years and all that had passed between them.
In light of all that, the real question was, how could she dare refuse him? How could she ever live with herself if she was too cowardly to take this opportunity? Just this once, to last her through all the lonely years ahead.