Chapter Eight
Lucas scanned the document he had pressed between the pages of a book Diana had loaned him, trying to find some hidden meaning or clue within the words. It had been four days since the visit from Stalwood, and finding time to review the documents he’d been given was not easy.
Not that he was complaining about how his time had been spent. Diana was a skilled lover, responsive, and never one who simpered or played games with his desire.
Of course, she was also a taskmaster who insisted on working on his healing too. That was their relationship now. Pain and pleasure. Sometimes one immediately following the other.
But he was feeling better. Stronger than he had in a long time.
The door to his chamber opened and she entered. He shut the book immediately, hiding the document he didn’t want her to see, and smiled over at her. She was wearing a plain gown with a striped skirt and her hair was half up, as usual.
“You left bed far too early,” he drawled. “Why in the world do you insist on dressing?”
She laughed at his question but didn’t stop at the bed. Instead, she moved to a panel that was in the corner of the room. Carefully she drew it aside and revealed a tub there.
He blinked. “Some spy I am—I never even noticed that.”
She smiled as she turned toward him again. “My father was of the controversial notion that washing helped inspire healing. And while I have very much enjoyed our sponge baths, I think you are recovering well enough to allow you to use the tub if you’re up for it.”
“I’m up for anything that has to do with you,” he said, tilting his head toward the half-erect cock that tented his sheets. A permanent state of being when she was around.
She rolled her eyes. “You are a cad, Your Grace. I’m off to start bringing up the water.”
“Let me help,” he suggested, moving to throw the covers back.
She shook her head and held up a hand. “You will injure yourself carrying buckets,” she said.
He pursed his lips. She was right, of course, but that truth still stung. She didn’t allow him to address it, though, but disappeared from the room, leaving him alone with his feelings of ineptitude.
She returned a few moments later, bearing a heavy bucket laden with steaming water. As she poured it in the tub, he shook his head. “I do not like being useless.”
She faced him. “You are not useless, Lucas. But if you rip open the injury on your shoulder or harm your leg, you could very well be.”
He folded his arms. “Would you at least ask Stalwood’s lackeys to help you?”
She pondered that. “Yes, very well.”
She waved him back to his comfortable position and disappeared from the room again. He heard her open her door, heard her talking to whichever spy was guarding the house at present. Within moments, a tall, strapping man Lucas did not recognize came into the room carrying not one but two buckets of water.
The man inclined his head before he dumped each into the tub. “Your Grace.”
Lucas winced. Though he had grown accustomed to the times Diana gently teased him with his title, hearing it from this stranger still made his stomach clench.
“Thank you,” he ground out as the man left. It was a few moments before he returned. Lucas had to assume Diana had more water to heat before the buckets could be filled again, and how that strapping man must enjoy the opportunity to engage with her. Why wouldn’t he? She was lovely and bright, sensual and kind.
Lucas liked her. He’d been trying not to like her. Trying not to feel any more than he ever had for any temporary lover. But it was impossible to view her as such. That feeling set him on his heels and he struggled to deal with it as the young man returned and dumped water in the tub once more. It was more than halfway full now, only a few more buckets would do the trick.
“What is your name?” Lucas asked, desperate to keep him here rather than allow him to stay with Diana while she prepared the water for the tub.
“Logan, Your Grace,” he said, facing Lucas once more. His gaze flitted over him and Lucas felt his discomfort—his pity. Lucas’s stomach clenched. “Geoffrey Logan.”
“How long have you worked for Stalwood?” he asked.
“Less than a year.” The young man settled into a military at-ease stance naturally.
Lucas nodded. “This must be one of your first assignments.”
“It is,” he admitted.
“Not exactly exciting, I fear.” Lucas watched him closely for any reaction. There was one, the boy hadn’t trained himself not to give it yet. A flash of frustration. A hint of restlessness.
“I’m happy to do it, I assure you, Your Grace. You are well thought of in the department. Many who trained us spoke of your abilities, referenced your exploits. You did so much for the country during your time in the field.”
Lucas shifted. His accomplishments were being spoken of in the past tense. Something from a bygone era that was over, a reminiscence by friends he had worked with on cases. His own fears, spoken in plain words by a man who was hardly that. Anger rose in his chest and he carefully tamped it down as best he could.
“At least the company is fair,” he drawled. Logan arched a brow and shook his head as if he didn’t understand. Lucas glared at him. “Miss Oakford.”
Color filled Logan’s cheeks. “I—er—yes, sir. She is very lovely.”
“All of them think so?” he pressed.
“Only three of us, Your Grace,” he explained. “On a rotating schedule. But yes, she does occasionally…come up.”
“Mr. Logan, I’m ready for you once again!” Diana’s voice came from downstairs, and the young man saluted before he hurried off to help her.
Every fiber in Lucas’s body itched with anticipation. Annoyance. Frustration unlike any he’d ever experienced. He hated every part of this, and then add Diana to the mix and it was impossible. He didn’t need to be jealous, for God’s sake. She wasn’t his—she was only a temporary distraction. If she wanted to allow this or that or any young man to court her, that was her right. She could bed the entire War Department and he had no place to judge her. She was owed pleasure and happiness and a future.
He could only give her one of those three things. His shortcoming, not hers.
Logan returned with Diana at his heels. He had two buckets and she one. He dumped his two, then smiled at her as he took the last one and added it to the steaming tub.
“Is there anything else I can do, Miss Oakford?” he asked.
She reached out to touch his arm. “No, you’ve been a great help, thank you.”
He nodded to her, then to Lucas, and left them alone. Lucas moved to stand and she held up a hand. “Not yet,” she said. “One more thing.”
She departed the room again and he flopped back on the pillows in increasing frustration. Being out of control was not something he enjoyed. It reminded him of…
Well, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to think of that time, of that life he had abandoned and why.
Diana returned with a small bowl filled with herbs. She lifted it in his direction before she moved to the tub. He had to smile as she sprinkled them into the steaming water.
“Are you going to boil me like a finely seasoned chicken, then?” he asked, his frustration fading in exchange for the teasing that had begun to feel so easy and comfortable between them.
She set the empty bowl aside and turned to him with a laugh. “More like a tea, and you shall be the biscuit dunked in it. But right now the water is too hot and the herbs must steep.”
“What will they do?” he asked.
“You are always so curious, Your Grace.”
“I am,” he admitted. “Especially when a lady is attempting to make a meal of me.”
She laughed again, the music of that sound touching every part of him. “They will help you relax. They will soothe some of the pain. Nothing to harm you.”
He watched her closely. “I don’t think you’d ever harm me, Diana. Not on purpose.”
She drew back at the intimacy those words created. He was rather shocked, himself, that he’d said them. He hadn’t meant to. There was just something about this woman.
She cleared her throat. “You may feel differently in a moment. While the bath cools, I would like to try massaging your muscles.”
He blinked in surprise at the notion. “Rubbing me down, you mean. Like a prize horse?”
She shook her head and shot him a playful look that told him she was only barely tolerating him. “I suppose that is a step up from being a chicken or a biscuit.”
“If you think it would help,” he said. “I’m not adverse to the notion of you rubbing your hands on me.”
“I will try very hard not to become distracted. Thankfully you did not make the same mistake you accused me of earlier and dress, so if you would roll over on your stomach and remove the pillows you’ve built into a fortress behind your head, that would be helpful.”
He did so and lay flat on his stomach, turning his head away from her. He heard her moving around, then her hands touched him. They were slick with a fragrant oil that smelled like cinnamon and something exotic he couldn’t place. He hissed out pleasure at the erotic sensation of flesh gliding over flesh.
“Oh, I should request this treatment every day,” he groaned.
“You might not like it as much as I go deeper,” she said. “Pleasure is not always the first reaction, but pain.”
He opened his eyes and stared at the other side of the bed. Her words reminded him of a realization that had been troubling him a few days. One he had not discussed with her, but now it sat in his head, a jealousy amongst other unwanted jealousies.
“Were you married?” he asked at last.
Her hands hesitated on his back, and then she went back to her work. “You mean because I was not…was not untouched the first time you made love to me?”
He turned his head to look at her as he said, “Yes.”
Her cheeks tuned red and she turned away for a moment. He set his jaw. Perhaps he’d gone too far, been too blunt. His friends used to say he could be, a long time ago.
She looked back at him and he saw her exhaustion. He leaned up on his stomach, ignoring the shot of pain through his shoulder, and caught her hand. “You don’t owe me any explanation, Diana. I know that. I want you to know I know it. Despite that, I’m asking because I’m curious. And because I want to know more about you.”
She stared at their intertwined fingers. Then she pulled away and motioned him back to his original position. Her hands came back to his skin and she sighed.
“When my mother died, my father only knew medicine. He had no idea how to raise a child, certainly not a daughter.”
Lucas thought of his own parents. His father who had always despised him. His mother who could hardly look at him. He doubted Oakford had ever been that harsh, but that didn’t mean he’d been a good parent or given Diana what she needed.
And that he wholly understood.
“It must have hurt you,” he said softly.
Her hesitation was the only answer she gave to that question for a moment. Then she whispered, “Sometimes. Eventually he began to teach me about his vocation. Of course, I quickly learned that he taught me what he knew because it was all he understood. And that meant we had long talks about the body and all its processes.” She drew a long breath. “I am not like the ladies you were raised with, Lucas. I was never a tittering innocent.”
“Not in mind, perhaps. But the body is a different thing,” he said.
“Yes.” Her voice cracked, and it took everything in him not to lift his head and look at her. Not to roll over and pull her closer. He fought those urges, not just for his own sake, but because he doubted she would continue if he did so. He could sense her reticence.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said again.
“I know. But I suppose you deserve the truth given the…the nature of our relationship.” She sighed again. “I was innocent until I met him.”
“Him,” he repeated.
Her fingers dug harder into his muscles and he tensed against a rush of pain. For a moment, she just worked at it and slowly the muscles relaxed and the pain lessened.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know that hurts.”
He knew she was trying to distract him on some level. That she was reluctant because her story was obviously painful. He didn’t want to hurt her, but this drive inside of him, the spy’s tenaciousness, it didn’t relent.
“Who was he?” He pushed and rolled over at last so he could look at her when he asked it.
Only he did not see pain in her expression. At least that wasn’t all he saw. There were much deeper emotions in her stare. Anger. Resentment. Loss. And grief. Something deeper and more potent than mere fleeting pain.
He saw it all and he wished he could take back the question. Not because he didn’t want to know the answer, but because suddenly the answer felt far too important. Far too intimate. The answer would bind them, and he feared that as much as he had ever feared anything in his life.
But he was about to know it. There was no going back.