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“My abductors behaved like perfect gentlemen throughout my captivity,” Evie quickly assured.
“Then who were you referring to when…” Lady Margaret broke off in alarm. “Is it possible the gentleman you had this reaction to was the Duke of Lincoln?”
Evie gave a reluctant nod. “It was most strange, but when he spanked me, I—”
“Lincolnspankedyou?” The older woman drew in a sharp breath at the same time as she raised a distressed hand to clutch the pearls about her throat. A sure sign, Evie knew, of Lady Margaret’s increasing distress.
Evie nodded. “He said that I had spoken to him disrespectfully, and as a consequence deserved to have—excuse my language—my arse spanked.” She ran her fingers lightly through the hot water in which she lay, a dreamy smile curving her lips upon merely recalling the waves of pleasure she had felt throughout her whole body when the sting of Hunter St. John’s hand landed upon her flesh.
Whereas Lady Margaret now seemed to be having trouble catching her breath.
“He did me the courtesy of issuing two warnings before pulling me over his thighs and administering the punishment.” Evie chuckled softly, then sobered. “He seems to be a gentleman who makes a point of carrying out his threats.”
“What did you say or do to warrant those warnings?” Lady Margaret probed knowingly.
That lady was well aware of Evie’s habit of speaking her mind. It was a trait Lady Margaret shared, but it was perhaps more acceptable in an older woman.
Evie shrugged her bare shoulders. “I believe I first accused him of being parsimonious and neglectful of our comfort. I then called him arrogant and a self-important nincompoop. Followed by an accusation of him being stupid,” she added after a moment’s thought. “I rounded it all off nicely by calling him a selfish, egotistical ass.”
Lady Margaret’s face had become increasingly mottled as Evie continued speaking, her breathing erratic, her mouth now opening and closing in imitation of a fish out of water as no words managed to pass her lips.
“He then threw me over his thighs,” Evie continued, “lifted my skirts, and spanked my bottom.”
“He…lifted…your…skirts?” the older woman managed to gasp.
“Hm,” Evie confirmed. “I wish he had not, of course, because all my clothing was disgustingly filthy. But I believe his lifting my skirts is the reason I was able to feel those spanks so deeply and therefore respond so…viscerally.” She gave a shake of her head. “I do not understand how I can have reacted in that way when I also dislike the duke intensely and truthfully believe him to be all the things I accused him of being.”
Lady Margaret rose to her feet, clearly agitated. “It was, of course, very naughty of the duke to spank you at all, but you did call him all those names.”
“He is a barbaric brute.”
The older lady’s brows rose. “I suggest you do not call himthatto his face.”
“Hm,” Evie murmured noncommittally. “As you see, I heartily dislike the man, and yet I still had that physical reaction to him that I am at a loss to comprehend.”
“You understand I have never been married?”
“Of course. But…was there no one who madeyoufeel this confusion of emotions?”
Lady Margaret crossed the room to stand at the window looking down onto the well-maintained gardens. “There was someone,” she admitted softly. “It is years ago now. He was an officer in the navy and unfortunately caught a fever and died at sea before he was able to ask my father for my hand in marriage.”
Evie hadn’t known this. Otherwise, she might not have asked the question. “You never loved again?”
“Never,” Lady Margaret confirmed. “As for your own dilemma, they do say that the line between love and hate is a thin one.”
Evie snorted. “Love? I assure you, I do not evenlikethe Duke of Lincoln.”
“I assureyou, the Duke of Lincoln has no particular liking for you either!”
Evie sat up in the bathtub so suddenly that some of the water splashed over the sides and dampened the rug beneath. The act of sitting up had also, she realized belatedly, revealed the creamy swell of her breasts to where the tops of her nipples were also visible. Thankfully the towels warming beside the fire were close enough for Evie to reach out and grab one of them and drape it over her exposed body.
Which was when she was at last able to spare a glance toward Hunter St. John.
He had obviously also bathed since their return, his face and hands now clean, his hair still damp from being washed. He had changed into a dark blue superfine over a silver waistcoat and white linen, his muscular legs encased in pale gray pantaloons above black Hessians.
He looked every inch the confident and wealthy duke that he was.
So much so that Evie felt even more disconcerted by his unexpected appearance in her bedchamber. Bad enough he looked so ducal and handsome, but the situation was made even worse because, although Evie might now be clean, she was also naked, and the wet strands of her washed hair were a bedraggled mess about the bareness of her shoulders.
