The Dowager Countess (The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor Book 2) Read online

  Her body eased, relaxed into the security of his embrace as they both looked out the window.

  “Better?” he asked quietly.

  “Much,” she replied, turning her head a little and rubbing it against him. “Much better, Jeremy. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, dear Lady,” he murmured. “Holding you is a pleasure I’ve hoped for.” His hands rubbed up and down her arms, a gentle soothing that brought a sigh of delight to her lips. “You know we’re all here for you, and not just as your servants, but as your friends…” he paused, squeezing her close. “And more, if you’ll have us.”

  “Like the pond,” she whispered.

  “Even better than the pond,” he whispered back.

  She made her choice there and then. “Jeremy, would you come to me tonight? I need…I need your arms, your warmth…”

  She felt his chest rise and fall. “It would be my pleasure, my Lady. And—I hope—yours too.”

  She turned a little, her heart lifting at that thought. “I don’t think that’s in any doubt…”

  His arms moved, loosening, his hands sliding beneath her breasts and cupping them. Her nipples hardened at his touch and he found them, rubbing his thumbnails in just the right place to make her gasp. “Do I have to wait until tonight?”

  She choked out a laugh. “Yes, you do.” His thumbs moved again. “But this is an excellent start…” She leaned back, lifted her hands and placed them over his, crushing her breasts and moaning a little beneath her breath.

  Then she pulled away, noting that he let her go immediately. She lifted her chin, but found she couldn’t turn and look at him. She was suddenly riddled with concern as to what she might see.

  Would he look complacent? Satisfied his mistress had called on him for sex? Would he look disgusted or horrified? A number of emotions tripped over themselves as they skittered through her mind.

  “I think I might ask Mrs Barnsley to join me for tea this afternoon.”

  “An excellent idea. She will be very happy to hear about the plans for the Whit Sunday fête,” he answered.

  With those prosaic words, the field had levelled, and order restored itself in her mind. Gwyneth turned with a smile. “Would you be so kind as to send her a message, Jeremy? And let Evan know I’ll need tea at possibly three o’clock or thereabouts?”

  “Of course, Ma’am.” He bowed, smiled and turned away.

  The die had been cast. Gwyneth had selected a lover. Now all that remained was to survive the day, and not regret the night to come.

  The arrival of Mrs Barnsley, promptly at half-past two, certainly brought a breath of fresh air into the parlour.

  “‘Bout time,” she said, sitting down with a thump in one of the upholstered chairs. “Yer leavin’ the fête awful late, m’Lady.”

  “Forgive me,” said Gwyneth. “I didn’t know. I’m still learning about the whys and wherefores of Wolfbridge, and there’s a lot to take in.”

  Mrs B nodded. “I’ll give yer that. An’ since yer were sick, makes it all the ‘arder. But we’re ‘ere now, so let’s be at it.”

  Gwyneth told her of the Medieval fair idea, amused as Mrs B’s face lit up with enthusiasm.

  “Now there’s a good idea, Ma’am. Yer got brains as well as looks, I’m thinkin’.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “An’ we can do chickens on a spit outside, mebbe a pig if the weather ‘olds fine…lots ‘o them tent thingies…keep the sun off the pies, o’ course…”

  “We were thinking perhaps toy swords, and hobby horses for the children? Maybe some bits and pieces of silk, scraps and so on, for a bit of veil here and there…”

  Mrs B’s eyes glazed. “Ohhh…”

  Taking that as an endorsement, Gwyneth continued to relate some of the other ideas they’d come up with, all met with the same enthusiasm.

  Notes were made, alternative ideas tossed around, and neither realised that half an hour had sped by until Jeremy knocked and entered with the tea tray.

  “Now that’s what I call tea,” beamed Mrs B. “Yer a good lad, Jeremy.”

  Jeremy grinned and bowed. “I’m honoured you think so, Ma’am.”

  She grinned back. “Don’t go Ma’am-ing me, Mr Cheeky. I seen you nabbin’ them peaches last week, of’f Fred Dibbin’s tree.”

  Gwyneth couldn’t help laughing at Jeremy’s blush. “Jeremy. You were scrumping?”

  “‘E were that, m’Lady. Broad daylight too.”

  “It had to be in daylight. Fred lets his dogs out at night.” Jeremy sighed. “They guard those trees as if they bore florins instead of fruits.” He shrugged. “I was testing them to see if they were ready for Lady Gwyneth. Don’t tell Fred, but those peaches need a few more days of sunshine. Too early to be really juicy. Made my mouth pucker.”

  “Them’s the wages o’ sin, lad.” Mrs B gave him the look that probably reduced him to about eight years old.

  Gwyneth reminded herself to practice her own version of that look. It would doubtless come in handy in when dealing with her household.

  Jeremy took himself off and she turned to pour tea and put one or two of Evan’s perfect tiny cakes on a plate for Mrs B.

  “So which one yer takin’ ter yer bed, then?”

  Gwyneth fumbled and nearly dropped the teapot at the question. “What?”

  Mrs B smiled silkily. “Dearie, I bin ‘ere at Wolfbridge more years’n you got on this earth. Seen more ’n a few Ladies come an’ go, an’ plenty o’ these ‘ere gentlemen o’ yourn. What ‘appens inside these walls ain’t nobody’s business but yers. ‘Owever, I got to know them ladies an’ they all ‘ad the same problem.”

  “They did?” Gwyneth stared, open-mouthed.

  “Yep.” Mrs B nodded. “None ‘o them could pick just one.” She bit into a tea cake and chewed with obvious relish. “Oh they ‘ad a bit of a time fixin’ on the notion they could ‘ave any of ‘em. But once they got that in their ‘eads, it was all ‘bout which one.”

  Sitting down, because all of a sudden her knees had become a bit wobbly, Gwyneth decided not to risk picking up her teacup just yet, although a sip of the warm liquid would have been most welcome. “So…er…how did they decide?”

  “I dunno.” Mrs B reached for another cake. “Damn, these are ‘bout the best things ever.” She chewed with delight. “Far as I can tell, m’Lady, yer starts wi’ one o’ yer men, an’ then…”

  “And then…?” Holding her breath, Gwyneth waited for an answer.

  “Try more. Or all at once. Or two at a time. Whatever yer wants, m’Lady. Whatever yer wants.” Mrs B’s voice firmed. “Them lads are ‘ere for yer. Only yer. So yer gotta get past that feelin’ like yer a wicked lass for takin’ what yer want from ‘em.”

  Gwyneth stared. The advice was practical and logical. But oh so…wicked was indeed the right word.

  “Shocked yer, didn’ I?” Mrs B grinned with amusement.

  “Yes,” choked Gwyneth. “You certainly did.”

  “Trouble is,” she sipped tea, licked her lips, and then looked back at Gwyneth. “Trouble is, yer all raised ter be ladylike.” She spoke the word as if it tasted sour. “Best yer be raised womanlike. Ready ter do them woman things, like ‘avin’ kids, puttin’ together and keepin’ a family. An’ not bein’ ashamed of lovin’ men. An’ we know that ain’t always the easiest row to hoe.”

  “Indeed,” agreed Gwyneth. “Although if we were free to choose the men we loved, that row would go much more smoothly.” She sighed. “I take your point.”

  “So my advice ter yer? Start with one o’ them, then try a couple more. Ye’ll know sooner or later which one’s right fer yer.”

  Gwyneth rolled her eyes, unable to stop a spurt of laughter. “You are so wise, Mrs B. But do understand that even if I take your advice, I’m not going to tell you about any of it.”

  “Well, damn, m’Lady. Never say yer a spoilsport…Dashed all me ‘opes for them saucy details, yer ‘ave.”

  The consequent laughter from both ladies rattled
the teacups.

  *~~*~~*

  Seeing Mrs B had distracted Gwyneth enough that she had almost forgotten about the letter she’d received. But once alone again, her thoughts revolved back to that problem.

  She’d not told Giles of the specific threat to her; but was glad she’d given the letter to him. The fact that someone knew her “darkest secret” might have been an idle one, but since it specified that not even her husband had known, she was certain there was only one matter to which the blackmailer was referring. And it had been buried so far in her past that she was astonished and shocked anyone had learned of it.

  Which brought her back to the main question that plagued her. And probably plagued Giles as well. Who? Who could have discovered all that information? As to the whys of it…well probably demands for money. Greed lay at the bottom of so many unpleasant situations; why should this be any different?

  She sat in the Rose room after lunch, a book open on her lap, her mind turning over the issue and coming up with not a single useful idea. It would have to be someone who was familiar with her family’s home, a modest house in a small town, not notable for anything in particular.

  She closed her eyes, frustrated that she could not come anywhere near to solving this annoying and threatening puzzle. Then she gave herself a mental shake and decided to leave it for now, since there were other matters to attend to. The Lady of Wolfbridge shouldn’t be sitting so silently and trying to recall years past. She should be working for the future, and the most useful thing she could do at the moment was make some lists for the Whit Sunday fête.

  That was how Giles found her when he peered in. “My Lady, you have a caller. Baron Randschen is here and requests a few moments of your time.”

  She returned her pen to the inkwell, pushed some papers aside and stood, rounding the small table holding her notes and coming to the centre of the room. Giles met her gaze and read her concern. “I will be here in the hall, my Lady.” It was a whisper.

  She nodded, somewhat reassured. “Then do please show the Baron in, Giles.” She knew her words would carry past the door and to the ears of the Baron.

  He entered, his dark eyes finding her face immediately. His smile was there, but as always she felt no corresponding warmth. This time, there would be no answering smile. She was finished with such pretence.

  “Baron. This is a surprise.” She walked back to her chair and indicated the one on the other side of the table. He had no choice but to take it. “I had assumed you would send a message before your next visit.”

  He ignored the subtle reprimand. “I could not wait, my dear. My spirits have been quite chaotic as I await your response. I repeated our conversation over and over again in my head, and I came to understand the number of things I never said to you. I did tell you of my deepest regard, but I should also have offered the suggestion that our alliance need not disrupt your life. This is a pretty enough house…” his eyes wandered over the room, “and should the estate be profitable, we could certainly reside here. If not all year, then part of it. Of course, I’m sure you’d prefer London for the season, at least…” He attempted another smile.

  Her teeth had clenched as he began his speech. She was surprised she hadn’t cracked a tooth by the end of it.

  This had to stop, and it had to stop now. He’d made his reasons quite clear, to her mind, anyway.

  She rose. “Baron, I am—of course—honoured by your proposal. But I am not looking for a husband at all. I will not consider marriage, and even if I did, it would not to be to you, sir, a man I barely know, and for whom I do not cherish any warm affections.”

  He rose, his mouth opening in protest, a frown upon his face.

  She stopped him with a raised hand. “Allow me to finish, if you please. My residence here at Wolfbridge and my assumption of the title Lady of Wolfbridge come from a distant relation. The terms of this inheritance are quite clear. Upon the marriage of a Lady of Wolfbridge, she must vacate the property immediately.”

  He paled. “What?”

  She squared her shoulders. “Your response tells a tale, Baron. And one that will not, sadly for you, have a happy ending.” She turned away from him and walked to the door. “Giles?” she called.

  “Ma’am?” He was there in an instant.

  “The Baron is leaving.”

  “Very good, my Lady. This way, sir.” Giles stared at the man.

  “But…” The Baron stuttered.

  “There is nothing for you here, Baron Randschen.” Gwyneth stood straight and resolute. “I will not consider marriage with you, as I have made quite clear. If, as it would seem, you would prefer a wife who comes with an estate, I suggest you repair to London and talk to some of the ladies of the Ton? They are always seeking a title for their daughters. You might find one or two who come with land attached.” Her lip curled. “Whatever you decide, you have my best wishes.”

  There wasn’t a thing left for the Baron to say. He clicked his boot heels, dipped his head in a brief salute, and glared at her, his eyes radiating anger. Then he walked stiffly out, past Giles and into the hall.

  Giles closed the door behind him, leaving Gwyneth alone.

  She sank into a chair, her hand shaking a little. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have been concerned too much after such an experience, but there’d been something so malevolent about the Baron’s eyes.

  Jeremy opened the door, looked in and hurried to her side, kneeling down and taking her cold hands in his. “Did he hurt you? Upset you?”

  She shook her head. “No, no of course not. I’m well, Jeremy. Really. Giles was outside the whole time. It’s just…” she paused, trying to collect her thoughts. “He’s not a kind or pleasant man. And it was plain he didn’t want me at all, he wanted Wolfbridge. When he found out that if I wed I surrendered it, he promptly lost interest.”

  “The cad.”

  “Well, I’m rather glad he did.”

  “There is that, I suppose.” Jeremy tipped his head on one side. “Honestly? There really wasn’t anything he could have done right, was there?”

  She couldn’t help the laugh that tripped from her throat in surprise. “No. No, now you mention it, not a single thing. He was doomed from the start. No wife, and no land. Either way.”

  “That’s better.” Jeremy raised her hands to his lips. “I like to see you laughing. Put all thoughts of him from your mind.”

  “I will.”

  The eyes staring at her were warm, filled with promises, the smile sensual and very appealing. “You should rest a little. It’s been a busy day.”

  “Perhaps I should.”

  “It will be an even busier night,” he murmured as he helped her to her feet.

  She turned her head, looking at him, feeling the want rise within her. “I do hope so.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Tense and on edge, Gwyneth heaved a sigh of relief when the day finally ended. Whether it was the concern over the potential blackmail threat, the after-effects of turning down the Baron, or the knowledge that tonight Jeremy would come to her…she was close to emotionally exhausted.

  Her hand shook a little as she slipped from her gown, washed and put on her robe. Refusing to accept that it might be nerves, she looked at herself in the mirror over her bureau as she sat to brush her hair. It had definitely thickened, and for that she was grateful. It still showed no signs of lengthening very much, but if she were honest with herself, she found the short curls to her liking. Easy to care for, the chestnut lights were returning, helped along by the rose soap and the oils recommended by both Mrs B and Mrs Smart.

  Simple, but effective, like many of the ways in the country.

  Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear Jeremy enter, and jumped when his image appeared behind her in the mirror. He put his hands on her shoulders, calming her.

  “Hush, dear one. I didn’t want to make you jump, but I didn’t want to advertise my presence either.”

  She nodded, staring at his face, partly shadowed now i
n the semi-darkness. He was so handsome. “It’s all right.” She turned on the stool, seeing his robe. He looked…somehow more masculine, more…everything. Clad in dark blue wool, simply tied at the waist, she could see a little chest showing between the lapels. Her gaze travelled upward.

  “Jeremy…” she whispered. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  He pulled her to her feet. “Are you sure? Very sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good.” He ran his hand around her face, cupping her chin and raising it so that he could bend toward her. “Then I can do something I very much want to do…”

  He kissed her, gently at first, his arm surrounding her and lifting her into his body. Without her shoes she realised for the first time how tall he was, and how short she was. But nevertheless, his mouth took hers, sweetly, easily, urging her lips apart with his tongue and making her moan as she allowed him entrance.

  Her hands reached for him, running up his chest to his neck, locking there and holding them together as they explored the kiss, deepened it and let it claim them both.

  She broke free, gasping his name. “Jeremy…” She freed the tie of his robe, pushing the fabric aside. “God, you’re lovely,” she whispered, stroking her palms over the firm planes and ridges she’d exposed. Whorls of hair dappled his skin and arrowed down his body—she pushed the robe completely away and sucked in a breath of air at the rigid length of him emerging from the fair curls between his legs.

  “Kiss me again,” he growled, pulling her against his nakedness.

  Willingly she went to him, her senses luxuriating in the heat from his bare body as it seeped through the thinner silk of her own robe. She felt his hardness, an arousal she’d not anticipated, and knew that her body was responding with tears of eagerness.

  Desire was rising, and she eagerly embraced it. She held a man who wanted her, who touched her with gentleness, affection and a measure of demanding passion.

  Had she ever experienced this before?

  Only once. And now, it was so much better, since the apprehension of a young girl was gone, leaving anticipation in its wake.