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

  Tears came to my eyes as well; he shifted himself into position and began to enter me, his attention divided between my face and the place where we were joining.

  He was slow, breathtakingly slow, his body taut, his expression reverent, as if every tiny movement was a miracle of sorts. Finally, he was seated inside me, his body to mine, his length swelling and stretching my inner sheath.

  I gasped and made some sound of pleasure - he moved, pulling away a little, then returning on a gasp of his own.

  As if surrendering to instinct, Gabriel’s body came alive and he began to thrust, slowly at first, but then faster, his loins colliding with mine in the most stimulating of places.

  He was more powerful than I realised, and I found myself moving as he pounded into me. I locked my legs around his waist and clung to the bedclothes - lifting to meet his movements as best I could.

  His face - how can I describe his face? He held nothing back, there was no facade nor mask. The joy, the fierce and savage need to…to fuck me. That is the best way and the only way I can describe his unique expression. And it aroused me to the point of madness. I could not get enough of him, and I told him so, whispering moans, crying out at times, writhing beneath him trying to pull even more of that delicious length inside me.

  We rose simultaneously, and I think my last moments before I broke triggered his release.

  He groaned so loudly, erupting inside me like thunder and lightning, echoed by my own spasmodic clutching of his shuddering climax.

  We gripped each other tightly enough to leave little bruises, and we rode the wildest storm together, locked into a world where nothing could intrude to destroy those magically insane moments of ecstasy.

  Needless to say we collapsed soon thereafter, a tumble of sweaty flesh and sated limbs.

  I found myself wondering what Gabriel’s response would be to the loss of his virginity with women.

  As is his way, he settled us both comfortably under the covers, and then turned his head on the pillow and gazed at me with those beautiful green eyes, now soft and gentle.

  “Thank you, love,” he said. “Thank you.” And he touched my cheek so gently, making my eyes sting with tears once more.

  Then he leaned over and kissed me, lying back on the pillow with a satisfied smile. “Can we do that again in a little while?”

  I laughed and laughed, knowing it was his way of telling me he enjoyed it.

  So I said of course.

  And we did.

  Chapter Thirty

  Gwyneth arrived late at the breakfast table, moments before Gabriel. The two entered together, to meet the casual but knowing grins of the others.

  “Morning,” said Royce, his face innocent.

  “Sleep well?” asked Jeremy, barely holding back a chuckle.

  “You look rested.” Evan calmly sipped tea with his good hand.

  Gabriel sighed. “Any more of this and I shall take great pleasure in battering you all into tiny pieces and feeding them to the chickens.” He walked to the sideboard and glanced at Gwyneth as she sat in the chair Jeremy held for her. “Tea?”

  “Yes please,” she nodded, ignoring the rest. “And I’ll take some of that toast.” She looked at the table then at the others, her brows meeting in an accusing frown. “Have you left me any raspberry jam?”

  “Why yes, my Lady…”

  “Of course, my Lady…”

  “Here…”

  She bit her lip against a giggle and merely nodded her thanks. Gabriel brought her tea and his breakfast, taking the seat beside her.

  “So, Gabriel,” Jeremy took his own chair. “Do you have anything exciting lined up for today?” His lips twitched.

  He glanced at Gwyneth. “They’ll be like this for quite some time, you know.”

  She shrugged. “I know. We’ll get used to it, I’m sure.”

  “I saw a couple of likely lasses eyeing our Gabriel here at Whitsun,” said Evan around a mouthful of toast. “They came by a day or so later asking for him…” He waved the crust in the air. “Seems like all the ladies are developing a taste for blonde hair and green eyes…”

  Gwyneth rolled her eyes and was about to denounce Evan in the strongest possible terms when Giles walked in, an expression of deep concern on his face.

  Everyone forgot about jests and watched him as he neared the table.

  “What is it…” Royce stood.

  Giles looked at them. “A body has been found. In the woods.”

  “Oh dear God,” Gwyneth whispered, shock running through her veins like ice.

  “Who?” Jeremy’s question came out like a gunshot, making her jump.

  “He has not yet been formally identified, but it could be the Baron.” Giles looked at Gwyneth. “I hate to ask this of you, my Lady, but you are the best person to confirm or disprove my assumption. The clothing perhaps might be familiar, or something…” He spread his hands helplessly.

  “Of course.” She rose. “I have to assume he cannot be identified from his facial features?” She lifted her chin, ignoring the horror dripping down her spine at the mere thought.

  “That is correct, Ma’am.”

  “I’ll come with you,” said Jeremy and Royce at the same moment that Evan rose.

  Giles stopped them with an upraised hand. “Let Jeremy attend Lady Gwyneth. He knew the Baron’s brother. There may be other similarities he’s familiar with.” He turned his head slight. “Royce, we need you here. There may be formalities…I don’t know what authorities have been informed yet, if any. Gabriel, you and Evan must proceed as normal. My Lady will want an orderly house to return to.”

  They nodded, appreciating the commonsense behind Giles’s instructions.

  Gwyneth found herself once again understanding the close familiarity each man had with the others. They went from jests to teamwork in the blink of an eye. “I’ll change my shoes.” She left the room, hurrying upstairs to pick up her bonnet and shawl and change into serviceable half boots in case the path was muddy.

  She dreaded this more than she could have imagined, but if he was the man who fired the shot at the window, nearly killing Evan… She squared her shoulders and returned to the hall where Jeremy and Giles waited.

  “It’s not far, my Lady.” Giles led the way.

  “It’ll be all right,” Jeremy said in a low voice as they followed Giles.

  “I know.” She took his hand, aware that hers trembled ever so slightly. It was reassuring to feel that Jeremy’s grip was none too steady either.

  There were clouds in the sky, and a cool gust of wind whipped at her skirts as they crossed the lawns and headed toward the woods. Now that summer was on their doorstep, the leaves were lush and green, creating darker caverns beneath the canopy. It was into this strange daytime twilight that the three of them walked, and within fifty yards, she spotted a couple of men standing silently over something on the ground.

  A blanket covered the body, and she was grateful for those few final moments of preparation. Clasping Jeremy’s hand with a savage grip, she nodded to the men, two farmers she recognised as Wolfbridge tenants.

  “Mr Jack, Mr Robert. Did you find him?”

  They doffed their caps and gave her a brief bow.

  “We did, m’Lady,” said Mr Jack. “We was comin’ along ‘ere lookin’ fer any broken branches. Them’s as might fall on persons walkin’ this way, like.”

  “Found a few of ‘em, Ma’am. Pulled ‘em down. We’ll be lettin’ ‘em dry and then cuttin’ ‘em up fer firewood, yer see.” Mr Robert gestured behind him, and sure enough there was a small pile of broken branches, ready to have their leaves stripped.

  Gwyneth nodded. “I see.” She looked at Giles.

  “Let’s look at him, then, lads.”

  Mr Robert leaned down and carefully drew the old blanket away.

  Gwyneth swallowed. The man lay face down, his head bloody and battered. But the rest of him seemed to be in one piece—clearly the attack to his head had been violent and
fatal.

  “You didn’t hear a shot or anything suspicious?” She looked at the two farmers.

  “Nay, Ma’am. We ain’t ‘eard nothin’.”

  Giles knelt beside the man. “They wouldn’t have,” he remarked.

  “Why?” Jeremy released Gwyneth’s hand and moved to stand next to Giles.

  “He’s been dead for some time, I would guess.” He picked up a twig and gently touched some of the more unpleasant spots.

  Gwyneth swallowed again and turned away, holding herself together by a thin string of control.

  “See how this has dried?”

  “Ah, yes. I see what you mean.” Jeremy’s voice was not as steady as usual. “So he must have been killed possibly last night?”

  “I can’t say,” answered Giles. “But I can say he’s been here for at least twelve hours or so. The ground beneath him is dry. We had some rain just around midnight. Thus he was lying here already at that time.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment and prayed that whoever he was, he’d found peace. Those thoughts gave her enough strength to turn back. “Can you identify him, Giles?”

  Giles stood. “Not from his face, no. For obvious reasons. But…” He walked down the length of the body. “I can say he’s very well dressed. His boots are almost spotless, and I’d swear that jacket has the style of Weston’s latest. It’s either an original, in which case very expensive, or a copy…even so, not cheap.”

  “Giles, would you mind removing his right boot?”

  She could see Giles’s eyes turn to her in confusion, even before his brows narrowed into a frown. “What?”

  “His right boot, please.”

  Awkwardly, Giles did so, handling the leg with caution. It was a snug fit, but he finally managed to tug it free. “I have it, my Lady…”

  “Look inside the band. See if the maker’s name is there?” She paused. “If the name is Bernetten, then see if you can loosen the heel.”

  “Good God.” She heard Giles’s whisper of surprise. “It’s…yes, it’s open. And there is a note inside, along with some coins.”

  Gwyneth sighed. “In that case, it is most likely Baron Randschen. The one thing I recall about our first meeting is overhearing the conversation about those boots. All the Prussian gentlemen favoured them at one time. A good idea never goes out of style.”

  “That’s an excellent confirmation, my Lady.” Giles glanced at Jeremy. “Can you add anything? See anything that looks familiar?” He turned the piece of paper over in his hand. “The note tells me nothing. Just a set of letters and a time.” He tucked it into his pocket.

  “I hate to ask, but if you could turn him over…” Jeremy’s voice held steady now.

  “We probably should anyway. Can you give me a hand, lads? I’ll take his shoulders, you take his legs. Easy now…”

  Gwyneth watched from a distance as they rolled the body onto its back. She shuddered at the red mess where his head should have been, but there had been enough time to prepare herself for the worst. Even so, she was happy that the two men left a bit of blanket over the worst of it.

  Jeremy gave a little groan, but bravely examined what was left. And his head rose quickly as he nodded to Giles. “It’s Randschen. Look here.” He was pointing at something and Gwyneth couldn’t restrain the impulse to see what it was.

  “This small pin. The deer antlers. I believe they’re Chamois deer antlers. That animal is native to Prussia and much prized as a hunting trophy I’m told.”

  “You know this because…”

  “The man I killed was wearing one. It snagged on Miss Susannah’s gown. I had to tear her lace to free her from it.”

  Gwyneth moved to his side and once again took his hand. He gripped hers this time, and she held on, knowing they drew strength from each other.

  Giles shook his head. “That’s definite then. Baron Randschen is dead.” He moved to Jeremy and Gwyneth. “Go back to the Manor. You can do no more here. I shall go with these fine lads and summon the authorities.”

  Gwyneth nodded and turned, a little unsteady on her feet and still somewhat stunned by this unpleasant turn of events. She brushed against a rhododendron and almost fell—Jeremy caught her just in time.

  “Gwyneth…are you all right?”

  She nodded and looked down. “I tripped over something. A root perhaps…” Moving one foot she stirred the leaves beneath the shrub. “Oh God…”

  There, lying crosswise where her foot had disturbed it, was a rifle.

  Giles and Jeremy looked at each other.

  She didn’t need words to understand where their thoughts were going. Hers were going there as well. She looked back along the path to the lawn. “He came this way, didn’t he?” She moved back out to solid ground and linked her arm tightly through Jeremy’s. “He came along here, with his gun, shot at us in the ballroom, then returned, leaving his rifle here under the bush. That way if he saw anyone, they’d think nothing of it.”

  “I would say that is a logical reconstruction, my Lady,” agreed Giles. “I can also add that he was most likely returning to collect his weapon when he himself was attacked and killed.”

  Silent for a moment, all three people stayed close, perhaps drawing comfort from each other’s presence.

  Finally Gwyneth spoke. “We must go back and tell them, Jeremy.” She lifted her chin. “We can tell Evan that the man who shot him has paid the ultimate price. And we can now begin to live our lives without this shadow hanging over us.”

  Jeremy’s smile dawned, warming Gwyneth’s heart. “Indeed we can, dear lady. Indeed we can.” He turned. “We’ll see you back at the Manor, Giles.”

  Giles nodded and waved them away.

  “I feel lighter already,” said Gwyneth as they emerged onto the smooth grass. “And look, the sun has come out. An excellent omen, wouldn’t you say?”

  Jeremy looked down at her, glanced around, and then dropped a quick kiss on her upturned mouth. “I would say it’s a very good omen, sweet one. But there is one better. Your smile. That is the best omen of all.”

  *~~*~~*

  Giles stood silent guard as several men approached with a gate. On it was a pile of sacking with which to cover the body. The news had spread rapidly and not long after Gwyneth and Jeremy’s departure, word arrived that a cart was on its way through the wood. It would stop at the far end of the path, away from the Manor lawns.

  The body would then be transported to the village and probably on to Little Maddington, where runners would be sent to Sir Gerald Ffolkesborough, the Lord Lieutenant. Giles would be quite happy to see it all loaded onto that man’s shoulders. There was no reason at all to include mention of anything to do with Wolfbridge, other than Randschen was a distant acquaintance of the Lady. He had no valuables on him, so robbery was the obvious motive.

  As Giles saw that all was taken care of, he left the men with a word of thanks and a promise to be available should he be needed. Then he turned and made his own way down the path Jeremy and Gwyneth had taken earlier.

  His steps were measured as his thoughts churned.

  Did this crime truly mark the end of the blackmail threats against Gwyneth?

  He hoped so, but failed to quell a tiny seed of doubt. Why would Randschen try to blackmail Gwyneth, and then decide to shoot her, without asking for money, as the note had suggested?

  Besides which, Randschen already knew that the estate was not in Gwyneth’s name nor under her control. She had the living, and the title of Lady of Wolfbridge. But there was no fortune to be gained by either marrying her or killing her.

  Could he have been so incensed at her refusal of his offer that he determined to kill her out of revenge?

  It seemed highly unlikely, but then again Giles did not know Randschen, and from Jeremy’s story it would seem that there was a streak of appalling behaviour rampant in that family.

  He preferred facts to assumptions. And the fact was, without question, Baron Randschen was dead. Someone had borrowed a bit of
the forest and beaten the man to death with it. Specifically his face and head, and with great force.

  Giles wondered what kind of man, in what kind of mood, could deliver such a violent and brutal attack.

  But again, he had to remind himself that savage though it was, it had removed the threat of more violence against Gwyneth and Wolfbridge.

  For this alone, he was relieved. Especially since the time was coming when he had to make some difficult decisions himself.

  He emerged into the sunshine and paused for a few moments, staring at the vista before him.

  To his left was Wolfbridge Manor, its warm grey stones surrounding sparkling windows which would take him into the ballroom. The decorative edgings and the softened lines of the building were appealing, as was the splash of colour offered by the fruit trees that grew on the other side of the lawns, some distance away.

  Beyond that, the hills were a soft green haze. If he walked on, he would turn to see the full front of the Manor, its steps leading down to the gravel drive. There were colours there now, as well, although the azaleas had already bloomed. Other shrubs flowered, and he made a mental note to remind Gabriel that some weeding should be on the agenda, especially on the edges of the steps.

  It was a natural thought, born of over two decades spent watching the life of Wolfbridge Manor. To Giles, it was almost a living thing, a building with character, flaws, strengths and beauty.

  He hoped his care had kept it so, and perhaps improved it here and there.

  The early summer weeding was vital, as was the autumn leaf clearing. Mr Greymarch would gather his lads and help when necessary, since he’d lived near Wolfbridge longer than Giles. The snow was rolled if it fell too deeply, and in the spring the dead wood would be collected, to dry under the summer sun, much as broken branches would be gathered all year long. Firewood was always a priority and would remain so as far as Giles could tell.

  So much lay unchanged, he thought, from the time the first Lady of Wolfbridge set about creating her dictates for the estate. It had probably looked the same centuries ago, and he spared a moment to wonder if an earlier servant had walked the lawns as he himself did now.