The Rightful Lord (The Saga Of Wolfbridge Manor Book 3) Page 3

  “Exactly.”

  “Let me give it some thought, my Lady?” He looked at her, his handsome face serious. “I must take an accounting of our finances and then look at the state of Fivetrees. We might gain from the knowledge that although Trick and Jane are taking good care of it, there is probably work needed. It doesn’t sound as if Sir Amery cared very much for anything other than the status brought by owning the estate.”

  Remembering the late Lord Fairhurst, the original owner, Gwyneth could only nod her agreement.

  “I need to speak with Giles about this as well.”

  Gwyneth smiled at the mention of Royce’s predecessor. “He will certainly have plenty of advice, I’m sure. And he was Miss Fairhurst’s guardian before she married, so I’ll wager there is still plenty of contact between them.”

  “Yes, that’s also helpful.” Royce straightened. “Very well. Give me perhaps a week or so and I will have details in hand.”

  “Do not let this take you away from your other duties, Royce, please?” Gwyneth touched his arm. “I know you’re busy on our behalf all the time…”

  He smiled at her, not realising how the expression turned his features into something breathtakingly handsome. “I won’t.”

  Gwyneth struggled to remember what they were talking about and also struggled against the urge to bring that face to hers and kiss it thoroughly.

  As if he guessed, he leaned forward and let his lips touch hers for a brief instant.

  Then he smiled once more and reached up to gently flick her nose. “Don’t tempt me, my Lady. There are things I want too, that have nothing to do with Fivetrees.”

  Then he turned away, leaving Gwyneth with a heartbeat that threatened to choke her and an aching need that travelled through her from her eyebrows to her toes.

  Chapter Three

  Journal of Gwyneth, Lady of Wolfbridge - October 1818

  It has been quite some time since I wrote here, and I feel rather guilty in not keeping these pages up to date. This might well be a journal that future ladies of Wolfbridge are given upon their acceptance of the title.

  I wonder if they will experience such stunning events? I wonder if their gentlemen will offer the comfort and love needed upon those occasions?

  I must explain.

  Late in the summer, we were shocked and appalled to find a young woman literally thrown at our feet. Gabriel and I were gardening when the carriage drove up, tossed out a poorly wrapped bundle, and left post haste.

  Inside the bundle? Jeremy’s old love, Susanna Brockford. There are no words that can truly describe the sad state of this poor young woman. The signs of violent and vicious abuse were right before our eyes, and although she regained consciousness long enough to recognise Jeremy, it was not long after that her soul left us.

  Our sadness was profound, our grief painful.

  For Jeremy…well, I cannot comprehend what he went through as he held her hand, watching her pass away before his eyes.

  He had loved her, he confessed to us later. But she had left him, somewhat callously, and the affection he had cherished faded away with the passage of time and her absence.

  This event, and the shadows it raised, has hung over Wolfbridge for several weeks. It has only been recently that we’ve all felt our spirits begin to recover. Evan has spared nothing to help his friend through this time, preparing meals he knows Jeremy favours and spending as much time with him as he can. All of us, in fact, have made sure that no attention is lacking, no hug or caress left unadministered.

  For my part, I have been sure to welcome Jeremy with open arms whenever he comes to my chamber at night. But as of now, our hours together are spent either talking or sleeping. It appears he needs the solace of being loved, more for emotional purposes than physical.

  In fact, all my men have been in the same kind of state; Evan and Gabriel are always ready to satisfy me, but even they have enjoyed nights where we simply cuddle.

  For myself? I find I am quite in tune with this; I love their attentions; I love the touches and caresses and erotic moments that drive me to that magnificent peak of passion. But I have discovered I can manage very well without it, especially when the house is labouring to get past such a tragic event.

  So I am praying that each day we will take one more step down the path to normalcy, such as it is here at Wolfbridge.

  To that end, I spoke recently to Royce about my wish to purchase Fivetrees and add it to the Wolfbridge lands. Is this ambitious? Yes, probably. But it would certainly bring additional income, if just from the fields alone. Royce raised the question of what to do with the house which is very grand.

  And that is a good, if troublesome, question because I really don’t have any ideas at all. I tossed out the notion of an orphanage—a spur-of-the-moment idea—which might serve, I suppose. But then again, we here at Wolfbridge are unique. Should we even consider risking strangers so few miles away?

  How would they react when they learned that I am the only woman allowed to be in residence? That I have, at this time, three devoted men who cater to my every need? And I do mean every need.

  It is scandalous, shocking in the eyes of the world, and would probably result in my being arrested for something indecent, or acting against the teachings of religion, or some other made-up charge, just to stop me from loving my gentlemen.

  Well, that is not going to happen. So while Royce looks into the money end of such matters, I will give thought to what might be the best use for Fivetrees itself.

  All this presumes that we can manage to purchase the estate, and that is not a trivial project. I have to say that at the back of my mind lurks the spectre of Sir Alfred Gylbart, the dissolute owner of what are little more than brothels catering to rich gentlemen who can afford to buy their sexual partners.

  Even if they be underage and regardless of gender.

  My stomach churns at the thought, but Gabriel has had first-hand experience of this man’s frightening and lascivious ways. He bears the brand from that time.

  With luck, Giles will respond to Royce’s letters and let us know what the situation is with Fivetrees and the Withersbys.

  Although I shall always miss Giles’s reassuring presence here, I am finding myself more and more inclined to lean on Royce for the same comfort. His advice is usually sound, he’s not afraid of admitting he has no knowledge about some matter, and is invariably ready to seek out that knowledge if it is required.

  And I cannot deny I find him extremely attractive.

  While I know that the man holding his position is not supposed to become intimate with the Lady, I notice myself wishing that in this particular instance that rule might be set aside.

  Officially, he is butler to the Lady of Wolfbridge.

  Unofficially, I cannot help but wish he were considerably more. But that is absurd, since I have three of the most divine gentlemen at my command. I must be terribly greedy and a dreadful person to desire anything more than I already have.

  Yes, it would be quite horrid of me.

  And yet…

  Chapter Four

  Gwyneth had just put down her quill after blotting and closing her journal when there was a quiet tap on her door. She rose and crossed her chamber, noting that it was now close to midnight. Darcy had chosen her room for the night and snored quietly in his bed in one corner, but other than that slight sound, the house was silent.

  Jeremy stood outside.

  “Can I come in, my Lady?” He peeked past her shoulder. “If you’d rather be alone…”

  “Don’t be silly,” she smiled and took his hand. “I’d rather have your company.”

  He nodded and allowed her to draw him in, smiling back as she closed the door behind him. “Thank you. I—” he paused, “I need you.”

  “As I have needed you, Jeremy.” She walked him to the bed and slid out of her robe, leaving nothing but her cotton nightgown. Turning to him, she undid the tie on his robe, pushing it off his shoulders. He was nude beneath, as
was the custom between them. “Come and warm me.”

  Aroused and ready, he obeyed, waiting for her to move across the bed and give him room to slip between the covers and then put his arms around her, spooning her to his body.

  His chest rose and fell with his sigh. “This is…perfect.” He wriggled a little, snuggling his erection against her bottom.

  Gwyneth couldn’t help a smile as she relaxed into the firm heat warming her back from her shoulders to her thighs. “It is much welcomed,” she murmured. “I have needed you so often, Jeremy. And you have always been there, along with the others. So I’m glad I can return the favour.”

  His hand drifted to her hip and the warmth of his palm seared her skin. “Now and again” he whispered, “I am surprised at all this.”

  “All what?”

  “This.” He touched her gently, running his palm down her thigh and pulling up her nightgown as his hand rose again. “You.”

  “I cannot but agree. Sometimes it all surprises me as well.”

  “And yet it seems so right.” Jeremy continued to find bare skin, making her tingle.

  “It does. Now, at this moment, it seems perfect,” she answered.

  “All of us…” his voice carried some deep emotion. “All of us love you, Gwyneth. And not because we have to but because we want to.” He moved closer, his hand finding her breast and cupping it. “Which is understandable. But what continually surprises me is how we all seem to have the same feelings about each other. We care for each other and there’s never a problem with sharing. Sharing you amongst us.”

  Desire rose sharply within Gwyneth at his words. “Jeremy,” she breathed.

  His fingers teased her nipple. “I love touching you. But I also love watching Evan touching you. Or Gabriel fucking you. Or all three of us bringing you to your release in whatever way we choose.”

  She bit back a moan and thrust her buttocks against his hardness. “I know,” she mumbled. “In case you hadn’t guessed, I love everything about all of you…” she choked out a cry of pleasure as his cock slid between her thighs and into the slick juices that his words and deeds had brought to her sex. “Jeremy…”

  “I want to fuck you, Gwyneth. Will you let me?” He turned her onto her back, pulled her nightgown up around her neck and straddled her. “I mean fuck you. Just fuck you until we can’t see anymore.”

  Gwyneth’s heart thudded with need. “Yes. Yes, Jeremy. Fuck me. Hard. Until we can’t see or hear or feel anything but what we’re doing.”

  His gaze fell to her body as he began to rub himself against her, heating her eager flesh, hitting the sweet spot that made her shudder and open herself to him.

  He thrust himself between her thighs, pushing them apart roughly, his hand strong and forceful and bringing a gasp to her throat.

  There were no kisses, no sweet words, no tender caresses.

  There was just Jeremy, hard and thick, plunging into her to his balls without a moment’s check.

  “God,” he hissed, thrusting again and again, so forcefully she moved upward with each push. “God, yes.”

  His eyes closed, and Gwyneth held on, locking her ankles around him, heaving her hips against him as best she could.

  It was rough, but it was magnificent, this pouring of lust and desire, this fierce and savage fucking.

  He reached beneath her, grabbing her buttocks and pulling her sharply into him, always pounding, forcing his rigid cock deep into her body.

  She clung to him, a limpet on a rock withstanding a battering storm.

  Suddenly he pulled out, making her whimper. But within seconds he’d turned her over and pulled her to her hands and knees.

  “I love you like this,” he muttered low, leaning over her and biting her shoulder, claiming her. “I could do this for hours…”

  He thrust inside her again, deeply, making her feel the fullness of him as he slid easily in and out. She was soaked, her thighs wet and her breasts swinging with every pounding of his hips against hers.

  “God, Jeremy…yes…”

  He closed the gap between them, shortening his plunges and reaching for a nipple, grabbing it and pinching it with his free hand.

  “Ohhh…” It was a strangled gasp as her arousal threatened to choke her.

  “Gwyneth,” he whispered, “I’m going to come. Come with me…”

  He locked her against him, his thrusts sharp and rapid, and released her breast only to seek out and find the slick lips between her thighs.

  He rubbed just the right place, and she screamed into her pillow as a tremendous release hit her, shattering her and rocketing her into some kind of erotic madness.

  Jeremy held tight, his fingers still rubbing those wet lips and his cock rubbing deep inside her. “Jesus, oh sweet…”

  He came, massive eruptions that set off another round of spasms, almost painful in their intensity. She clutched the bedclothes, letting her thighs slip wide apart as her world rattled and shook around Jeremy’s cock.

  She had no breath to scream, no ability to move, she could only ride him as her body trembled on and on, refusing to subside even as she felt the hardness soften inside her.

  “Gwyneth” he whispered, his arms holding her tightly against him. “My dearest Gwyneth…”

  She eased, finally, her muscles frail and loose, glad of his strength. “Jeremy,” she whispered back, out of breath and ready to collapse.

  Now the tenderness came; he helped them both topple onto the bed, pulling the covers up and settling her head on his shoulder, his arm around hers, tucking her close.

  “That was…” His voice tapered off.

  She managed a small chuckle. “I agree. It was.”

  “I didn’t hurt you?” He squeezed her a little. “I was rough. Too rough perhaps…”

  “No. Stop. It was wonderful,” she reached up to put her fingers to his lips. “Don’t ever apologise.”

  He sighed. “All right, I won’t.”

  Silence fell, warm and comfortable, where each listened to the sounds of the other. Gwyneth could hear his heart beating steadily now as his body relaxed.

  “She wasn’t what she told me.”

  His comment made her blink. “I don’t understand.”

  His chest rose and fell as he exhaled roughly. “Susanna. I was led to believe she was an innocent miss. All the time I loved her, in the darkest of my days in prison, I believed I had saved a virtuous young woman from a heinous rapist.”

  “What are you saying?” Her skin chilled.

  “She was a whore, Gwyneth. And the man I killed was one of her customers.”

  “Dear God.” It was all Gwyneth could manage.

  “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know. I see now how clever she was, because she convinced me that I was her saviour. Her sweet words, her delicate distress…no wonder I fell in love with her. And no wonder it hurt so badly when she told me she was to wed another. After all I’d been through…”

  “Tell me all of it,” Gwyneth urged quietly.

  “I didn’t find out until recently. When we met at St. Polycarp’s. She informed me her husband was unkind to her, but she slipped up and mentioned he’d forced her to work. Just like before, she said.” He swallowed. “Just like before.”

  Gwyneth slid her arm around his chest and held him close.

  “I looked at her when she said that, and I knew. I just knew right away what she meant. So I confronted her with it. And all she did was shrug.”

  “That’s why she walked away from you in the first place?”

  “Possibly,” he nodded. “Or maybe she thought a rich old man was a better bet than an ex-prisoner. I don’t know. But I realised over the past weeks that my mourning was more anger than grief. That I was so angry at her and angry at myself for not seeing what she was. And then…”

  “On top of that, you felt guilty for all those kinds of emotions, didn’t you?” Gwyneth stroked his cheek. “It’s natural and normal, Jeremy. She was entwined in parts of your life t
hat were devastating. The cause of that devastation, to be blunt about it. And she manipulated your emotions. Of course you were angry. Anyone would be under the circumstances.”

  He nodded, his throat moving as he swallowed. “Yes.”

  “And now she’s dead, in a terrible way. It could be viewed as justice, but in fact it’s simply a waste of a life that could have offered much. Her circumstances killed her, Jeremy. Not your anger or your hatred.”

  Gwyneth felt hot tears on her neck as Jeremy burrowed his face against her and sobbed.

  She let him, knowing that this was the release he truly needed—the cleansing of his heart and his soul.

  And sometime later, when the tears had abated, they still clung to each other until sleep claimed them.

  *~~*~~*

  The following morning Royce, as was his custom, headed for the room used as the estate office after his first cup of tea. Breakfast could wait, but the business of Wolfbridge was important, and he was having a damned hard time coping with it all.

  He couldn’t confess to Gwyneth that he was the wrong man to be an estate manager, because there were no other options, but by God the books were driving him fucking insane.

  And as yet, there’d been no word from Giles about Fivetrees, or anything else for that matter. They were down to three gentlemen and himself.

  Something was going to be missed, and he was convinced it would cause a disaster.

  He had no idea what it was, of course, but he slaved away each and every day at this desk, praying this wouldn’t be the day he missed that critical entry or payment or purchase or….

  He leaned his head on his hands for a brief moment, then sighed and picked up his quill. Only to be disturbed moments later by the sound of a horse and a knock echoing in the hall. He frowned, but hearing voices, assumed Jeremy would be taking care of whoever it was. He returned to his perusal of monthly expenses.

  A light tap on his door brought a muttered curse to his lips. “Enter.”