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

by Sahara Kelly

  She snatched one and popped it into her mouth, loving the sharp burst of flavour on her tongue as she bit into it. “Mmm.”

  “Go, Miss Mischief. Don’t eat the jam before it’s jam.”

  She stuck out her tongue at him, knowing it was probably stained with juice. “Don’t start without me.”

  It took her less than fifteen minutes to find the oldest dress—a thin cotton affair—and squeeze herself into it. She’d gained back some weight since last she wore it, and it was tight across her breasts. With a muttered oath, she took it off, removed her chemise and slipped it back on. The fit was better, and the sensation of lightness…well it was admittedly sensual. Knowing there was nothing but a thin sheen of fabric between her and the rest of the world sent a tiny thrill of excitement darting along her nerve endings.

  She hurried back down to the kitchen—and Evan.

  He took one look at her and groaned. “God, you’re everything a man could want, Gwyneth. Did you realise that?”

  She shook her head. “No. No I don’t realise that, although since I’ve been here…”

  He crossed the room with her apron, repeating the earlier steps, but this time his hands lingered after tying the tapes, sliding own to cup her bottom. “Do you have a stitch on underneath this?” He squeezed her, making her moan a little with pleasure.

  She shook her head.

  “Wicked,” he said, letting her go with a little sharp slap.

  “Evan,” she gasped.

  “Gwyneth,” he answered, a smile in his eyes. “Jam. Jam now. Later…”

  “Later?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Pouting, she obeyed and followed him to the stove where two large pots were already warming. Wood piles stood ready in case more heat was needed, and she carried out his instructions, adding sugar and water to the cleaned and prepared blackberries as he added them to the pot and mashed them up a little.

  “How many pots will this make?” she asked, curious, and noticing the small china containers lining part of the table.

  “I’m hoping for three dozen. As you are well aware, our jams and jellies are much prized. I make a batch every few days for market, but these are for tomorrow.”

  “So the carts I see coming and going now and again…they are your supplies? Pots and cloths to cover them?” She stirred gently as the fragrant mixture heated over the stove.

  “Yes,” he nodded, adding the last of the sugar and a few squeezes of a lemon to each cooking pot. “There. That has to heat up now until it’s bubbling nicely.” He came to stand behind her, running his hands over her backside again. “I will note that I’m already heating up quite nicely, thanks to you and your lovely bottom, Gwyneth.”

  She sighed and leaned against him. “I shouldn’t say it, but I do love feeling your hands there.”

  He closed the space between them and dropped a kiss on her neck as he squeezed the firm globes.

  “Well then.” He pulled away and handed her a wooden spoon, then drew the pots slightly off the heat. “You have to watch the pot now. It mustn’t catch, but it must keep simmering.”

  “All right.” She stayed in front of the stove, covered in an apron, holding a wooden spoon. Never had she seemed so at home. The smell of the blackberries, the gentle sound of the jam as it slurped tiny bubbles to the surface and steamed happily away…Gwyneth felt something in her soul lift at the sheer, simple joy.

  Evan stood beside her, tending the other pot. He leaned against her for a brief moment. “You’re very good at this.”

  She glanced at him. “Thank you.”

  He wouldn’t know she was thanking him for more than just a compliment to her stirring abilities. He’d given her a moment, a brief and tiny slice of time where she was free of all her worries and troubles. All she had to do was stir the pot.

  “It’s thickening nicely,” he said quietly, lifting his spoon. “See how this is starting to hold on to the back?” He showed her what he meant.

  She lifted her own spoon and indeed hers was also beginning to turn into a thicker and more viscous liquid. “Are you going to strain it?” she asked, recalling something about jelly bags and dripping juices.

  “No, that’s for jelly. I’ll do that later in the year when all the fruit is starting to ripen. It’s a week I set aside, and some of the farmers’ wives and villagers come in to help.”

  “I like that. The idea that Wolfbridge is here for everyone, not just us.”

  “It’s part of who we are. Everyone here feels the same way. We have a deep need to do good, Gwyneth. It may sound silly, but that’s what the Manor is all about. And the more good we do, the more we get back in return.”

  She sighed. “If only more people could understand that.”

  “Agreed.”

  The pots bubbled on for a few minutes and then Evan left her side to come back with a saucer and a tiny bit of cold water. “Now,” he said, picking up his spoon. “Let’s see how we’re doing.”

  She watched with interest as he dipped his spoon into the hot liquid and dripped a little into the cold water on the saucer. Within moments it had thickened considerably and he could push it around with his finger.

  “Almost there. I think we should get our jam pots…”

  And a few minutes later they were ready, cautiously decanting the hot and thick jam into the waiting pots, pouring a tiny bit in first to warm the glass so that it didn’t crack. It was tricky work, and Gwyneth found herself sweating as they carefully filled pot after pot.

  Finally all were complete and Evan tossed several clean cloths over all the little vessels. “They have to cool now.”

  She looked at the trays as he carried them into the cold larder and put them on an empty shelf. “And then you put the covers on?”

  He nodded, putting the last tray with its fellows. “It will take a while.”

  “We should clean up.”

  She turned to the stove and carefully lifted an empty pot, taking it over to the sink. It wasn’t hot, but she was still cautious, and pumped cool water energetically to make sure the worst of the heat had dissipated.

  She jumped as the water poured faster than she’d expected, splashing a mixture of wet droplets and some of the jam that had stuck to the inside of the pot. It caught her smack over the front of her apron and gown.

  “Gwyneth…” Evan rushed over. “Jesus. Is that hot?” He grabbed the apron at her chest and tore it away…taking her bodice with it.

  She gasped, not from the warmth of the water and jam, but from the searing heat that flared in his eyes. “No, it’s mostly water. I’m all right,” she whispered.

  “You certainly are,” he answered. “But I’m not sure I am…Oh God,” He reached for her breasts, cupped them in his hands and dipped his head.

  “Evan,” she murmured, her body igniting as he suckled her, sending arrows of liquid fire from her toes to her eyebrows. “Oh Evan…”

  He looked up and stared at her. “So lovely, Gwyneth, you taste like…like sunlight…” He smiled and reached into the sink, his fingers scrabbling against the inside of the jam pot. It was warm but not hot and when he rubbed some on her nipples, she cried out at the wonderful sensation.

  Sucking and licking, Evan drove her higher with just his tongue. “Mmm. So much better than toast…I want my jam to be served just like this in future…” He painted her again then returned, his mouth widening and pulling her breast inside.

  She was lost in the touches, the licks, the teasing nips to buds that were hard, tight and oh so sensitive. Her body trembled, her loins ached and she wanted—no needed—him with a fierce passion that she could not deny.

  A tremble shook her, and Evan raised his head. “Yes, Gwyneth…”

  “Yes,” she whispered, not even sure what she was agreeing to.

  He grabbed her and lifted her onto the table, whisking her skirts away and stepping between her thighs as he unfastened his breeches. “Here. Now. I can’t wait any longer.”

  She wrap
ped her legs around him, gripping his shoulders as she did so. “Neither can I. Please. Here. Now…”

  It was fast, hard and wonderful…Evan pushed himself into her willing heat, plunging deep, standing at just the right height to touch the places that shuddered and ached in anticipation.

  She sighed out a moan of pleasure and clamped his body to hers, knowing that within moments she was going to explode. Evan, too, breathed a lusty sigh as he began to slowly thrust, rocking them both, rubbing them together like flint against flint, striking sparks of yearning and pushing them both toward a peak that drew ever closer.

  The heat, her naked breasts wet from his mouth, his deep penetrating massage of places that burned with need…within moments she was shuddering and tensing, her back arching in his arms, her legs locking him to her so hard she wondered if she’d ever be able to let him go.

  He cried out, a final thrust that set off all the fireworks her body contained. She soared high, linked to him, her fingers gripping his shoulders hard enough to tear his shirt and her body shaking even as he pumped himself deeply and shattered, throbbing violently inside her, adding to the magnificent whirl of blissful ecstasy.

  “Mother of God,” he murmured, crushing her against him and finding her breast once more. “Jesus…” He continued to suckle and she continued to shudder, his actions prolonging her maelstrom of sensation.

  Finally, exhausted, they eased, limbs loosening, bodies unwinding and breath returning to starved lungs.

  “Gwyneth,” he whispered, the word coming out like a prayer of joy.

  “I know.” She leaned her forehead against his as her legs finally decided to release him. “I know.”

  Evan stepped back. “Stay for a moment…”

  She couldn’t do anything else, so she didn’t object to the command.

  He returned with a cool cloth and gently cleansed her still-tender folds, then he tidied himself and restored them both to a semblance of normalcy.

  “Wait,” he said as she made to cover herself. “I missed a bit…” His head dipped and his tongue administered a final long, seductive lick around her nipples.

  “Evan,” she groaned. “It’s too much…I like that far too much…”

  Letting her go, he straightened her bodice as best he could and then fastened the apron over the torn fabric. “I can’t remember the last time I had such a wonderful time making jam.” His sensual smile made her shiver. “We’ll do this again, Gwyneth, and not on a kitchen table.” His gaze lit with fire. “I want you naked in front of me. And I want time to explore every inch of you…”

  She swallowed down a lump of lust that refused to go away. “Yes,” she nodded, held in thrall by that look in his eyes. “Yes.”

  Hooves clattered outside and recalled them both to the present, dispelling the erotic haze they’d created.

  “Lord, I must go,” she whispered, sliding to the floor. “I cannot run around in torn clothing.”

  “And I must take the delivery,” he sighed. “Until later, love.”

  She nodded. “Until later, Evan.”

  Hurrying away, she sped upstairs to her chambers and dressed once more, adding a chemise to the light lawn gown. Her hand still shook and she closed her eyes for a moment, reliving the feel of a man, the desire…the pleasure…

  A door was opening inside her. She could step through it and become the sensual woman she’d buried so long ago. The question was, should she?

  With a shrug, she told herself that only time would tell. And with that thought in mind, she left her room and headed back downstairs. Now she had to turn her attention to tomorrow’s fête.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “He’s here.”

  Jeremy’s call echoed through the rooms of Wolfbridge Manor and brought the residents scurrying to the hall. One of them had been watching the drive since mid-afternoon and it was now late, they’d dined, and dusk was giving way to that in-between period where there was hardly any light but it wasn’t full dark.

  Finally, after what seemed like weeks, Giles had returned from London.

  Gwyneth stood with her gentlemen, eager to set eyes on the man who had literally saved her life and offered her a new one. She was beyond grateful and so very happy to see him arrive home where he belonged.

  “Hullo…” He jumped down from the carriage, seeing the impatient faces awaiting him. “Since you’re all doing nothing, how about taking care of my bags?”

  Jeremy laughed, Gabriel followed and everyone was busy for a few moments, talking to the driver and unloading Giles’s modest amount of luggage.

  He walked straight to Gwyneth and took her hands in his. “All right?”

  She nodded. “Yes, quite all right. But much happier now you’re home at Wolfbridge.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “As am I.”

  Releasing her, he turned to the gentlemen as they went back into the hall. “I need to change and freshen up, and I dined early on the road. But a brandy would be most welcome, and I’m sure you all would like to know the results of my journey. So…” he glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner, “if we could meet in the Rose room, in about half an hour?”

  There was a chorus of agreement, and an energised group bustled around, Evan to put a small tray of food together, Jeremy to put glasses next to the brandy, Gabriel to carry Giles’s bags upstairs, over his objections, and Royce…Royce offered her his arm.

  “We might as well pick the most comfortable chairs, my dear,” he grinned. “I’ll wager our Giles has plenty of information to offer, but it will take some wheedling to get it out of him. And I know for a fact, that the chair with the big pink cushion has a loose spring. I am not sitting on that for two hours, while Giles tries to decide what he will and won’t tell us.”

  She chuckled, took his arm and allowed him to lead her into the Rose room. It was still warm from the day’s sun, and Jeremy had opened the French doors a little, letting the cooler evening air flow in.

  The scent of roses blew in as well, coming from the small bushes they’d discovered during their attempts to clear up the back lawn for bowling.

  Gwyneth settled herself in her favourite spot, the corner of the large couch that faced the fireplace. When alone, she’d been known to kick off her shoes and tuck her legs up beside her, but that was a liberty she reserved for privacy. While there wasn’t much that would shock either her or her gentlemen now, she still held onto that little touch of propriety that insisted ladies must always keep their feet together and on the floor.

  Evan arrived with a tray that made her mouth water, even though she’d eaten not long before. He glanced at her. “I included a pot of our jam,” he said with a grin. “Lady Gwyneth’s special reserve, I’m calling it. And of course it will sell like hotcakes tomorrow for that alone.”

  She blushed and hoped nobody noticed.

  Gabriel came in, smiling from ear to ear. “He’ll be down in a little while. I think he must have slept in the carriage, for he’s quite himself.”

  “Kicked you out, did he?” Royce raised an eyebrow.

  “How did you guess?” laughed Gabriel. “He did indeed.”

  “Well,” said Jeremy, pouring brandy for them, “I sincerely hope he has returned with some useful information.”

  “As do we all,” agreed Evan, taking two glasses from him and bringing one to Gwyneth.

  She took it with a nod of thanks and swirled the rich dark liquid, watching the colours change as it caught and released the candlelight. “I’m almost afraid of what he might have to say,” she observed. “I loathe that trouble seems to lurk around Wolfbridge, and even more at the thought it could be because of me.”

  Royce snorted. “And were you here when Sir Amery Fairhurst was killed?”

  “Um…no. No I wasn’t.”

  “In that case, my dear girl, I think you can put those worries aside. Baxter Fairhurst pre-dates your arrival, as does his reputation for bad behaviour. The fact that he’s become associated with Randschen…
again, Jeremy was here long before you, so that connection can’t be your fault either.”

  “Well,” said Gwyneth, offended. “That puts me in my place, doesn’t it.”

  “No, but it should stop you from worrying about things over which you have no control. Worry about the things you can do something about. Lord knows there’s enough of ‘em with this dratted fête.”

  “Why Royce,” declared Jeremy, amused astonishment in his voice. “Anyone listening to you would think you weren’t looking forward to dressing up as a Medieval gentleman.”

  “It’s the snug stockings, isn’t it?” Gabriel shook his head. “Pity. You have such fine legs for ‘em.”

  The laughter rang through the room, even Royce joining in as he shook a threatening finger at Gabriel.

  “A nice greeting,” came a voice from the doorway. “A room full of laughter is always a pleasure.” Giles walked in, nodding and with a surprisingly large smile.

  “Here, Giles. Sit.” Jeremy gave him a brandy and motioned to a chair. “You must know we’re all on tenterhooks awaiting your news…”

  “Assuming you have some?” Evan’s eyes were glued to Giles’s face, as were everyone else’s.

  “I do,” he answered. “More than I’d expected and less than I wanted, so I suppose it was a worthwhile trip.”

  “Let’s have it, then,” Royce crossed his legs at the ankles. “We’re ready.”

  “Very well.” Giles sipped the brandy, took a moment to appreciate it, then looked around him. “I found several good sources of information in town. Most of them financial, since it turns out that our list of unpleasant characters share one thing in common…”

  “They’re broke?” offered Jeremy.

  “Not far off,” corroborated Giles. “Fairhurst has suffered from a series of bad investments over the past few years, and Randschen is living on other people’s generosity. Apparently, after the Congress of Vienna, there were considerable numbers of readjustments to estates and territories. While the Prussians gained land, along with Austria and Russia, some of the smaller holdings were merged to make larger and more impressive properties. The Randschen barony, or whatever they call it under a Margrave, was absorbed by one of those. The Randschen family received a lump sum, and sadly, our chap never learned the principles of economy or frugality.”