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

by Sahara Kelly

  For a man not given to undue amounts of retrospect, Giles surprised himself with his thoughts.

  But he knew they were the result of many different things, some—like this morning’s unpleasant discovery—a part of everyone’s life at Wolfbridge. Others were particular to him alone.

  And those were going to offer the most difficult of challenges.

  He’d done his best to prepare what he could. He’d established everything in an order that satisfied both him and his needs, and he’d lived the life he’d chosen for himself while doing so.

  A quote from Aeschylus darted through his mind. Something about Zeus causing ill winds to change. His classical readings had been many years before, so he couldn’t recall the exact phrasing, but it seemed oddly apt.

  The winds around Wolfbridge were indeed changing. The Lady herself was becoming the leader they needed and desired. He knew she was now intimate with her gentlemen and such things bound lovers together with stronger ties than even loyalty and duty.

  All was as it should be, and the demise of Randschen also took the final burden from Jeremy’s shoulders. He wondered if the lad even realised that yet. Time would tell.

  Lifting his head and breathing in the unique fragrance that he would always associate with Wolfbridge, Giles picked up his pace and strode back to his office.

  There was work ahead, still, and no time like the present to get to it.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Although it should have been a sombre moment, the residents of Wolfbridge couldn’t help the sensation of relief and gladness that the threat to their Lady had been disposed of.

  The Lady herself was wreathed in smiles, announcing that of a surety she was happy the danger had passed, but also that her much-loved cook had been justly avenged. Evan grinned, demonstrating his happiness by waving the glass full of brandy in his good hand. And slopping a bit of it in his enthusiasm.

  Giles had left them to their celebrations, informing them that any headaches on the morrow would be entirely their own fault, and no allowances would be made for absence or tardiness.

  His words were stern, but there was a look of patient amusement on his face as he bid them goodnight.

  With his departure, the brandy circulated once more, and Gwyneth made sure she claimed her share. There were times when a glass of excellent sherry hit the spot. Then there were times like these when only a finely matured brandy would do.

  They sprawled, all of them, in shirtsleeves with buttons undone and legs over the arms of chairs. Gwyneth sprawled a little more elegantly, but she boldly stretched her legs out in front of her and let her arms fall wide, revealing a bodice with a loose ribbon.

  “I will say it…I feel wonderful.” She grinned happily at her gentlemen. “And you all are responsible. Thank you for everything you do. And may I also add you are now relieved of your guard duties.” She rolled her eyes. “Perhaps I can now use the chamber pot by myself.”

  Jeremy snorted out a laugh. “We weren’t that bad, Gwyneth…”

  “You came bloody close,” she retorted.

  “It’s our job,” said Royce, his tone smooth, his words carefully enunciated. “We have to guard your body. And,” he pointed his glass at her. “I will add my opinion that it’s a very fine body, as well.”

  “Hear hear.”

  The toast was seconded, thirded and fourthed.

  Gwyneth blushed. “Why thank you Royce. You are so kind.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  “Hey. I like your body too,” complained Jeremy.

  “So do I,” smirked Evan. “A lot.”

  “Of all of them, darling Gwyneth, I hold your body to be beyond anything in loveliness. It is the vision of a goddess, a bounteous feast of magnificence…”

  “Ohhh…..”

  “Gabriel….”

  “Aaaaargh….”

  Royce, Jeremy and Evan threw out a barrage of groans and moans and mimicked vomiting noises as Gabriel continued his fulsome praise of the Lady of Wolfbridge.

  “It’s only because she took pity on him and let him offer up his virginity,” muttered Jeremy.

  “Well, of course,” said Gabriel. “How could she be anything else to me but a mystically magical angel? Ever?”

  “The lad’s got a point,” observed Royce, finishing his brandy.

  “Don’t empty that bottle unless you plan on getting another one…” Evan shook a fist at Royce. “I am still talking. Therefore I need more brandy.”

  Gwyneth looked at them, the wonderful, amazing, handsome men that some quirk of Fate had put into her path. Just the sight of them, happy, a little tipsy, casually clothed…it was enough to make her understand that she had indeed broken a vow to herself. She had opened her heart. And let not one, but four men in.

  “Why don’t I get the next bottle.” She stood, ignoring the protests. There wasn’t a lot of effort put into them, since it seemed her gentlemen were really quite happy with her suggestion—they just didn’t want to say so openly.

  “And I’m taking it upstairs to my room.” She raised an eyebrow and straightened, knowing she put her breasts on display as she did so.

  “Can we…”

  “Er, Gwyneth…did you mean…”

  She chuckled. “Yes, I do mean. And yes you can. If you want to, that is…” Coyly, she lowered her lashes.

  “You’re teasing us,” said Royce. “There will be repercussions.”

  She turned for the door. “Oh I do hope so, gentlemen. Be creative.”

  The stairs were a slight hindrance; Gwyneth accepted the fact that she had over-imbibed. She clung to the bannister, walked slowly, and reached the landing without incident, although she jumped a little at the portrait facing her. Surely there was condemnation in the sober face looking out at her from under a wimple.

  She harrumphed, stuck out her tongue at the painting and hummed all the way to her room.

  Aware of the scandalous invitation she’d extended, her hand shook a little as she lit the candles and began to undress. They would come, she knew. All four of them. All four lovely hard bodies, all hers for the taking.

  It was as intoxicating as the brandy, this knowledge that she could let free her most wicked desires, only to have them met by similar desires, and men who didn’t think anything they did was wicked.

  She slid from her gown, hung it up carefully and untied the straps of her chemise, letting it drop to the floor as her mind pondered the entire topic of wickedness.

  It certainly conjured up scenes of improper behaviour. Of nakedness, sexual intimacy and flagrantly sensual eroticism. But weren’t those all part of the human experience? Should they be labelled wicked simply because some individuals felt shocked by them?

  She sat on the chair by the bed and removed her shoes and stockings. Wicked, to her, was permitting people to starve. Wicked was treating another person as if they were rubbish, to be thrown out and discarded without a thought.

  That, to Gwyneth, was wickedness. Evil, vicious and inexcusable.

  There was no way she could associate the intimacy, the affections—the love she shared with her gentlemen—with that kind of horror.

  They were good men. Not without their faults, but at the core, they were good. Each one had opened himself to her, a sick and starving stranger. Each one had treated her with respect, good humour and affection.

  And now, as time went on, each one seemed to love her in their own way, both spiritually and physically. Which brought her back to this moment in time.

  She stood naked in front of her mirror. Thankfully her breasts had filled out, and no longer did her ribs make bumps in her skin. She slid her hand down her side to her hip, noting the swell of soft flesh that emphasised her femininity, and the tight curls at the juncture of her thighs.

  Yes, she was a woman now, full-blown, experienced and ready to be loved and cherished. Perhaps this was the woman she had always been, but how could she tell? Raising her eyes, she gazed at her face, noticing the flushed cheeks�
��probably from the brandy.

  But then it struck her. She was standing naked before a mirror, her chin high, awaiting her lovers. All four of them. Yes, this woman, unafraid of her own desires, aware of her own needs and ready to demand they be fulfilled, this was the woman she was now. And the comfort of knowing such a strong part of her personality had emerged…it was a liberating moment.

  She heard the door opened, and half turned, smiling as the men tumbled in, shedding their shirts, and falling silent as they saw her nude body lit by candlelight and reflected in the mirror.

  “You see?” breathed Gabriel. “I was right. She is a goddess…”

  *~~*~~*

  Journal of Gwyneth, Dowager Countess, Lady of Wolfbridge - June 1818

  The Baron has been killed.

  A strange sentence to begin this entry, but so important. We believe him to be the one who fired at Wolfbridge and injured Evan, so finding his body in the forest was both a horrid tragedy and a relief. We cannot understand his motives, and probably will never know why he chose that course of action.

  All I can say for certain is that a weight has been lifted from the shoulders of everyone here.

  We celebrated.

  Well, most of us did.

  There was brandy, and sometimes I worry I might be overly accustomed now to the delightful warmth and relaxation it inspires. It certainly inspired a lot last night. And I must confess that I encouraged more than relaxation. I encouraged my gentlemen to come to my bedroom. Yes, I wanted them, and I made it quite clear. Am I ashamed? No. I am the Lady of Wolfbridge, and with that title comes the unique ability to choose my own path. To freely speak of my desires, and to freely avail myself of the men who are committed to serving me in my capacity as Lady.

  I shamelessly flirted with them all in the Rose room, and suggested a refilled decanter of brandy to be shared upstairs.

  Needless to say they were eager to agree, and I had chance to withdraw and ready myself before they arrived. It was somewhat surprising to find Royce was not with them, but Jeremy told me that Giles had appeared in the hall and asked Royce to spare him a moment.

  I expected him to arrive later, but whatever he and Giles had to discuss obviously took considerable time. I missed him, his wry wit and his lovely body, but I had three others to play with. And none are bound to my desires. Everything must be given freely, and they know I would never demand their presence, merely request it.

  Evan, poor love, with his wounded shoulder, was forced into the role of games master, since we determined that we would play something silly and Blind Man’s Buff was selected as the most suitable.

  So he took a chair to one side, while Jeremy and Gabriel stripped themselves and then blindfolded me. In the manner of the parlour game, they turned me around several times, making me quite dizzy.

  Then the fun began.

  I felt a touch, a hand on my buttock. I swung around only to feel a kiss on my shoulder.

  I stayed still and my nipples were quickly flicked, making me gasp and shiver and blindly stretch out my arms to capture the wicked perpetrator of such pleasure.

  They laughed, I laughed, and I trembled when my hands found male flesh, warm and hard and ready for me. Then they moved away, free to touch me, and stroke me and even slap my bottom. Which, I’ll admit, was a surprise, a sting and then a rush of heat that surprised me with its arousing properties.

  Arms came around me, trapping me, then slithered over my belly to my thighs. I tried to catch them, but my blindfold was doing its job too well, and they were still fast on their feet, brandy notwithstanding. Their delighted laughter was an arousal all by itself.

  I recall groaning as my breasts were quickly licked, and then I caught my foot on the carpet and tumbled backward onto my bed.

  Evan called a halt, and before I knew it both Jeremy and Gabriel were over me, doing all those things I’d yearned for.

  It is amazing how much one’s senses are aroused when sight is removed. Every inch of my skin seemed to be on fire with their touches, every womanly part of me felt taut and swollen. Their lips wreaked havoc with my nipples and their tongues ignited savagely magnificent flames within my loins.

  I could hear their breaths, smell their particular fragrances, and feel every tiny brush of chest hair, fingertips, nails, beard stubble and sweet slick tongues.

  My body felt cherished, worshipped…not an inch was neglected by these two amazing sensualists. In concert, Jeremy and Gabriel took me from my reality into some kind of erotically magical world, where only our bodies existed, and the only goal was our mutual pleasure.

  I moved to take off the cravat blinding me, but they stopped me.

  “Keep it on, love,” Gabriel whispered in my ear.

  They turned me over, onto my stomach, and spent much time and attention on my back, from the nape of my neck to the soles of my feet. I had never realised how sensitive such places could be…a gentle bite on my buttocks took my breath away and a loving swipe of a tongue on the backs of my knees rendered me almost senseless.

  Their fingers probed places that surprised me, and I couldn’t hold back a cry of astonishment when something cold and slippery was introduced between my buttocks.

  Jeremy was the one who calmed me. “It is your rose cream, sweetheart. For your pleasure…and ours.”

  And truly, it was an unusual pleasure.

  I am amazed I can write these words, and once again I am resolute in my promise to destroy these entries at some point in the future. But for now, I have to admit that having something hard, smooth and very masculine pressing into my bottom…well, my own liquids and my cream combined to permit a strange intrusion. There was a hand beneath me, stroking my swollen folds and between the two different attentions I was floating into new oceans of sensual excitement.

  I believe I held my breath, frozen for a few seconds as whoever it was slowly and gently moved within that untried place.

  I heard a moan, a groan of what I can only conclude was the ultimate pleasure.

  As the pulses throbbed in my backside, and I felt heat erupt there, the other hand stroked more demandingly, bringing me higher toward the pinnacle of erotic desire.

  They withdrew, a pillow was thrust beneath me and someone entered me again in the more traditional manner. My hips were pushed high, everything was revealed, and yet I felt no shame, only eagerness for whoever was about to plunder me and slake my avid thirst for release.

  I felt a body touch me, the thick shaft found my entrance and then the wonderful stretching as I accommodated whoever it was…either Jeremy or Gabriel.

  I believe I moaned, discovering that if I lifted myself onto my elbows, I could push back against the solid flesh that plundered so deeply. I tried to match his rhythm, and to my surprise found an arm beneath me toying almost painfully with my nipples, holding them tight and pulling on them as I pushed backward.

  It must have been Evan, and yet I could not untie the blindfold, since to do so would have precipitated me back onto the bed and I was enjoying my present position too much to relinquish it.

  Needless to say, it wasn’t very long before I felt the onset of the most exquisite shudders, the flickers of lightning dancing on my spine and the rising tension that spread throughout my body.

  The powerful thrusts within me, the sharp pinches on my nipples…and the breathing, panting of my gentlemen…it was enough to send me into a screaming flight of ecstasy. There is no other way to describe it. I flew, high and for what seemed like an eternity, locked into violent inner spasms, barely able to breathe as my body was pounded from behind and filled with boiling hot passion courtesy of my lover.

  It felt like hours before we all collapsed and at last I was permitted to remove the cravat which had served as my blindfold. Jeremy and Gabriel were tumbled beside me, and Evan, with a flushed face, sat near, his chest bare and his breeches discarded.

  He was hard, his eyes bright, and I had to believe he had enjoyed watching us play, but now was close to needin
g his own relief.

  I moved, but the other two stayed me. “Stay, love,” said Jeremy. He fetched cloths, dampened them in water from the ewer and delicately cleansed me. Gabriel helped, his tenderness and care in his eyes when he wiped my buttocks. “Are you all right, Gwyneth, my darling? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He touched my secret places gently.

  So it had been him, introducing me to something quite new. I assured him that he had not, even though it had felt a little uncomfortable at first.

  Jeremy helped me settle into bed, getting the pillows just right and then lying beside me with his head on his arm. I was turned away, watching Evan. It was easy to see his plight, and I proposed myself as the solution.

  But Gabriel intervened. “You’re exhausted. Let me,” he said, turning to Evan. “Let me?”

  Evan stared at him for a few moments, then nodded, answering what I can only suppose was a somewhat outrageous question. But the answering nod was a clear measure of Evan’s trust and his kindness toward everyone, regardless of conventions.

  As Jeremy and I watched, Gabriel knelt before the chair and parted Evan’s thighs, revealing the firm length emerging from its nest of curly hair, the silky reddened skin and the taut flesh beneath.

  I had heard whispers of such things, but never seen them. Gabriel’s pale hair drifted over Evan’s thighs as he began to slide his mouth around the thick hard length, and Evan’s eyes closed as he let out a little groan. Was I shocked to find this sight arousing and that my body ached with renewed desire as I saw the slick trails Gabriel’s mouth left on Evan’s body?

  Yes, I believe I was. And yet these were two of my gentlemen, and their intimacy, while flouting the strictest of social taboos, was a thing of beauty and affection. I could not find it anything but astoundingly sensual.

  As if Jeremy read my thoughts, his hand drifted over my body to my already sensitive flesh. With tiny caresses, he aroused me again, much as Gabriel was doing to Evan. As I watched Gabriel’s hand pulling and tugging in concert with his lips, Jeremy’s fingers teased my delicate tissues, making me open my legs to ease his access.