by Wendy Vella
Sarah’s lips were suddenly on his, her kiss such a surprise it took him a moment to respond. Oh, to be kissed like this every morning! he thought, reveling in how her tongue had joined his to taste and tease. To wake up to find a son suckling his lover’s breast, despite that bit of jealousy he’d felt at seeing his miniature enjoying the same woman he had only hours before. To spend every night with her in his arms after slow, quiet lovemaking, or he in hers after the frantic, fast coupling they had shared when they had first closed the door to this room when Sarah had hurried up from the public room below.
Gabriel was aware of Sarah’s hand moving down to the body that still lay between them, her other hand still beneath Gabe’s head. She moved the babe to the other side of her body and turned her attention back to Gabriel. One hand moved to stroke his hardened manhood, the fingertip sliding slowly to the firm sac below. “Take me one more time,“ she pleaded, her legs wrapping around his thighs as she moved herself down the bed.
One more time? Gabriel repeated to himself. Didn’t she realize he would be taking her for the rest of her life? And that he would be the only one doing so?
Gabriel plunged himself into her wet warmth, burying himself as deeply as he could with a single thrust that had her back arcing so one her breasts was suddenly against his mouth. She cried out over his moan of pleasure as he gave into his release, nearly cursing himself for not holding on longer. It was unfair to take his pleasure before he had seen to hers, but even as he completed the thought, he realized she still writhed beneath him, her hands on his buttocks pulling him deeper, harder into her as her cocoon tightened on him in a series of satisfying, undulating ripples.
He moved a hand down her belly, his middle finger separating her dark curlies until it rubbed over her engorged womanhood. And he felt her grip on him tighten as a wave of pleasure gripped her and passed through her and crashed and passed through her again.
To watch her in ecstasy, as his own ecstasy was just subsiding, Gabriel was quite sure he had never experienced such a sensation. It can be like this all the time for the two of us, he thought happily as he collapsed onto her soft body.
All the time was the last thought he had before he fell asleep.
“Dada.”
A tiny hand pounded against this shoulder, bringing Gabriel out of his brief slumber. His son—My son!—let go of his mother’s breast to grin at him, his teeth white where they were grown in. Somehow, Sarah had managed to get Gabe over the top of Gabriel and onto her other side so that their son could finish his breakfast.
“Is he always this demanding?” Gabriel wondered before yawning.
Sarah giggled, the sound making him smile. “Just like his father,” she teased.
Gabriel watched his son for a long time before letting out a long sigh. “I ... I must take my leave of the two of you,” he said sadly. “God knows I don’t want to.”
Shrugging, Sarah cocked her head to one side. “You’re welcome to ... to come see him anytime,” she offered, hoping he would do so. Now that she’d extracted a promise of him seeing to little Gabe’s education, she would hold him to it.
Giving her a startled look, Gabriel responded with, “Oh, I intend to. And you, as well,” he added as he leaned over and gave her a kiss.
Sarah closed her dressing gown, securing the ties. “Do you have to travel far?”
Gabriel shook his head. “Just to Bilston. Trenton Manor is there. And my ... my mother. She still lives at the manor as there isn’t a dowager cottage on the grounds,” he explained carefully. “I can’t really begrudge her living in the manor, though,” he added thoughtfully, wondering where she would live once he was married. “And tomorrow, I have business in Wolverhampton.”
Sarah nodded her understanding. “And London?”
The earl stared at her for a few minutes, wondering what she implied with the query. “I have been invited to a ball. My mother’s cousin, Lady Mayfield, hosts one every Season, and I should be there,” he explained. With you on my arm. “But I don’t know yet if I’ll stay in town,” he admitted quietly. “Depends on what happens between now and then.”
Nodding, Sarah sighed. “Safe travels, then,” she said as she got up from the bed and lifted the sleeping baby from the mattress.
Gabriel was up and out of the bed, the morning light accentuating his sculpted body. “You’re under my protection now,” he whispered, not wanting to wake his namesake. “As is he,” Gabriel added as he lifted a hand to rest against the one Sarah used to hold Gabe’s head. He leaned over and kissed her, soft and slow, and ended only when his forehead leaned against hers. “Be safe.”
Sarah swallowed hard as she made her way to the door. She gave Gabriel one last look before she took her leave of the room and hurried to her own, all the while wondering at the earl’s behavior.
You’re under my protection now.
How could the man provide protection when he would be miles away? How, indeed?
Chapter Twenty
Lady Mayfield Knows a Secret
Alistair was halfway to the back door when he heard his name being called from one of the rooms he had just passed. He paused, wondering if he had heard correctly. When he turned around, he found himself staring at Lady Mayfield, her head cocked to one side while one hand rested on the back parlor door frame. From the way her skirts still moved around her legs, it was apparent she had hurried to the hallway and had to grip the door frame to stop her forward momentum.
“Lady Mayfield,” he managed to get out before performing a perfect bow. Some manners were obviously ingrained in him, he realized.
Then it dawned on him that she had called out to him by his given name. Alistair, she’d said.
Lady Mayfield curtsied and regarded him for a moment. She glanced back down the hall, as if to ensure no one saw them. “Get in here,” she demanded as she waved a hand to indicate the parlor.
Alistair’s eyes widened. “Yes, milady,” he responded, realizing almost at once that she spoke to him using the same tone of voice his mother used when she was about to scold him. Otherwise, his first response might have been, “How did you know?” That would probably be his second response now that he was hurrying over the threshold and into the fashionably decorated room—not a parlor so much as a lady’s salon. A quick glance around made him realize she wasn’t hosting any callers at the moment.
Then the door shut behind him.
He turned to find Lady Mayfield, her arms crossed in front of her, leaning against the door. A rather lovely woman despite her age—Alistair thought she might be close to forty—Temperance Harrington was a stately countess, her golden hair swept up into an elaborate chignon with a ring of curls around the top. Her blue eyes, rather piercing blue at the moment, given the way she was staring at him, were framed by perfectly arched eyebrows and high cheekbones that were a bit pink. Although her lips were held in a thin line at the moment, Alistair knew that, at least in public, they were usually smiling, giving her a friendly, approachable appearance. Julia will look like her in twenty years, he thought, and then wondered why he would think such a thing just then.
“Really, Alistair,” she spoke in a hushed voice. “Whatever are you doing here?”
Alistair opened his mouth to respond and then instead took a deep breath. He thought to deny his identity, but she obviously recognized him. “How did you ... how did you know it was me?” he wondered, indicating his mode of dress.
Lady Mayfield dropped her arms to her sides and pushed herself away from the door. Moving to the nearest settee, she lowered herself into it as she indicated that Alistair should take a seat. Sighing, Alistair took the chair across from the settee, his posture erect in the event he needed to make a hasty retreat from the room. What if someone interrupted? Or overheard their conversation?
“I’ve known you since you were a babe in your mother’s arms,” she replied, keeping her voice quiet. “I probably changed one of your nappies a time or two,” she added, not realizing how that co
mment would sound to the young man who was suddenly displaying a reddening face. “Besides, you’re the spitting image of your father when he was your age.”
Alistair swallowed as he took in her explanation. He knew his mother and Lady Mayfield had been friends, at least at one time, but he wasn’t aware they still moved in the same circles. She was obviously older than forty if she had changed any of his nappies! And she had known his father, at least enough to know that they did share the same features—his mother made the claim nearly every time she saw him.
“Did you not think someone would recognize you?” Lady Mayfield wondered, her hushed voice sounding the very same as his mother’s would have had she asked him the same question.
Alistair shook his head. “I ... No,” he finally said before allowing his shoulders to sag a bit. “People of the ton only seem to see what they expect to see,” he managed to get out. At Lady Mayfield’s look of disbelief, he added, “When I escorted Lady Julia to Hyde Park, I was dressed in livery and wasn’t given a second look by anyone we passed. And we passed several of my classmates from Eton and at least three I would have counted as friends from my days as a ...” He paused just then, realizing he had almost used the word ‘rake’. When one of Lady Mayfield’s elegant eyebrows arched a bit, he sighed. “From the days I wasn’t so ... discreet” he finished lamely.
Lady Mayfield’s pinched lips suddenly parted into a smile. She lifted her face as if to look at something on the ceiling. At that moment, with her swan-like neck and décolletage so exposed and her sudden mirth barely under control, Alistair imagined Julia, imagined how she would look in the same position, imagined her joy as he leaned in and kissed that fair skin, used his lips to nip her shoulder and her throat and her earlobe before he would pull her head forward so he could kiss her lips, kiss them until they were the color of berries ...
An uncomfortable sensation developed behind the fall of his trousers, and he was forced to look away just as Lady Mayfield lowered her face and cocked her head. “Oh, Alistair,” she sighed. “Whatever are you doing here?” she asked then. “Hiding?”
The earl’s son frowned. That’s not quite how I would have put it, but ... “I am following my father’s orders,” he replied simply, hoping she wouldn’t pursue the matter.
She did.
“Your father ordered you to take a position as a stableboy?” she repeated, a worried expression changing her features so she suddenly appeared older.
“Groom,” Alistair corrected her, realizing almost immediately that there really wasn’t much difference to those who employed servants to care for the horses and see to the equipage.
Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Temperance Mayfield sighed. “Your mother is worried sick,” she stated suddenly, her good humor having dissipated with his comment about his father.
Alistair straightened. After the argument he’d had with his father, he had gone to his room, stuffed a few items of clothing into a small valise and left the house. His mother had probably been in her bedchamber or off to the theatre at the time. He hadn’t thought to send word that he was ...
“She thinks you may be in some sort of trouble,” Lady Mayfield continued, interrupting his recollection of what had happened the night his father learned he had sold his commission. “Pray, tell me. What has happened? You’re a viscount, are you not?”
Scrubbing his face with one hand, Alistair shook his head. “My older brother is Viscount Breckinridge. Only if he drinks himself into an early grave would I inherit the earldom. I am merely the second son,” he explained quietly.
“And?” Lady Mayfield encouraged, leaning forward a bit in the settee.
Alistair stared at her for a long moment, wondering how much to admit. “No one can know, milady,” Alistair countered with a shake of his head.
Lady Mayfield straightened and regarded him solemnly. “I promise I shall keep your secret,” she spoke quietly. “As long as you send word to Lady Aimsley that you are safe and in good health,” she added with an arched eyebrow.
Alistair sighed. He dared not earn the lady’s wrath— he needed the employment her husband’s head groom had granted based on the skills he had shown with a horse when he’d first queried the man about a position. Without a character, something he would need if he had any hope of gaining a respectable position, he would have to find less reputable employment, or worse, hire out to haul cargo at one of the shipping companies at the docks in Wapping. “I made a promise to a man who served under me. In the army.” He paused, wondering again how much he should tell her. “So, I sold my commission ... I am responsible for his ..,” he tried explaining himself and finally sighed, holding his breath until he could lift his eyes to make contact with Lady Mayfield’s. “For the widow and children of one of my men,” he got out, his eyes squeezing shut as he made the last remark. “The money from the commission is invested, but the funds will run out in a few years.”
Temperance Harrington regarded Alistair and tilted her head to one side. “Was that ... all?” she replied, apparently not convinced his father would find fault with his rather generous charity.
“I sold my commission,” he countered, as if that was enough to explain his father’s reaction.
Lady Mayfield frowned. “And you’re using the proceeds to provide your soldier’s widow with an income?” she clarified, still not convinced it was enough to warrant Lord Aimsley’s eviction order.
“Fifteen pounds a month,” he acknowledged with a nod.
Temperance Mayfield’s eyes widened. “I rather imagine Lord Mayfield loses that much in a single game of whist,” she admitted sotto voce.
Shrugging his shoulders, Alistair resisted the urge to admit that at one time, he, too, would have lost that much in a single game of faro. “The commission was all I had,” Alistair explained then. At her look of astonishment, he added, “My father will not provide an allowance, nor do I expect an inheritance.” Especially now, although he didn’t put voice to the last thought.
The woman nodded her understanding. “And, how long is your ... punishment ... to last?” she queried, thinking that she might have to suggest the same penance to her husband should he ever again show disregard for his earldom’s coffers by losing money at gaming tables rather than spending it in charitable endeavors.
“My father did not dictate how I was to make my way nor for how long I was to stay away. We were both ...” He paused, not sure how much to say.
“Irrational?” Lady Mayfield offered, one eyebrow arched up with her comment.
Alistair nodded. “A perfect word to describe an unfortunate situation, milady,” he agreed with a sigh. “So, I find myself hiding in plain sight until such time as it’s ... safe ... to return to Aimsley Park.” Which might be never, he thought with a frown.
Shaking her head from side to side, Lady Mayfield leaned forward and captured one of his hands in hers. “I shall keep your secret as I promised. But you must send word to your mother as soon as possible. I can see to it a note is delivered to her this evening if you can write one now,” she offered quietly.
Shrugging his agreement, Alistair regarded her hand on his. “I ... I have no parchment or quill ...”
Temperance was suddenly up and out of the settee, hurrying to an escritoire set against one wall. Caught off guard, Alistair stood as quickly as he could until she turned and waved him over. “Use this,” she ordered, placing a piece of plain parchment onto the desktop. “I don’t have a wax seal without an insignia, so you’ll just have to do without. When you’ve finished, fold it up and take it to the table near the vestibule. I’ll see to its delivery. I would take it myself, but in doing so, I would give away your secret,” she explained as she pulled out a quill and opened the inkwell.
“Thank you, milady,” Alistair replied with a nod. He glanced down at the parchment before returning his attention to the woman. “May I ask ... why?”
Lady Mayfield regarded him for a moment. “Why?” she repeated, not understanding hi
s question.
“Why ... knowing what you do about me, why would you allow me to continue my employment here?” he wondered, keeping his voice as low as possible.
Seeming surprised by the question, Lady Mayfield gave him a brilliant smile. “Until last week, my daughter was bored to tears and a rather unhappy girl. Since she’s taken you on as her project, she has ... blossomed. And become far more enjoyable to spend time with, I must say.” At Alistair’s look of surprise, she added, “Besides, she needs a refresher course in dancing.”
Alistair frowned. “You know?” he asked, his surprise still evident. “About the bet, I mean,” he clarified.
Lady Mayfield continued to smile despite hearing the word ‘bet’. “Oh, I didn’t realize there was a wager involved,” she answered coyly. “But I know my daughter cannot turn down a challenge. You’re a dear to indulge her.”
Realizing he wasn’t about to be brow-beaten by Julia’s mother, Alistair gave her a smile. “Thank you, Lady Mayfield. Truly,” he replied.
“I will leave you to your note writing,” Temperance said as she moved toward the door. She turned to give him a quick curtsy to his bow before leaving the salon.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lady Trenton Learns She’s a Grandmother
Gabriel headed for the stairs leading to the second story of Trenton Manor, hoping he would find his mother in her usual haunt. He wasn’t disappointed when he glanced into the salon and found Charity Wellingham working on an embroidery. Her injured arm cocked at an odd angle, the widowed countess worked a needle through the hooped fabric with her good hand, elegant fingers guiding the needle.
Gabriel meant to announce his arrival, but his mother raised her head and immediately abandoned the stitchery to the settee on which she sat. She was on her feet in an instant, her face beaming in delight.