Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

  “Mama,” Gabe said before putting most of one fist back into his mouth. Having just woken from his nap, he was freshly diapered and wore a clean gown. Knitted socks covered his feet.

  “My mum is maid to Lady Trenton,” Thomas said proudly. “At least, she was when I last saw her,” he added, suddenly a bit uncertain.

  Lady Trenton! Gabriel’s mother? Sarah wondered. Was it a coincidence that she was here only a day after Gabriel had left? Or had the earl said something to her? Had he told her about Sarah and her son?

  Tamping down the panic she suddenly felt, Sarah turned and headed for the office. “We should take our places,” she said, casting a glance back to the men. She paused as Thomas and Mr. Bristow moved to their stations at the tap and in the public room. When she was sure everything was acceptable, Sarah turned and hurried through the dark hall behind the counter.

  Once in inn’s office, she placed Gabe in his pen and gave him a peck on his cheek before holding a finger to her lips.

  “Mama,” he said in response, his face breaking into a grin.

  “Yes, I am, but keep that to yourself,” she whispered. Sarah made her way to the front door and opened it for their new guests. “Welcome to the Spread Eagle,” she announced proudly. She curtsied and waved an arm to indicate the approaching women should make their way into the public room. “Do make yourself at home,” she added, trying to keep from staring at the stately woman who breezed into the inn as if she owned it.

  The woman who was Gabriel’s mother.

  And Gabe’s grandmother.

  Damnation!

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  All is Forgiven

  Alistair entered the stables, deep in thought over what had just happened in the garden. How could he have been so wrong about Lady Julia? He was sure she would like being kissed, sure she would have appreciated his effort to make her forget her anger at him for his comment. You have never been kissed. Well, from the brief moment he had had his lips on hers, it was apparent his kiss was her first kiss. She should be relieved to have it over with. She should be grateful he had bestowed such a kiss on her, a kiss filled with passion and loving. She should be happy to have her first kiss be with the son of an earl ...

  Reeling suddenly, Alistair stilled himself. He was the son of an earl, but she didn’t know that. She thought he was a groom. A mere servant who worked in her father’s stables. No wonder she had reacted so strongly. No wonder ...

  Loving? From where had that thought come? He didn’t feel ... shaking his head as if to clear it, Alistair gave a quick glance in the direction of Thunderbolt. Reminded by the smell of manure and hay that he had work to do—he had promised Grimes he would see to his chores once his dance lesson was over—he grabbed a rake from its hook on the wall and got to work mucking the stables. I have better things to do than give Lady Julia even one more minute of consideration, he thought as

  he added grain to Thunderbolt’s bucket. Even if she is a petite, beautiful, headstrong, perfectly frustrating, frequently stubborn, very spoiled and a very delectable lady whom I would welcome in my bed with open arms ... Alistair cursed under his breath.

  What the hell was he thinking?

  Lady Julia was the daughter of an earl! A rather powerful earl in Parliament, if his father’s comments about the man could be believed.

  He felt the hardening bulge behind the placket of his breeches and cursed again. This cannot be, he thought, determined to get his mind—and his cock—under control. He had no business even thinking about Lady Julia in any other capacity but as the daughter of his employer. There could be nothing between them. There shouldn’t even be dancing lessons let alone an appointment with her brother’s tailor to make his suit of clothes for the ball. And diction lessons? He had no need of diction lessons! Bowing? He could bow with the best of them, although he had to admit that damned blonde earl, Gabriel Wellingham, could bow better than he did.

  Of course, he could, though. The Earl of Trenton was closer to the floor—he didn’t have to be concerned with pitching forward and falling onto his perfectly coiffed blond curls. Although the damned things would probably cushion the blow if he did.

  No, he would find Lady Julia in the morning—or at least as early as he could if she was one to sleep until noon—and let her know he could no longer learn to be a gentleman under her tutelage. He felt a stab of disappointment just then, disappointment that he would no longer be able to look forward to the time they spent together in the ballroom, no longer look forward to spending time with her ... Damn! What was it about Lady Julia? He didn’t feel affection for her. He couldn’t feel affection for her. He wouldn’t feel ...

  I do.

  Alistair lifted his head to find Thunderbolt staring at him, the horse seeming to shake his head from side to side. “Oh, you, too?” he said aloud, startled by the sound of his voice in the quiet stables. Thunderbolt gave him a “neigh” in response and shook his head again, finally moving toward Alistair.

  “I’m doomed,” Alistair said in a hoarse whisper. Thunderbolt nodded his head and helped himself to the grain Alistair still held in his hand. “And you’re no help,” Alistair added with a hint of derision. Having removed most of the grain Alistair held in his hand, Thunderbolt backed off and returned to standing in the spot he favored for sleeping.

  Sighing, Alistair closed up the stall and threw the bolt on the door. Before he could turn around, he heard a scuffing sound, not one made by a horse. Despite the dimming light from the setting sun and the long shadows it cast in the stalls, Alistair knew he wasn’t alone.

  She was here.

  The scent of lilies wafted into his nostrils, temporarily freezing his brain and his ability to speak. He brushed his hands together and then on his breeches, attempting to free them of the bits of grain that clung to his skin. Turning around slowly, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he moved toward the main door, his steps slow and deliberate.

  Lady Julia stood next to the mounting block, her hands clutched together in front of her. She was regarding him with an expression that could have been fright or could have been anger—Alistair couldn’t make it out in the dim light. Although he knew she saw him—she was watching him as he approached her—she didn’t move from where she stood.

  “My lady?” he finally spoke, stopping a couple of feet in front of her.

  Julia lifted her skirts a bit and stepped onto the mounting block, making her nearly as tall as Alistair and another foot closer. “I am not a quitter,” she said suddenly, the words a complete surprise to Alistair.

  “I did not accuse yo ...” Alistair’s words were cut off as Lady Julia leaned over and captured his lips with hers, captured his head with her hands as she splayed her fingers through his hair.

  Alistair was forced to move closer, close enough that he felt her bosom press against his chest and her thighs brush against his. But he was far more aware of her lips as they pressed against his, imitating exactly what his lips had done to hers only a few hours earlier.

  It took a moment before he could return the kiss, a moment he reveled in being kissed, reveled in how her fingers felt as they raked through his hair and down to his neck, for this was the first time a woman had initiated a kiss with him, the first time a woman stood so tall he wasn’t forced to lean down to meet her lips, the first time he actually cared for the woman with whom he was sharing such an intimate, passionate kiss.

  When her lips seemed to part, he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in between, just enough so it made contact with her teeth. Although he felt a slight start in her body, she didn’t pull away. Instead her tongue touched his, invited his to delve deeper into her mouth, to touch her and taste her while her tongue seemed to do the same in him. He felt more than heard her quiet moans, he hoped of appreciation or perhaps pleasure.

  Moving his hands to her back, he pulled her harder to the front of his body, savoring the feel of her soft curves pressed against the hard planes of his body. God, if onl
y they could be on his bed, with its soft mattress and softer pillows, where he could remove her gown and her chemise and her corset so his lips and his tongue could taste every inch of her body. He would use his teeth to untie her garters and his nose to lower her stockings as he used his lips to kiss the tender flesh on the inside of her knees and down her calves to the tips of her toes. And when she begged him to take her, he would lower himself between her spread legs and use his tongue to tease her swollen womanhood to full ripeness. His lips would send her over the edge, supping and suckling her until she would cry out his name and beg for him to come inside her fully. Even now, he knew he could—his manhood was so engorged, he feared he might experience an orgasm before he even had her on a bed. He had to stop this, had to pull away or Lady Julia would be ruined.

  Even before he could end the kiss, though, Julia’s lips spoke something against his.

  Alistair pulled his lips away, keeping his forehead pressed against the top of hers. “What is it?” he managed to get out in a voice that managed to sound more steady than he felt.

  “Was I ..?” She paused a moment, as if she had to catch her breath. “Doing it right?” she wondered, her eyes finally opening to meet his.

  Straightening so that their heads no longer touched, Alistair swallowed. “I believe so,” he answered with a nod. “Although I cannot imagine there would be a wrong way,” he added with a raised eyebrow.

  Julia’s mouth opened as she made a rather unladylike sound of disbelief. “I am related to a man who is the living example of the wrong way,” she argued, her manner suggesting she thought she might have somehow inherited the inability to kiss correctly.

  Alistair had to think a moment to remember of whom she spoke. Gabriel Wellingham. He of the horrible kiss he had apparently bestowed on Lady Elizabeth during a ball. “I assure you, Lady Julia, you will never be found guilty of bestowing a horrible kiss on anyone,” Alistair said with as much reassurance as possible. After a thoughtful pause, he asked, “And what of my kiss. Did you find it ... agreeable?”

  Thinking it was a good thing Alistair held onto her during their kisses—she was sure she might have taken a tumble off the mounting block had he not—Julia now found herself wishing he would let go.

  Did she find his kiss agreeable? Well, wasn’t it a whole series of kisses? And, if so, the first was a bit ... unsure, but the next one was quite satisfying, and the one after that was pure heaven, and then she had thought to end the kiss because, well, she was suddenly quite aware that something was going on in Mr. Comber’s nether regions. As a young, unmarried lady, she knew she shouldn’t know anything about such things as a man’s nether regions, but she did have a library card for the lending library, and she had managed to borrow a book that mentioned something about one of the characters experiencing arousal when he was kissing a woman.

  Julia couldn’t help but hope that her kissing had caused Mr. Comber’s arousal.

  “That bad, huh?” Alistair muttered when Julia didn’t answer him right away.

  Julia’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, it wasn’t bad. At all. I just ... I thought perhaps there was more than one kiss, but you inferred it was just a single kiss, and I was trying to decide which parts were my favorites and which parts were just ... so-so.”

  Alistair stared at Julia for a few seconds, trying to follow her thought process. “So ... if, say, there were four kisses ...”

  “The first was a bit unsure ...

  “Since I really wasn’t expecting you to ... really allow me to kiss you, or if you were going to haul off and slap me ...”

  “The second was quite satisfying,” Julia continued, as if Alistair hadn’t interrupted her.

  “Good to know.”

  “The third was pure heaven ...”

  “Ah ...”

  “But then the fourth was ... awkward because of your arousal.” The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Horrified she had actually said the word aloud, Julia lifted a dainty hand to cover her lips just then, her eyes widened, and her face pinked up in a blush Alistair found rather pretty.

  Left speechless, Alistair stared at Julia before he suddenly laughed out loud. “My lady,” he said with a huge grin as he pulled her body hard against the front of his own. “You are a most delightful pupil,” he said, kissing her hair before he pulled away. He made sure she had her feet beneath her before he let go of her completely.

  Julia avoided making eye contact with Alistair for several seconds, her embarrassment still evident. “Thank you,” she finally said, giving him a curtsy. She was about to take a step back when Alistair grabbed her around the waist. Letting out a squeak of surprise, Julia realized why he had done so when she was being lowered to the stable floor. “Oh, she murmured. “Thank you. I would have ended up on my bum if you hadn’t caught me,” she said, and then covered her mouth again. “Oh, dear.”

  Reaching for the hand in front of her mouth, Alistair lifted it to his lips and brushed them over the back of her knuckles. “My lady,” he said as he gave her a bow, realizing she had to take her leave of the stables or he would have her on her bum in another moment, on her bum and her back and ...

  “Good evening, Mr. Comber,” Julia said before suddenly taking a step back and then turning to hurry from the stables. Within a moment, she was back, though. “I’ve given some thought to the elocution lessons,” she said, nearly breathless.

  Left speechless, Alistair stared at her. She wants to talk about elocution lessons? Now?

  “I am of the opinion your speech is acceptable as is, so I wanted to make you aware that you won’t need to take any lessons,” she stated as she nervously wrung her hands together in front of her.

  “Oh,” was all Alistair managed to say before Julia suddenly turned and left the stables again, nearly running as she made her way across the ally and into the gardens.

  Alistair watched until he could no longer see her in the darkness. And then he breathed a very deep sigh of relief. No elocution lessons! Thank the gods!

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Charity Meets Her Match

  Charity Wellingham, Countess of Trenton, gave a nod to the woman who held open the door for her and her lady’s maid. Dressed in a serviceable round gown with her hair wound in a tight bun atop her head, she wouldn’t have been noticed by Charity had the countess not been on the lookout for Gabriel’s acquaintance. She could hardly afford to think of the chit as much more; Gabriel was obviously having a dry spell and was merely enamored by the attentions of the inn’s manager. It couldn’t be anything more, surely, she considered.

  “I require a room for the evening, and another for my maid,” Charity announced as she surveyed the inn’s public room. The tables were neatly arranged, the chairs tucked under the trestles so that it was possible to easily move about the room.

  “Of course, milady,” Sarah replied, moving to a counter behind which was a box of keys and a ledger. “Would you like your bedchamber’s window to face north or south?” she asked, lifting the ledger to the counter and offering the countess a quill.

  Charity angled her head. “North, I should think,” she responded, watching Sarah’s every movement, her hands as she placed the ledger on the counter, her fingers as she offered the quill.

  “Very good, milady,” Sarah replied, opening the box of keys and pulling the one for the room in which she had placed Gabriel only a few days ago along with a key for the room next to it.

  “Tell me, miss, is your proprietor about?” Charity wondered, giving the public room and then the taproom another glance, as if she were looking for someone.

  Sarah regarded the countess for a quick moment. “Mr. John Bristow is the owner, milady,” she replied carefully. “He is in the taproom this afternoon. Should I have him call on you?” she wondered, hoping she could dodge whatever it was the countess wanted to discuss with the ‘manager’.

  Charity took up the quill and signed ’C. Wellingham’ on the next line of the ledger. “Does
Mr. Bristow also act as manager of this inn?” she countered, placing the quill down on the sheet she had just signed.

  Sarah swallowed. “I do, milady,” she answered with a half-curtsy. “I am Miss Cumberbatch. Please let me know if there is anything we might do to make your stay more comfortable,” she offered, hoping the countess wouldn’t make an unreasonable demand.

  The countess nodded, her manner suddenly a bit unsure. The scent of some kind of stew teased her nostrils. “Is luncheon still being served?” she wondered, hoping her stomach’s sudden growling couldn’t be heard by the young woman who had just claimed to be the manager of the inn. Cumberbatch. This is the one Gabriel mentioned. So, he hadn’t been overstating his lightskirt’s position.

  “Of course, milady. Cook has a beef stew, a leg of lamb and a shepherd’s pie ready to serve. There’s a private parlor near your room if you’d like to be served there, or you are welcome to use any of the tables out here,” she offered, indicating the trestles near a giant fireplace. A small fire was still lit, its pops and crackling barely audible despite how empty the inn seemed at the moment.

  Charity glanced over at the tables Sarah indicated before turning to her maid. “Do you have a preference, Fuller?” she asked, giving her maid an arched eyebrow, as if she was testing the servant.

  Fuller’s eyes widened. “Given the mail coach will be here within the hour, I should think the private parlor, milady,” she whispered, loud enough for Sarah to hear.

  Sarah had to suppress a smile, remembering the maid was Thomas Fuller’s mother.

  “It can get rather noisy in here when the coach arrives,” Sarah agreed, hoping the countess would choose the parlor. With the woman behind closed doors, it was less likely she would see—or hear—Gabe.

  “The parlor it is,” Charity said as she took the key from Sarah.

  “Last door on the right, just up these stairs,” Sarah offered. “May I arrange someone to help with your luggage?” she asked then, hoping the countess would decline. Thomas was the only one capable of carrying a fully loaded trunk, but she didn’t like the idea of the maid seeing her son do the heavy lifting.