Slightly Noble

by Lilly Gayle

  “Jack!” She grabbed his hair as if to push him away, but the moment his fingers grasped her feminine lips and spread them, her fingers tightened.

  And when he dipped his tongue deep inside to taste her musty sweetness, she jolted. Licking and tasting, he brought her to a sweet shuddering climax before rising up on all fours. Then he rose to a kneeling position and slid his hands beneath her knees before dragging her legs over the tops of his thighs to impale her with his heavy, aching shaft.

  “Jack,” she screamed again as he held her thighs aloft and pounded into her until she was weak and gasping.

  Pleasure fired his blood, fueling his desire. His soul soared. Then with a low-pitched growl, he threw back his head and emptied his seed deep inside her. And with a satisfied moan, he collapsed onto the bed and dragged her on top of him.

  Their mingled breaths slowed. Muscles relaxed. But Will’s muffled cries soon penetrated their delirium. With a gasp, Abby bolted upright in bed. “Will!”

  Before he could stop her, she pulled the covers up over her breasts, threw her legs over the side of the bed, and slid to the floor. “He must be starving!”

  She ran toward the door connecting his room to hers and paused to look back. He’d slid back to rest against the headboard, one knee bent so he could rest an elbow against it and stare at his lovely wife wrapped in bed linens with her bare back exposed.

  A pretty pink flush stained her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I have to get dressed so I can feed Will.”

  He nodded. “He does like to eat.”

  Her gaze strayed to his crotch. His balls and rod were flopped out on the mattress, resting against his outstretched thigh, but the moment he caught her looking, he stiffened and came to attention. Abby flushed crimson, turned, and ran from the room with Jack’s laughter echoing in her ears.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jack had already bathed and dressed by the time Abby finished feeding Will. Once her son was satisfied, Jack filled the hipbath inside the water closet and stood guard outside the door while she bathed and dressed. Neither knew what to expect when they descended the stairs. He assumed his cousin would sleep past noon as many nobles who spent their evenings gaming and drinking were wont to do, but he did not dare guess at what time his aunt might rise.

  Would she insist on serving a big breakfast in the dining room as his mother did when guests were in residence? Did she have a servant bring a tray to her room? Or did she and Morris eat breakfast in the smaller, family salon?

  With his hand on Abby’s elbow, he guided her into the family salon and felt his face flush with embarrassed heat. Quentin sat alone at the table, drinking coffee. The remains of whatever he had eaten for breakfast still sat on his plate.

  Upon seeing Abby, Quent rose quickly to his feet and executed an eloquent bow. “Good morning, Lady Ardmore.”

  She smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Stanley.”

  Quent straightened, catching Jack’s eye. Jack knew the minute he guessed the truth about where Abby had slept. Mischief danced in his dark eyes, and his face broke into one of his best pretty-boy smiles. “Ah, Ardmore. How dashing and…satisfied you look this morning. It must be because you have finally taken your rightful place as…lord and master of Ridge Point.”

  “Do shut up, Quent,” Jack said as he escorted Abby to the table.

  She cocked her head to one side and gave him the most adorably confused look. But she would just have to remain unenlightened as to why he was being rude to a guest. He refused to explain that Quent’s compliments were double entendres to let Jack know that he knew just what had transpired in the master suite last night.

  After pushing in Abby’s chair, he reached behind Quent and tugged on a bell pull before taking his seat on the other side of his wife. Her curious expression had turned to one of annoyance. He could tell from the expression on her face that she did not like feeling left out, and he and Quent were speaking as if she were not in the room at all.

  After taking another sip off coffee, Quent lowered his cup and arched a brow. “Do let me thank you for telling Higgins I am a friend and not the hired help. Otherwise, I would have had to spend the night in the stables because I was not about to sleep on the third floor with the servants. I cannot imagine how hot it must get up there this time of year.”

  “I am sure it was even hotter back in the summer, but the house has always been well ventilated, so I do not suppose you would have died. Still, I trust you were allowed to stay in one of the guest rooms?” Regardless of any feeble protests from Morris or Aunt Margery, Quentin Stanley would not have slept with servants. He did not mind sleeping aboard ship with the crew, but servants gossiped, and once on British soil, Quentin behaved with the utmost decorum so as not to embarrass his father, the Earl of Willoughby.

  Quent nodded. “I was. Amusingly enough, before realizing I was more than just your driver and valet, one of the servants informed me your cousin was not happy having to move into the smaller room down the hall. Apparently, he had moved into the master suite the day after your father’s funeral. And while your aunt never changed rooms, she had ordered the nursery cleared so she might use it as an expansive dressing room.” He chuckled. “I cannot imagine how well she slept last night. By the time the servants moved all of her clothes from the nursery and into her room, she probably could not even find the bed.”

  “Do not expect me to feel any sympathy for her,” Jack replied, which earned him another glowering look from Abby. But before either of them could speak, a servant arrived, carrying extra place settings. Behind her came another young woman carrying a large tray containing four covered dishes. She placed them opposite one another on the table, as if it would tip over if not perfectly balanced. When she raised the lids, steam and tempting aromas wafted into the air.

  The first maid stepped forward and began serving his and Abby’s plates with bacon, ham, eggs, haddock, and toast.

  “What is your name, miss?” Abby asked.

  The woman froze. Her hand trembled. “Molly.” She offered a wobbly smile. “And that be Olive.”

  Abby offered her own smile. “Thank you, Molly. Olive. Everything looks delicious.”

  Molly nodded. “Mrs. Lux be the cook, my lady.”

  “Is breakfast always ready at this hour?” Jack asked, and the one named Olive nearly dropped one of the silver lids as she was putting it back on the bacon dish. They were probably wondering if they would have jobs in the morning. If their loyalties lay with Ridge Point and not whoever happened to be sleeping in the master suite, they had no need for concern. Otherwise, he hoped they were good at what they did because they would soon need a letter of reference.

  Molly nodded again and lowered her gaze. “Mrs. Lux has strict orders to have breakfast ready by nine and to hold it warm until after Mr. Flick done eat.”

  “That simply will not do.” Jack looked at Abby and excused himself. He then followed the two maids down to the kitchen.

  The large room was the hub of the house, and even at nine-fifteen in the morning, it was a hive of activity. It wasn’t hard to tell the scullery maids from Mrs. Lux. The large woman was brandishing a wooden spoon and issuing orders like a captain on deck. The moment he stepped into the room, all activities ceased.

  “Good morning. I am the new Lord Ardmore, and I will be introducing my wife to each of you later in the day. Until then, there is one thing we need to get straight here and now. Breakfast will be served between six and nine, as I am an early riser. If it is to be served later, Lady Ardmore will inform Mrs. Lux the day before. I also expect a light luncheon to be served at noon until further notice or at Lady Ardmore’s discretion. Afternoon tea will be at four, and dinner shall be served no later than eight, unless Lady Ardmore informs you otherwise. Whatever meals you have planned for the week with Lady Margery will be acceptable, but any future meal planning or questions are to be directed to Lady Ardmore. And unless we have more than two guests, all meals will be served in the family salon.”

&nbs
p; Not waiting to see the response to his demands, he turned sharply on his heel and returned upstairs. Once again, Abby had that same quizzical look on her face. He smiled, shook out his napkin, and sat down to eat his food before it grew any colder.

  An incessant tapping under the table drew his attention. “Well?” Abby snapped. “Where did you dash off to and why?”

  “I wanted to meet Mrs. Lux and give her orders about our future dining plans.”

  Her brows furrowed, but she no longer looked cute and adorable. She looked just a bit angry. “And you did not think that was something I should be included in?”

  “I told them when I wanted my meals and to discuss menus and such with you.” What more did she want? Total control of the kitchen?

  Abby threw up her hands and huffed out a breath as if thoroughly exasperated. “I do not even know what time you like to eat! Perhaps it would have been wiser for you to talk to me first.”

  Quentin chortled and Jack flushed. Damn if this husband business wasn’t going to take more getting used to than being a damn viscount.

  ****

  Later that morning, Higgins gathered all the servants on the front lawn. Abby’s knees shook just a bit as she stood beside Jack with Miss Parsons to her immediate left holding Will. Beside Miss Parsons was Mrs. Smythe who was to continue acting as her lady’s maid. Once Jack introduced them to the rest of the staff, Mrs. Smythe returned to the house, and Miss Parsons carried Will back up to the nursery. Then Jack led Abby down the front steps, stopping in front of each servant who bowed or curtsied as they walked past.

  When they reached the end of the sidewalk and the end of the servants, Jack turned and addressed the crowd as if he had been groomed his entire life to be the next Viscount Ardmore. Only the tension Abby felt in his bicep as she lightly clung to his elbow showed how truly uncomfortable he was in his new role.

  “The law requires obedience and loyalty from any servant contracted to the Viscount Ardmore, and I am the new viscount. Any infringements will be dealt with in a court of law and met with a jail sentence or hard labor. So, if you wish to stay on, your loyalty and obedience to my viscountess and me is paramount. Any servant not wishing to stay under those conditions and anyone contracted personally to Mr. Flick or Lady Margery will be given a letter of reference. I will need your decision and your signatures on the new contracts by tomorrow evening. Any questions are to be directed to Mr. Higgins.” Jack gazed at the crowd, his bearing and posture as proud as any viscount—or sea captain. He spoke with authority and conviction, and Abby was proud to stand at his side.

  Holding her head high, she gazed at each servant’s face. Most stared straight ahead, their bearing almost as steadfast and proud as Jack’s. One or two shuffled their feet or gazed at the ground. Another two cast shifting glances around them. Abby made a mental note to warn Jack against signing contracts with them. She raised her chin, meeting his gaze. His eyes sparked with understanding, and a slight smile lifted his full lips. Somehow, without exchanging words, he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  If only they could communicate so easily when it came to matters of the heart.

  With a resolved sigh, Abby allowed Jack to guide her back inside. The moment they entered the front entrance, Jack’s demeanor changed. His shoulders stiffened, and a scowl crinkled his brow. Pressing his hand to the small of her back, he propelled her across the wide hall and threw open the drawing room door. His aunt and cousin were huddled beneath the portrait of Jack’s father, and they appeared to be engaged in a heated argument.

  How had Jack known they would be in here? Had the closed door alerted him? She had been so focused on her husband that she had scarcely paid any attention to her surroundings.

  “Trying to figure out the combination to the safe?” Jack growled as they entered the room.

  Lady Margery turned with barely a twitch of her oddly smooth, pale skin. Mr. Flick whirled to face them, his face flushing an unbecoming shade of guilt-red. “You are up and about at an ungodly hour, cousin.”

  Jack arched a brow. “I have been up for quite some time, Morris. The hour is only ungodly to one who was deep in his cups the night before.”

  Mr. Flick snorted. “I can afford to get corned every night. At least, I could afford to do so before you returned. I must say, it would delight me to no end if you were to set sail on your little ship and never come back.”

  “Morris, please,” Lady Margery said, a faint flush to her cheeks. She turned, her gaze briefly seeking Abby’s before honing in on Jack. “Even if I had known the combination, Jack…Ardmore…I would not have divulged it. The contents of that safe are private. Whatever is in there, Ardie meant for you to have it.”

  “I don’t give a tinker’s damn about what my father wanted.”

  Tension radiated from every pore in his body, making Abby quite nervous. She no longer feared Jack, but she feared what he might do. He was quick to anger and slow to forgive, and she did not want him acting out in anger and living to regret it. And regret it he would. Jack may be slow to forgive, but he had a big heart filled with regrets. “Jack, my lord, please listen to your aunt. I can excuse myself if—”

  “No! You will stay here, and they will leave.” Rage darkened his eyes.

  Mr. Flick blanched, but Lady Margery’s pale face fell, and a single tear leached from the corner of one eye. “I never meant to harm you. I swear. I was just so afraid after Morris’ father hanged himself. He never told me how desperate his finances were, encouraging me to spend money as I had when I lived under my father’s roof. And after his death, the crown seized everything but my clothes and a few precious jewels.”

  “That has no bearing on your behavior,” Jack snarled. “You hated my mother, and you hated me. Why should I believe a damn thing that emerges from your lying lips?”

  “Because she is most likely telling the truth.”

  Both Abby and Jack jumped, whirling toward the door to find Uncle William and Mr. Stanley standing at the threshold. Abby was often taken by surprise, but catching Jack unawares was a testament to the amount of stress he was under.

  “What are you doing here?” The usual pleasure etched on Jack’s face when addressing his uncle was absent from his expression.

  Uncle William gave him a piteous look filled with love and heartache. “Mr. Stanley sent the coach for me last night. He said you needed me.”

  Abby’s heart melted, and in that instant, she decided Mr. Stanley was not only trustworthy, he was a good friend to Jack and much more kind-hearted than she would have guessed. She offered him a smile that sent color to his cheeks.

  “Not now, uncle. And you!” Jack pointed an accusing finger at his friend. “Keep your patrician nose out of my goddamn business.”

  Abby cringed at the use of such foul language until she noted the hurt shining in his eyes. Poor Jack. He felt betrayed by everyone in the room. She nestled closer and gently squeezed his bicep. He did not seem to notice, but then she dared a glance at his face. He glanced down for just a second, his face softening enough to let her know he appreciated her support. Then, every muscle in his body stiffened, and he turned angry eyes on Mr. Stanley.

  Shuffling his feet, Mr. Stanley backed toward the door. “This is a family matter. So, if you will excuse me…”

  Jack’s glare intensified. “Do not go far, Quent, because I will be talking to you later.”

  “As you wish.” Mr. Stanley backed from the room, but he did not appear cowed or properly chastised. Jack growled and turned his frustration on his aunt.

  “You and Morris still have the weekend, but I expect you gone by Monday. Until then, I do not want to see you or hear even the softest patter of your feet.”

  Morris sneered but said nothing as he turned toward the desk, removed the stopper from a bottle of brandy, and poured himself a drink. Lady Margery, however, looked as if she were about to cry. Her chin trembled, and her pale face seemed to crumble.

  “Hate me if you wish, but please, do not h
ate your father. He did not write the codicil to his will until after I told him I had seen you with a woman in London.”

  Jack’s expression darkened. His hands fisted at his sides. “So you told him yet another lie. And he believed you. Why should I forgive either of you?”

  Uncle William stepped forward, his eyes on his sister’s face. “Because she alone is not to blame. I had a hand in this mess, too, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The room spun, and Jack’s world tilted on its axis. His aunt had confessed, which wasn’t surprising, but hearing Uncle William admit to being culpable was like having a knife plunged into his chest.

  “Jack.” Abby’s voice barely penetrated the haze of fury pounding against his skull. “Please listen.”

  Uncle William clasped his shoulder. “Your father was a fool, Jack, but he did not hate you.”

  “He had an odd way of showing it.” Jack’s throat cramped, but he ignored the burning tightness and reached for Abby’s hand, clasping it as if it were a lifeline.

  Aunt Margery stepped away from her sullen son, taking a hesitant step closer. “I honestly believed William was your father. He was always so defensive of Lady Darcy. But when she refused to beg Ardie’s forgiveness, I began to wonder if I had misjudged her. And Ardie was so miserable after she left I believed it no longer mattered. He loved her. Then, Ardie lavished all of his money on Morris and me, and it was as if my darling Mr. Flick were still alive. Once again, I was being fitted in Paris and attending the most fashionable balls. I soon forgot all about you and your mother.”

  “I bet you did,” Jack growled. He would have said more had Abby not squeezed his hand.

  A flush lightly stained Aunt Margery’s pale cheeks, but her skin stretched so tightly over her bones that her face barely registered any expression at all. “I ignored the guilt, living in fear of the day when you or your mother returned and tossed Morris and me out on our ears. So when I saw you in London with a beautiful blonde six months before you attempted to see your father, I told him you seemed happy without us in your life.”