by Lyn Stone
“No mirrors in the convent? I can assure you, you are beautiful.”
She curled inward a little as she shook her head. “I mean without clothes. We even bathed in our shifts. Until my baths here and in London, I had not seen what I look like.”
“Like a goddess,” he said softly, trailing his fingertips down her neck to her shoulder. Slowly he took her arm covering her breasts and raised her wrist to his mouth, tasting her vulnerability. He reached for the other hand and gave it the same attention, moving back a step as he did and exposing the rest of her body.
“Venus,” he whispered as he raked her slowly with his gaze and then met her eyes again. They were half-closed as she tilted back her head, welcoming his attentions.
“Or a vixen in disguise.” He smiled as wickedly as he knew how.
“I’m not afraid,” she assured him. “Is this how it goes? No modesty between us? You teasing...”
“Bedplay. Anything is allowed,” he whispered, nipping the tip of her finger. He released her hand and caressed her shoulder, sliding his palm down to one breast. “Touch anywhere,” he said softly, explaining and inviting. “Kiss anywhere...” He leaned down to kiss the bud his fingers had found. He circled it with his tongue, loving the sound of pleasure that he drew from her. He raised his head. “Now, where were we?”
“Bedding, I think.” Her words rushed out in a gasp. Then she pressed one hand against his chest. “So should we be on the bed?” Her back was against it.
He grasped her by the waist and tossed her onto the mattress, coming down beside her and burying his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder. “So helpful. I might have skipped over that step.”
She tugged his hair, a playful gesture that brought his face to hers. He kissed her madly and without a thought to ease into it.
His hands moved with purpose, finding her breasts, squeezing her waist, sliding over her thighs and in between. How soft and sweet, so delicate. The fear was all his now, that he might hurt her, might disappoint her or destroy her future eagerness if not careful.
She writhed against him, encouraging every move he made, even when he stroked her intimately. Ready and willing, he noted absently as his brain fogged with urgency. “Now?” he rasped as he moved over her.
Her open invitation was all the answer he needed and the deed was suddenly done. He had buried himself inside her with no heed to her maidenhead.
For a second he paused. “Are you...all right?” he gasped.
She nodded. Her nails dug into his waist and her body was as tense as a bowline. “Is...is that all?”
“No, no, love. Just beginning. Relax,” he advised. “Let go.” Immediately her hands uncurled and left his sides.
“No, darling, not of me. I mean let yourself go. Just float for a moment. Is there pain?”
She shook her head. Her hands returned to stroke his back softly instead of leaving nail prints. “We fit,” she said on a shuddering sigh.
“Then be easy. Don’t think, just feel.” She went all soft beneath him and Jack struggled against his need to move. “There now. See?”
Her hips undulated slightly and he managed to hold still. Only just. When she moved again, he lost all thought. The primal urge proved too strong and swept away everything but the need to thrust.
Dimly he noted she did not fight. In fact, she began to engage just as he poured all that he was into her. Too soon, he thought, groaning when absolute ecstasy mixed with guilt. He had failed to bring her pleasure.
The thought of moving so much as a muscle seemed too great an effort, but he slowly disengaged and shifted to her side. Sleep tugged at him but he fought it. He slipped a hand over her hip, threaded his fingers through her nether curls and caressed her gently, rhythmically.
She responded with a small cry of surprise, then welcomed his touch. A moment later her body rose against his hand and she shuddered. He found the moment of her coming almost as pleasurable as his own.
“There now,” she murmured on a sigh, echoing his earlier words of assurance. She snuggled close, slid one arm over his chest, rested her head on his shoulder and promptly fell asleep.
Jack felt profound relief. Now the worst was over and the worst was the best ever. And he had called her timid? Shy? Intimidated? Finally he had unleashed the passion within her that he had known was there.
A sense of peace stole over him that he had rarely felt before, even after bedding other women. The plaguing devil within his body, the one that demanded perpetual activity nearly every waking moment, had retreated for the nonce. He drifted in a restful state, unwilling to surrender to sleep, because he feared the peace would dissipate before he woke.
Perhaps all his self-denial coming to a conclusion had provided a temporary surcease, a dulling of his nerves. All he knew was that he felt abnormally calm and quiet within. Even his thoughts seemed less chaotic.
Laurel was good for him—that much he did know. She must have lent him some of her stillness of soul that he had envied so.
But was he good for her? Jack wrestled with his conscience daily, hourly, knowing he should tell her and knowing he could lose her if he did.
The only way he could make up for his deception was to keep Laurel as happy and contented as he possibly could. She cared for him, and he could not bring himself to destroy that regard with the truth. Not yet, while their relationship was so new. There would be little hope of reviving it unless she knew him better and felt more deeply. Maybe if she did, she’d be more inclined to forgive.
* * *
The next morning Laurel woke alone in her bed. She reached out to find that the pillow next to her was cold. She was cold, too, and still naked, though at some point during the night Jack had moved them under the covers and held her close. He had slept with her.
No doubt he had returned to his room before light and was likely out surveying the estate already. Would he think of her today? Would he look forward to the night?
She hugged herself and snuggled deeper into the feather bed. Now she was a wife. The duty was not exactly what she had expected. It made good sense that there was great pleasure in it, or there would be no procreation. Certainly no fornication or adultery, for the penalties for both were too severe to risk unless the act itself was greatly rewarding. Even so, she had not realized how very rewarding it could be.
Would Jack be proud of her? She had shown not a whit of the timidity he hated. In fact, she had felt more curious than apprehensive when the time came. They had waited for so long, she had wanted it over and done so that she could stop worrying about how it would go.
She smiled as she replayed the memory of it in her mind. It had gone very well, she thought. She had pleased him and he had pleased her. It seemed to her that everything else in their lives would fall into place now that was settled. She hugged herself and grinned into her pillow. She was a wife for real now.
They would learn what was needed to govern the Elderidge estate, set all to rights and perhaps have children in the near future. Even if they never quite came up to the mark on social niceties, they had each other, a glorious home and the probability of an heir. Family had always been her greatest desire and she felt fulfilled.
He must have imbued her with his energy last night because she could hardly wait to hop out of bed and begin their wonderful future together. There were other wifely duties she needed to see to while Jack husbanded the estate matters.
Betty swept in with a tray. “Good morning, ma’am,” she chirped. “Here’s your chocolate and toast!”
Laurel sat up, holding the coverlet to cover her bare chest. She knew she was blushing, but she couldn’t suppress her smile.
“Aha! Good night, too, I see.” She set the tray on the bed and turned to the wardrobe. “Which morning gown?”
“The sprigged lavender. Is there hot water?”
“In the basin,” Betty said, her back to Laurel as she plucked the gown out of the wardrobe. “I was late last evening. Shan’t happen again.”
Laurel sipped her chocolate. “If that is an apology, it won’t serve, Betty. Are you walking out with George?”
Betty turned, a worried look on her face. She paused as if wondering whether it would pay to lie. “It wasn’t allowed at the London house, ma’am. We have feelings, you see. And—” she paused before continuing “—we thought since he’s Sir’s valet and I’m attending you, it might be...well, convenient for you and his lordship.” Her eyes held a plea. “You won’t forbid it, will you, ma’am?”
Though her first instinct urged her to allow it, Laurel saw this as a test. Was she to let the servants believe she was too softhearted to govern? Or else that she was a martinet who had no thought for the happiness of others? She sensed that Betty and George, as well as all the other servants on staff, would take advantage of her inexperience if she allowed it.
“I shall speak with his lordship and inform you later of our decision. Until then, you both are to maintain decorum and perform your duties on schedule.”
Betty looked a bit confused by Laurel’s firmness. She had obviously expected immediate permission. “Very well, ma’am,” she muttered.
Laurel drank her chocolate and munched on the toast as Betty went back to laying out clothes for the morning. She stifled the impulse to explain to Betty that the affair with George might cause problems with the rest of the staff. The girl should know that already.
“Is George seriously taken with you?” she asked. “Has he asked for your hand?”
Betty’s head bobbed up and down rather frantically. “Not asked yet, ma’am. Neither of us figured it would ever be possible for us to marry.”
“Do you want to marry him?”
Betty’s face was now alight with hope. “Oh, yes, ma’am, more’n anything, for near on a year now. Could we, you think? If his lordship says yes?”
Laurel sighed and set the tray aside on the bed. She was so delighted with her own marriage this morning, it pained her to think of poor Betty with no expectations of her own. And yet, she did not yet know whether it was against some hard-and-fast rule of society for servants in the same household to marry.
“Let me discuss it with him. Say nothing to George about this until it’s decided one way or the other.”
The ormolu clock on the mantel struck nine. It was past time to rise and begin her day. “I can dress myself this morning, Betty. Would you go and find Mrs. Mundy and tell her I wish a tour of the house first thing?”
“Anything you wish, ma’am. Anything!”
Once she learned her way about, Laurel fully intended to take full charge of her household. Jack had told her to pretend she was Mother Superior here. If he could play captain of this stationary Elderidge ship, she could surely provide order.
* * *
Jack had begun early in the day, knowing that he must confer with Hobson yet again and see that all monetary matters were understood and in order. Then they were to meet with Mr. Northram, the estate manager, and later, the village council and some of the tenants. Oddly, he felt no dread at any of it.
He began with a comfortable residual of the contentment that had lulled him to sleep the night before. Normally, he would have been wearing a hole in whatever floor he paced upon or firing questions faster than they could be answered.
As planned, he and Hobson had pored over the accounts, then visited the village to meet with the vicar and town council. They also rode out to speak with a number of the tenants whose homes required repair.
All of that had taken a full morning and half the afternoon. He was frankly amazed at how neatly things were being handled. Or rather how they had not tripped into chaos since the old earl’s death.
His own demeanor surprised him, as well. Only a little of his anxious need to leap at every issue had surfaced. He felt good about things with only a healthy bit of apprehension intruding.
He dusted his hat on the leg of his breeches and ran a hand through his hair. “I begin to believe I can do this, after all,” he confided to Hobson as they walked from the stables to the back entrance of the house.
“Of course you can! You have good men in place to take care of the details. All that’s needed is your overall direction and perhaps instituting limits now and again if anyone oversteps.”
“I might go over those books again in the next few days,” Jack said.
“They are in the library, still on your desk, sir,” Hobson replied. “I’m for London in the morning unless you need me here.”
“You’ll dine with us tonight? No, I insist,” he said as Hobson began to shake his head. Jack grinned. “As captain of this unwieldy land-bound ship, I may invite whomever I wish to share my table.”
“I’m honored that you ask,” Hobson said finally. Jack could see that the old fellow was pleased, but he also saw apprehension in his expression. “You might not care what the staff would think of having an employee join you, but the dowager countess will most certainly not approve.”
“They say she’s gone to Bath while the dowager house is being readied for her.”
Hobson hummed. “Yes, I sent word while you were in Spain that you were expected here and she should be preparing to move.”
“It’s settled then. You will join us.” Jack nodded and they started to part ways as they entered the house. Jack realized then that he had neglected a most obvious necessity. The atrium, office, dining room, stairs and the master suite were all he had seen thus far.
“I shouldn’t risk being lost in my own home. Show me where everything is?” he asked Hobson.
“Certainly. I quite forgot you’ve never been here.” He gestured to his right. “This way. We’ll begin with the gallery so you may become acquainted with the former occupants. Some are rather forbidding characters. You’ll be adding your own portrait one of these days. May I suggest you smile for it, sir?”
Jack laughed. “So as to break tradition?”
On the way there, they passed the door to the office, which stood open. Jack’s breath caught in his throat as he halted. Hobson almost collided with him.
Laurel sat at the huge mahogany desk, staring down at a page in one of the account books he had examined earlier.
Chapter Eleven
“What are you doing in here?” Jack demanded, realizing too late how he had snapped at her.
She stood, slowly closing the book. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. A lovely day, isn’t it?” She placed a palm on the cover of the book. “I’ve been studying the account books, and I must say, I’m thoroughly stunned!”
“How so?” Jack asked, trying not to reveal how concerned he was that she might have discovered whose funds she had been perusing. Obviously, something had surprised her.
“You are disgustingly wealthy,” she said to Jack in a laughing whisper.
He approached and took her arm, leading her from behind the desk and escorting her to the door where Hobson waited and watched, nervously crimping the edge of his hat brim.
“Come away now. I’ve told you that you needn’t bother with financials,” Jack said. “Mr. Hobson and I will see to all of that.”
“Oh, it’s no bother. I told you I’m exceedingly good with numbers.”
Jack fought for patience. “You’ll have a household allowance to deal with, of course. There will be another book for those records.”
She patted his arm, smiling up at him. “That’s as it should be, I’m sure. So how has your day been, sir?”
“Productive thus far. I was just about to take a tour of the house if you’d care to join us,” he said, hoping to distract her completely away from all talk of accounts.
“Thank you, but I’ve already made the rounds with Mrs. Mundy this morning. If you two will excuse me, I’d best meet with her about the week’s menus as I promised.”
Jack huffed out a breath of relief even though the old and familiar tension within had now returned full force. He wondered if maybe Laurel could dispel it again if he held her for a moment and absorbed some of that inner pe
ace. No, he’d definitely need longer than a moment and probably more than a mere embrace.
He was thinking nonsense, of course, and giving Laurel entirely too much credit. Peace came from within a person, and was not something one could borrow or steal.
He said nothing until he was certain she was out of earshot. “Perhaps you’d better take the account books back to London with you in the morning, Mr. Hobson,” he said quietly as they continued down the corridor to the gallery.
What a narrow escape. All morning, he had felt so much more contented than usual, even with the dreaded assumption of the new tasks and responsibilities of the earldom. Now he sorely missed the calm. He knew last night’s event, if not Laurel herself, was the reason for his contentment, of course. But when he had seen her with the books, his heart had jumped to his throat and even now, he couldn’t shake off the jangling of nerves.
“You haven’t finished with the books and there’s nothing in them about the will or the former earl’s intentions,” Hobson assured him. “She need never know.”
But Jack knew. The lie of omission continued to bother him, not to mention the dread of being caught in it. When he had grown such a delicate conscience, he couldn’t say. That conscience would simply have to suffer in silence, however. A confession was out of the question.
“She seems quite happy. I had so hoped she would be,” Hobson said as they walked.
“I plan to keep her that way,” Jack declared, as much to himself as to Hobson. Laurel was truly good for him and not only in the physical sense. He could not afford to lose her and the threat was always there.
* * *
Laurel reveled in her first attempt at entertaining even though Mr. Hobson was their only guest. She was happy to start out with a modest supper.
Jack had showered her with compliments when he had come to her room to collect her. How appreciated he made her feel. She wore her new ruby sarcenet, and Betty had done wonders with the hairstyle, assuring her it was the latest thing.
Mr. Hobson had flattered her sweetly, too. He was such a dear and her only real link to the father she had never known. He did what he could to fill that role for her when she was younger, gently turning aside her eager inquiries and replacing them with stories of England and his own experiences there. He had encouraged and applauded her efforts and exhibited pride in her accomplishments.