by Gayle Eden
When Sascha at last entered and joined the party, Jo was able to observe him whilst the butler took his coat. Her knees got a bit weak. Though he was in formal black, his silk shirt was undone at the collar, and the emerald silk neck cloth was not tied. His hair was still damp and not tied back.
He was greeted by Edmund and Lord Auvary, several others. They stood talking just below her, laughing as friends do and sipping brandy. Her father came into the group and six males carried on a conversation, she took to be about horse races, though Jo was fixated mostly on observing Sascha, amazed at how his presence made her head light, her body flush, how looking at him pleased her beyond imagining.
It appeared the men were moving, going to play cards no doubt. Before going out of her line of vision, Sascha stopped and looked back, up, to where she stood.
Jo realized he had felt her gaze. The sizzle of want between them crackled when their eyes met. He turned eventually, but even after he faded from her line of vision, Johanna felt the effect of him; a kind of an awareness of herself, a low hum in her blood from knowing the man wanted her. Sex certainly awakened her in every way. Sascha’s dedication to being a good lover absolutely had.
It would not be until later, after she had spent time talking with Megan—observing Megan and Aric glance at each other whilst the other was not looking. Jo had a nice chat with the duchess, before she saw Sascha again. She was outside the French doors when the men emerged from their game. Her father was playing host, enjoying himself, and Edmund was collecting Alex and the babe to call it an early night. Jo had a light head from indulging in a bit more than her usual amount of wine too, when the flair of Sascha lighting a cheroot drew her stare.
He stood on the pathway, a tall and swarthy man with rugged edges, turned in her direction as he blew a steam of smoke. She strolled toward him, the lamplight though distant reflected in his light eyes, making them all too readable when she reached him.
His eyes went over her up drawn hair, the curls over her shoulder, and then her face. Her gown was a light green with darker green edging and sleeveless. She wore pearl earrings but few adornments.
Eyes narrowed against the smoke, he husked, “Come here, where I can touch you.” Then held out his hand.
She walked close. His arm went round her. He kissed the side of her neck, hugging her a bit closer as he whispered, “Your gown is nearly see through.”
“Is it?” She smiled and felt him nip her ear.
“You know very well it is. Lead us to a private spot, my brazen wench.”
Jo did not hesitate.
He crushed the cheroot on the way back in the shadows. As soon as she stopped, she found herself embraced by those strong, manly arms, and kissed most passionately.
When he came up for air, Sascha husked, “I can’t do any of the things I want, and am thinking of doing to you, right now.”
“Umm.” Her hands went through his hair, her lips rubbing at his throat. “I could sneak you up to my rooms.”
He half laughed, half groaned. “Two days. Then you will join me at my estate. I leave in the morning.”
“Are you sure you won’t—”
“Minx.” He kissed her again, held her a bit tighter this time. “I’m going to pleasure you until you scream for mercy.”
“I like that.” Her body was aroused. She could feel his heart thumping. Lowering her hands, she took the silk green cravat and slid it off him, and reached up, tying it over his eyes.
“Jo,” he warned, sounding half panicked, half aroused.
She did not answer. Jo moved down his body, feeling him through the silk shirt, his snug trousers, holding his hips and rubbing her face where his hard sex pressed against them.
“Christ,” he whispered hoarsely. “Not here. Not now.”
“Why?”
“Why—” he growled. “Because if you do what I think you’re going to, I’m going to make enough bloody noise to be heard across London.”
Laughing wickedly, Jo teased him a bit and then slid back up his body, feeling the heat and tremble in him. She undid the blindfold, seeing fire in his eyes as soon as he opened them.
Sascha kissed her again and rasped, “You’ve put me in a state that prevents me leaving by the entry.” His hands cupped her buttocks.
Jo, her hands at his nape, stood on her tiptoe to nibble his sensual lips.
One of his hands cupped the back of her head, forcing her to stop as he tucked it against his shoulder. “Two days will be hell.”
“Then don’t wait.” She whispered.
He growled again, and then lifted his head, looking around before pulling her with him to the opposite side of a fountain. Jo had little time to think before he was raising her skirts and finding her sex—damp and moist from the kiss and her teasing of him.
His fingers played and teased, rubbed her, and finally touched her inside. Against her mouth he said, “Shall I leave us both in want?”
“No.” She leaned back against the base of the dry feature. Jo reached and undid the placket of his trousers; sorry it was so dark that she could scarcely see, but groaning at the heat and feel of his sex in her fist.
They pleasured each other, there in the dark garden, leaning to kiss, mouths touching, mostly tongues and teeth, grabbing lightly at lips while their breathing grew deeper. It was exciting, thrilling for Jo, and even though he was pulsing, swelling in her hand, he caressed and rubbed her firm and focused. She knew, later, he held himself in check and waited for the moment she was in climax to release. Their mouths, breathing close, nearly touching, they found the peak together.
They were cleaned via his handkerchief. Sascha took her in his arms again and said soft and sleepy, “I’m going to visit that shop before I leave.”
“All right.”
“Did I mention my estate is nothing like Hawksmoor?”
“Did I mention I don’t care?”
He leaned back and intently examined her visage, as if to weigh the truth of that. Then he kissed her hard, deep, and Jo felt there was a message in it. However, he walked her back to the house, leaving shortly afterwards.
* * * *
It was two days after the party and Jo was on her way to that estate, before she realized she and Megan had not had the chance to talk yet. She reminded herself to do so at Hawksmoor. Something changed for Megan and Aric at that costume ball. Megan had been preoccupied since, and Aric, those looks he was casting at her father’s party whilst Megan was not looking, were both passionate and brooding.
Jo could almost estimate when she had arrived at the boarder of Sascha’s estate. The roads were rough and the land was fallow and overgrown. There were several abandoned cottages, one thriving farm, but small. It looked as if parcels of the land had been sold and sectioned. She did not judge but merely viewed it through the coach window, seeing potential, and discerning that it had not fallen into disrepair in Sascha’s generation, but had not been nurtured nor tended well for a generation before.
The land was better cultivated nearer the manor house itself, a brick structure with six soaring chimneys, shuttered windows. All the likeness of other country homes built in that fashion, she had viewed before. What was different she observed as the coach stopped in the courtyard, was that the flagstones were in need of repair, the door looked weathered and though she spied a male, likely the Gardner hauling arm loads of weeds and putting them in a cart, any landscaping and gardening was obscured by the overgrowth.
She took it that the restoration was just beginning.
Opening her own coach door, Jo saw a small brick carriage house to the right, and directed the driver there just as Sascha stepped outside.
He had on old comfortable boots, a shirt with sleeves rolled back and supple leather trousers. His hair was wet with sweat. She had the self-mocking thought that it all fit him nonetheless, because of his more rugged looks. It made her think of other earthy things…
Hurrying his stride to meet her, he took her bag and murmured something
about retrieving her trunk, but looking at his face, she saw tightness around his eyes.
“This was not a good idea,” he had said it under his breath.
“What’s amiss?” She asked in the foyer, absently noting that though sparse, there were signs it had been scrubbed recently and the open rooms she could see, a staircase had damp spots on the floors, places were old carpets had been removed. There was also a pile of cloths, used for covering furnishings and chandeliers in the hall. She saw no servants, but heard two voices beyond them.
Sitting down her bag, he plowed a hand through his hair. “What’s wrong? What is not wrong?” Tightness laced his voice. Not looking at her yet, Sascha supplied, “None of the servants I hired have arrived. There is only old Millington and his wife who have kept the place since I left…” He waved a hand. “They’re in the kitchens…where the oven has caved in. And the Gardner, who did answer the bloody hiring notice, is older than this house, nearly.”
She bit her lip, sympathizing with him, but seeing the humor too as he went on…
“None of the maids have arrived, so I made up two of the rooms myself. But I cannot bloody well even feed us now.”
Getting a word in at last, Jo touched his arm after taking off her gloves. “Well, now, I am sure with your experience in the wilds and my own time with my cousins in Scotland, who love to camp in the woodlands, we can manage on our own for a week.”
His lime eyes turned toward her as if she were daft.
Jo’s lips quirked. “You can build an outdoor fire, can you not? If not, I surely can. And why not look at it as an adventure, after all…”
“An adventure?” his voice was a near growl.
Jo looked around and opened her mouth, but an elder woman, covered in suet came dashing from the kitchens. She skidded to a halt before them, and did a hasty curtsy, her white hair escaping her cap.
“My apologies, Sir. I had every intention of greeting her ladyship, and having the room repaired, but—”
“Nonsense.” Jo went forward noting suet all over her shoes and apron. “I can see to myself. Tell me—Mrs. Millington?”
“Yes. Milady.”
“Johanna. Tell me, how badly are the kitchens damaged?”
Casting a hesitant look at Sascha first, the woman’s blue eyes met Jo’s, her face flushed, making all the wrinkles stand out. “It is nigh caved in, my…ah, Mistress Johanna. Not surprising. Hasn’t been cleaned in fifty years or more, and the rain leaked down alf the time….”
As she went on Jo could sense Sascha’s anger and mortification.
Johanna brightly said in a lull, “Iit’s a blessing the weather is so fine, is it not? Whilst your master awaits someone to make repairs, masons, I assume, why don’t you bring the cook pots and cauldrons out, into the side yard…the table too. I am sure we can manage with that—”
“Jo. I did not invi—”
She turned to Sascha. “You’d best ride to the nearest village and see whom you can hire. Meantime I will change into something more appropriate, and help Mrs. Millington with the arranging.”
“Agnes,” the woman cut in.
However, Jo was still looking at Auttenburg, choosing to ignore the fact he was rigid in both face and body.
She murmured, “My coachman is staying—to see us to Hawksmoor next week. Please inform him if you have canvas or oil cloth we may fashion over our makeshift kitchen.”
With that, Jo turned and picked up her bag, she winked at the housekeeper, who did not seem to know to be pleased or concerned. “I’ll join you directly, Agnes.”
Going up the stairs, Jo realized she did not ask which rooms. She looked in all twelve of them before taking one of the two cleaned ones—side by side, and with a connecting door, the red and cream silk room and the black and gold had an adjoining door. Wasting little time, Jo stripped out of her traveling suit and put on her trousers and blouse, her knee high boots. She tied her hair at the nape and tucked a pair of supple riding gloves in her pocket.
Hurrying below, she noted her trunk in the foyer and headed on toward the back of the house. The kitchens were in shambles, piles of the oven and chimney brick having fallen on tables and floor.
A lean man with browned skin and a white beard had his face covered with a kerchief and was shoveling up piles of suet.
She spotted an open door before Agnes stepped through it and saw her.
“No need to walk through this, Mistress. If you’ll just go back through the dining room, there is a small exit door.” She wiped her brow with a dirty hand. “Your man has not only found us something to fashion an awning, but is building it himself.”
Good old Herbert, Jo thought, going back through to the small dining area, seeing some damage under the windows from leaks, before she found the door and stepped out. Herbert had served in the military, and had a way with horses, and was knowledgeable about many useful things. Stepping out into a packed dirt side yard, Jo watched him only a moment before she motioned Agnes over.
There were huge pots and pewter cups and dishes, a smooth wooden table and benches already moved out.
“Let’s get these cleaned up.”
An hour of drawing water from the well and scrubbing them, gave Herbert time to have the awning completed. It had a nice oilcloth over the top and provided shade too. He helped them set up the area, and then left to find where the wood was stored.
With the tripods done and pots on them, it was with some jesting and much laughter that Jo and Mrs. Millington filled them half full of water, before setting down to peel and prepare vegetables.
Mr. Millington, John, was in and out of the kitchens with pails of debris, carrying it down the back path to be dumped.
Herbert excused himself to see her trunk above, and Jo was content and quite relaxed at the task whilst a summer breeze wafted and birds sang. She listened to the talkative Mrs. Millington speak of grander days at the house, which she took to mean when Sascha’s parents were alive.
“They spoiled him. Alan. He was the heir and treated as such, though it did him no good…Always thinking of himself and rarely at home.”
Jo did not ask questions, because Agnus was the type of person who left little out. even gathering the bowls of vegetables and carrying them over to dump into the heating water, she spoke, painting a fairly typical picture of a young man given too much, and taught little of responsibility.
Jo gathered that Alan was selfish and that he had little thought for Sascha too, other than seeing he finished his education.
“Done himself proud, the Viscount has.” The woman stirred the stew. “He made his mistakes. No doubt about it. But he’s righting everything now.”
After a time, Johanna left her to see to the meal while she went inside and did her own tour of the house. Although there was water damage, on ceilings, and peeling silk wallpaper here and there, the bones were good. The wood only needed conditioned and polished. Most of the downstairs, including a sitting room, study, and garden room, were furnished. The pieces were sturdy, nice, but needed reupholstered.
Taking the stairs again, she lingered a bit on the rooms, making note that it was neglect mostly that they suffered from. A check of linen closets and other such quarters showed the need for new sheets, toweling and coverlets. The water closets, one in the master bedchamber, had running water, but the taps were quite ancient.
Back below, Jo took the garden room exit at the back of the house, leaning her elbows on a low wall and surveying what must have been a flourishing herb garden, lawn and flower plot. She could see fruit trees, benches, other statuary, but it was through high weeds like the garden’s stone paths.
Turning, she leaned back against it, lifting her chin to eye the back façade of the house. She tried to picture two little boys growing up in the cozy home and romping on the grounds. Depressingly, she gained from Agnes that Alan had little time for his brother, and in marked contrast, Sascha seemed to have been left to grow up alone. Their parents died when Sascha was fifteen, a
nd by then he was boarding at school. What a lonely life it seemed.
However, before she could feel too pitiful for him, Jo heard her name being nearly shouted. Grunting, pulling away, she made her way back through the house, finding Sascha standing in the open sitting room.
“Did you find masons and workmen?”
“Yes.” He tugged off his gloves, his shirt wet with sweat and road dust. His eyes went over her, hiding more than revealing anything. “I’ve informed Herbert to take you on to Hawksmoor in the morning.”
“Un-inform him. There’s no need.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. “There is every need, obviously. This place is not fit for anyone.”
“You need my help.”
“That’s not why I invited you,” he snarled and then tossed the gloves, to head toward the table and a brandy decanter.
“Thank you. I’ll take one myself.” She plopped down in a nice leather chair, and propped her booted feet on a stool, accepting the drink when he brought it, noting how he evaded her eyes.
Sascha looked like he wanted to curse fiercely.
After wetting her throat, Johanna followed him with her gaze to the windows. He drank and looked out, his profile rigid, damp hair finger combed and quite mussed and the evening light washing over his tall form, softening his swarthy skin and sharper face bones. She liked that he did not rush up and change, nor make some show for her sake. She was old enough and wise enough to know, his level of discomfort was multiplying by the second.
“I came here to spend the week with you, and that is what I intend to do. So our plans change a little. You have things you need to oversee, and I can help…”
“That wasn’t the plan.”
She heard the husk in his voice, in her own too, as she was thinking of their intimacy before, and supplied, “No. But, you have seen me at Hawksmoor, seen all of my family rusticating. You know I spent my childhood out of society. I make no pretense of being a society belle. Your discomfort is unnecessary, Sascha.”
He raked his hand through his hair and finished off his drink, his glance meeting hers before he walked to the table and set the glass down. “I knew the place would need work, but not to this degree.”