At first he believed it was his imagination, that six years with only paid whores and jaded widows to see to his pleasure were making him see signs that weren’t there. Yet, when he had used his belt in measured strokes, her hips began to grind against his desk, in her innocence unable to fake such a perfect response. Unable to keep from it, his fingers, as if with a will of their own, had touched her. It had been a mistake because from then on, full of carnal hunger for the vulnerable young woman he’d vowed to keep safe, his body had been out of control. He’d wanted to take her, claim her, possess her.
He knew with certainty she wouldn’t have objected, but in the heat of passion, it would have been a seduction that in the morning light, both of them would have regretted. Despoiling a virgin would make him no better than Ervin and his ilk.
Sleepless, Corbet’s thoughts turned to Sara, his pretty wife, as sweet and pure as Emilia when they’d first met. But as he tried to summon her image, he saw green eyes instead of blue and a tilted nose where a round one should be. Full lips parted and the tip of her pink tongue slipped out, wetting lips belonging to his new pleasure slave. His mind made the improper leap to Emilia’s mouth opening while he slid his cock inside.
Sitting up, he drove his fingers through his hair, tugging until his scalp burned, hoping the pain would help push his lustful thoughts away, but it didn’t—he couldn’t. Guilt twisted in his gut. Of a certainty, he’d had other women. He was a healthy man with needs, but he’d stuck to experienced, practical women who weren’t seeking more than the pleasure of the night or the clink of coins to compensate for their time. Not once, in all this time, had he betrayed the bond he’d had with his wife and thought about more, until now.
“No!” he called into the darkness. “You will not give in to the enticement of this maid.” He flipped back the covers and stalked to the window, allowing the cool night air to wash over his heated body. He could have seen to himself, as he had numerous times before, but he deserved to suffer the same unfulfilled need as Emilia. Unseeing, he stared out across the fog-engulfed yard, the bittersweet memories of how he and Sara met flooding his mind.
Corbet made the turn into the muddy foreyard of the Boren farm and called to his team, slowing them to a halt. He set the brake and immediately sought out the pair of pretty blue eyes that always greeted him. At the clothesline by the side of the main house, he caught her sneaking peeks at him from beneath her long lashes as she pretended to be busy with her chores, while actually doing a very poor job of folding a sheet. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, as her mother, who also noted her distraction, scolded her for her inattention. Aiming a sidelong glance his way, her pretty face pinkened when she realized he’d been watching.
On a menial delivery run, better suited to one of the servants, he volunteered for the task with one thing in mind—pretty Sara Boren. As one of the young men apprenticed to his uncle, a wealthy merchant who specialized in leather goods, Corbet trained with the tanner, leather smith, cordwainer, and saddle-maker in preparation for taking his place in the family business one day. His uncle, a good man, always mindful of his friends and neighbors, had his wagons stop to fill the empty space in his cart with their deliveries as well. This included the Boren farm, which supplied the manor with cured meat from their smokehouse at the start of each new moon. Today was one of many similar trips.
As he jumped down from the bench seat and walked to the back of the wagon to help her father load his goods, he shot her a knowing grin. Caught staring, she spun with her laundry basket, walking quickly toward the house. She tripped at once over her long skirts, losing the few smaller linens that were piled on top. As she gazed up at him from the dirt, his eyes connected with hers for a moment. He grinned as her face flamed crimson. Then he realized the gentlemanly thing to do would be to help her up. He took a step forward, which was enough to break the spell. Popping up on her feet, she swept the linens off the ground, hitched the basket on one hip, then with her skirt gathered in her free hand, she bolted to the house, up the steps, and through the door.
Thoroughly charmed, his laughter followed her. Sara had captured his heart and each time he stopped at her father’s farm, he became more and more enamored with the pretty young woman. They spoke openly when they could and when they shouldn’t, found the chance for a few chaste touches, holding hands like they were promised to one another. As the months passed, love bloomed. At the same time, Corbet’s disappointment and frustration began to grow.
He was young and hadn’t the means to care for a wife. He couldn’t make an offer for her, for in truth, as a lowly apprentice, he had no way to put a roof over her head, feed and clothe her, or provide for any babes that came along. Maybe in a few years when he began earning his portion in the family leather works it would be possible.
As quickly as his hopes had risen, they crashed to the ground. Sara was eighteen, well past the marriageable age in Lancore. He couldn’t ask her to wait, it wouldn’t be fair. Likely, she’d be snatched up by some older, more established man who would make her a proper husband before he became able to provide for her himself. He should end it and not string her along further.
“Fetch the hand cart from the smokehouse, will ya, my boy?” Phillip Boren asked with a grunt, intruding on his thoughts. “I filled it this morning, now I seem to have formed a catch in my back.” He rubbed the area with both hands as he stretched backward. “Cursed with eight daughters, with my two boys coming last, is hard on an old man’s back.”
“I’d be happy to, sir.” Tall, robust, and strong-muscled from the work he did as a leather smith, Corbet was leaner than he would have preferred despite a healthy appetite. His mother always said he had his father’s build as a youth, long and lanky. He had hopes of filling out more like his father, who he always remembered as a broad-shouldered, larger-than-life man. Loading carts with heavy saddles, wrestling teams of stubborn oxen, and tanning cowhides would have him well on his way, he thought, as he ambled toward the barn.
The full wheelbarrow was easily located just inside the door of the small building. It was piled high with a mountain of smoked pork shoulders, slabs of cured bacon, and hams. Little wonder the man had hurt his back. He removed several off the top, intent on making two trips and saving himself from injury. No sooner had he grasped the handles when the door slammed shut, casting the room into near darkness.
“May I be of help?” a soft feminine voice inquired.
He swung around to find Sara standing in a small shaft of light entering through a crack in the door.
“I think it best that you open the door and get back to your chores, Miss Sara, before your father learns we’re here all alone and takes after me with his ax.”
“No one saw me come in. I’ll leave as soon as you answer a question that has been burning in my brain since you arrived.”
“What’s that?”
She sidled up to him and laid a hand on his chest. He was surprised at her sudden boldness where only moments before she’d been aflame with a blush. Perhaps the darkness was making her brave; if so, who was he to protest?
“You haven’t kissed me yet, Corbet, and I want to know why. Are you shy, or afraid of me, perhaps?”
He stared down at her a moment, then a bark of pure amusement burst free. “I’ve yet to be accused of being shy, before now that is. As for being afraid of a slip of a girl like you,” he grinned as he eyed her up and down, “hardly. Such cheek should be dealt with promptly. Perhaps your mother should swat your backside more.”
She harrumphed in an endearing, although unladylike manner. “Mama doesn’t hold back in that area, I assure you.”
“Then mayhap a stouter switch or added muscle is required. What would you say if I bent you over my knee and spanked that saucy bottom myself for being so forward?”
He heard the air rush from her lungs in surprise, but she turned the tables on his bold teasing with a quick recovery.
“I’d say anything you wish, sir, as lo
ng as you kiss me first. Just once, please.” She leaned in, her breasts a scant distance away from his chest as she rose up on her toes, her mouth reaching for his.
Though he knew she wasn’t for him, Corbet enjoyed the playful infatuation too much to end it. He pulled her against him, instantly aroused by the way her lithe body molded perfectly to the planes of his muscular chest and hard belly. His cock, already rigid with need, jerked in his no longer loose-fitting braes.
“Sara,” he murmured aloud.
At the sound of her name in the stillness of his bedroom, reality came crashing back and her image wavered, dimming in his mind as surely as the taste and smell of her faded from his senses. In an instant, she was gone. The raw pain of his loss flowed through him and finally, after hours of being uncomfortably hard, his shaft lay quiet along his thigh.
This was why whores and widows suited him best. Nothing was worth the agony of losing the woman he loved. Even if he found joy with Emilia and her wide-eyed innocence, or stirred at the lilting quality of her voice, or became caught up in the glorious smell of her hair, or rigid at the proof of her arousal on her thighs… He shook himself physically, determined to suppress the desire that was building, not from his memories of sweet Sara, rather from the slave in a bed down the hall that he knew he could never touch and risk becoming lost in love and wanting, once more.
Moving to the washstand, he poured water into the bowl and splashed it on his face. His head came up and he stared into the mirror. Never again, he vowed. He’d never give another woman his heart and make her his own, only to let her down as he’d done Sara.
In regard to Emilia, he’d do what he’d set out to do in the beginning—keep her safe until he could see her home. Considering her his ward, in need of protection, he would use the others’ presence as a safeguard to temptation and tamp down his desires. In a few months’ time, she’d be gone and his well-ordered life would be back to normal.
A few months…
He groaned, it would be an eternity with her living under his roof and sleeping at the end of the hall. Crossing to his armoire, he began to dress, determined to throw himself into his work, exhausting himself physically, leaving only enough energy to fall into bed at the end of the day. He could do it. He had to.
Chapter Seven
Rattling dishes jolted her awake. It was followed by a quiet, but demanding voice. “Get up, girl; Master Corbet has ordered you a hot bath. The men will be bringing in the water soon.”
Emilia jumped out of bed as she heard the thump of boots on the stairs. Pulling the sheet off the bed, she wrapped it around herself to conceal her thin nightgown and stood in the corner as six stout young men brought in two large buckets apiece and poured all but one into the lined wood and copper tub. Once they left, Alice sprinkled a handful of fragrant herbs in the steaming water and pulled up a short stool upon which she placed a thick bath sheet and a cake of soap.
“Don’t get used to it. We usually bathe in the stream when the weather permits.” She then sailed out of the room before Emilia could thank her, closing the door as she went.
Her muscles still ached from her ordeal, particularly her shoulders where she’d had her hands restrained behind her back. She dropped the sheet and stripped off her gown, eager to sink in up to her neck. Dipping her toe in first to test the heat, which was beyond warm, but not too hot, she then eased the rest of her body in slowly.
A little excess warmth stung her tender bottom, reminding her of last night, but she pushed those thoughts aside and submerged up to her shoulders. She leaned back and closed her eyes with a long, drawn-out, blissful sigh. Having disregarded her hair, which was soaked, she decided she’d need to wash it as well, but she was enjoying herself too much right now. Maybe in a few minutes.
“Wake up, little one.”
The soothing voice came from far away, drawing her out of her warm, comforting dream. She ignored it, not ready to get up.
“Emilia. You can’t sleep in the bath. Wake up.”
Her eyes popped open to find Corbet standing over her. She smiled at first, watching his eyes crinkle as he smiled in return, then they dipped low. It was at that moment she remembered she was naked in the tub and sat up, bringing her knees up to her chest with a loud splash.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, but I thought this might be a good chance for us to talk.” He held up an oval brush. “I also thought you might need this.” Picking up the items from the stool, he sat, clearly intending to stay while she bathed. Thoroughly at ease, he casually brought the soap to his nose, while she sat paralyzed in horror, her heart stuttering in near panic at the idea.
“Chamomile and meadowsweet,” he murmured, before handing her the soap. When she didn’t immediately start using it, he nodded his head to the water. “Wash before it cools. We’ll talk while you do so.”
Finding it hard to believe he was sitting there fully clothed, expecting her to bathe before him, she blinked. Her eyes slid to the bed where she’d slept, expecting to see her body still lying there, asleep, trapped in this strange dream. Of course, it was empty, the linens mussed, telling her that this was all too real.
Too stunned to offer an objection, she wetted the cake in the water and began rolling it in her hands, working it into a lather. It made thick suds that mixed well with the already herb-scented water, the light fragrance rising up in the steam. She sniffed. “I’ve never heard of combining the two herbs.”
“Alice swears by them for sore muscles. They also soothe frayed nerves and have a pleasant scent. It’s her special blend. She guards it well, but was kind enough to spare a bar for you.”
She looked back to him, skeptical. “Alice hasn’t been the most welcoming of sorts, sir. I’m sure she spared it because you asked her to, not out of kindness for a new slave who she clearly doesn’t appreciate being here.”
“I mean to talk to her this morning about that.”
“No, please,” she rushed to say. “She already resents me and the extra work I bring. I shouldn’t have mentioned it, but my feelings were hurt. I’d rather you not say anything.”
“And I’d rather you be treated well while you’re here. I’ll speak to her and it will be fine, Emilia.” From the resolve in his tone, the subject was closed.
Suddenly, he stood, moving around behind her, bringing the stool with him. “Dunk under and soap your hair. I’ll help you rinse it.”
That he was attending her, instead of one of the women doing so, struck her as odd, but she daren’t complain. He was being gentle and she didn’t want that to change. She slid low and arched her head back, saturating the entire length of her hair. She then lathered it thoroughly and dunked under, hoping the entire while that Alice’s soap clouded the water enough to conceal her breasts and lower body as she did so.
“Ready for the rinse?” he asked when she bobbed back up.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, tipping her head back and closing her eyes tight.
“This is cool,” he warned, “here we go.”
After he’d emptied most of the bucket, he motioned her to sit back, took the wet skein in his hands, and wrung out the excess water. He then took his seat on the stool and to her surprise, took up the brush and began to work it through her tangled mass of hair.
“About last night…” he began.
Her eyes closed tightly, reliving the painful scene. She’d rather die than talk about it, but she was cornered, trapped in her bath and tethered to him by her hair. Escaping the inevitable, short of outright defiance, seemed impossible.
“I don’t know what came over me,” she replied at last, bowing her head forward as she did so. The sharp tug it caused on her hair was welcomed, the slight physical pain much easier to bear than this embarrassment. She continued in a small voice, “I’m appalled by my behavior and promise it won’t be repeated.”
“If you can’t tell me what happened, it will be difficult to prevent in the future. I know it may be hard for you to explain, nevertheless, I w
ant you to try so we can avoid any such, uh, awkwardness from occurring again.”
His tone was even, as if they were discussing nothing more than the weather, not her ardent response to his touch, but his calm didn’t bring her ease. Instead, his words sent an icy chill down her spine despite the heat of the bath. As she feared, he found the incident distasteful, not arousing as she had, and clearly wanted to take action so it wouldn’t be repeated. Still, he didn’t seem to be angry, and lapsed into silence as he began pulling the soft bristles gently through her tangled locks. When he hit a snarl, he worked through it with care. His hands felt so nice in her hair that she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to calm her heart as she searched for a reasonable answer.
“I can hear the wheels in your head turning. It will be better if you tell the truth, not invent something you think I’d like to hear. Do you remember my rule about honesty?”
“I do, sir. I supposed I was so scared at the auction, afraid of the horrible tales about Lancore.” She started to wash her body when he set the brush aside, keeping her eyes averted as she spoke. “I know that if anyone else had bought me, I would have lost my virginity days ago. Probably in a ruthless, painful manner. You, on the other hand, are a kind man, like the auctioneer called you. Purchased as a pleasure slave, I didn’t feel that, um, a bedding was avoidable, but I wasn’t as frightened about you being the one to do it, especially after seeing Glom.” She shuddered at the thought. “While you were gone, I began to imagine what it would be like when you, uh, took me.”
“Did it arouse you when you thought about me?”
“Yes, sir,” she admitted softly before sluicing handfuls of water over her chest and shoulders.
“You were aroused, yet you acted afraid when you thought those were my intentions after telling me about the book.”
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