Wedding Matilda (Redcakes Book 6)

by Heather Hiestand

  “You don’t get to braid it when we are wed. I want to see it.” His gaze on her intensified.

  “You will soon regret that, when I make you brush it smooth.” She tucked a stray lock behind her ear.

  “I would be honored to brush your hair. And undress you. But I shall leave the dressing to someone else. Too depressing.”

  She ran her fingernails lightly down his chest, following the thin line of dark hair, marveling at the contours of his body. To think she could marry this man, have all of this heat and muscle in her bed each night. How could she have reconciled herself to a life without passion? It didn’t suit her at all. She fairly ached with pulsating lust.

  He seemed to know what she was thinking. Instead of reaching for her breasts or hips, his palm went to her mound. Then, as she gasped in pleased surprise, he feathered his fingers through the ginger hair that covered it. Pulling her to him with one arm around her waist, so that her side touched him, he spread her inner lips open with the other and stroked through her silky heat. She arched against his hand as it moved in tantalizing circles, her open mouth on his throat. As she suckled a tiny patch of skin there, her thoughts wandered between the pleasure of leaving a visible mark on his body—the ownership of such a gesture—and the glorious feelings he was firing in her most intimate place.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands continuing their soft, heaven-sent strokes inside her, along her flank. But then, his mouth found her right breast and closed over her nipple, sucking hard enough to draw a moan from her, a wriggle of pleasure. One of his fingers slipped inside her channel and he moved it in and out. She wanted to collapse against him, but he might stop.

  “I want you inside me,” she whispered.

  She heard his breath catch. “Matilda, you’re killing me.” His mouth moved to her left breast, suckled there, too.

  Her nipples were distended, aching. She would never get enough of this man, ever. Losing all sense of decorum, she straddled him, his hand still between her legs. She put her palms on his cheeks and slid her thumb along his lips, then kissed him so hard that their teeth clicked together. He chuckled and tilted his head.

  She felt his penis against her belly, thick and deliciously hot, and moved a hand down to stroke the tip, spreading the bead of his own precious moisture across the broad head. Amazing to think something so large could fit her so perfectly, but it had and would again.

  “Are you ready for me?” he whispered.

  “Yes, please.”

  His lips tilted up. He filled his warm palms with her bottom, lifting her off his thighs so he could fit himself inside her. Her eyes opened wide as she smelled her own arousal, felt his head, too big. But her own juices lubricated him, and slowly, he worked himself inside her.

  She was only halfway down and he was shaking. Stopping, confused, she lifted her face from his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, God, stop moving.”

  She froze, horrified. Was she hurting him? Doing it wrong? His arms were corded strength along her sides. He still held her bottom as his head dropped into her hair. She felt his heavy breaths, heard him moan.

  “So good,” he said into her hair. “I want to last long enough for you to enjoy this, too.”

  One of his hands left her bottom and found a place just above where they were joined. He began to stroke her there. Just a few times, and she had to move against his hand. The acute pleasure, the scent of their bodies mingled together, it all made her head swim. The movement of her hips fueled the fire between them.

  “Now,” he moaned, and pulled her down, seating himself completely in her depths. She thought she’d taken all of him before, but she’d been wrong. He showed her how to move against him, to slide along him as he thrust upward. Soon, they were both crying out, then shuddering together as they found bliss.

  He lifted his feet onto the bed, then lowered himself onto his back, helping her relax against his chest, still inside her. She had quivers from the aftershocks of their passion and her mind felt utterly, blissfully blank. When the first prickles of chill hit her exposed back, he pulled a blanket over her. His fingers stroking through her hair were paradise.

  “We cannot go on like this. We have to be wed, Matilda.”

  “Mmm.” She rubbed her nose against the soft spot under his shoulder blade.

  “What if you conceive a child?”

  “I don’t want to talk about children. It’s too painful.”

  “Why? Did something go wrong with Jacob’s birth? Will you have trouble with another birth?” He struggled up slightly, and her body lost its grip on his softening penis. It slid out of her, bringing a rush of moisture in its wake.

  “No, I just don’t want to think of Jacob right now. He’s frightened, alone, maybe cold and hungry, while I’m safe in your arms.”

  “You need comfort, too.”

  “I don’t deserve it while my child is in danger.”

  “We’ve done everything we could, sweet girl. Everything.”

  “I can’t agree with you. If we’d done everything, he’d be home now.”

  He slid his hands up and down her back. “We can disagree on that. I know what a devoted mother you are. You didn’t deserve this and you are not at fault.”

  “I could have stayed in my parents’ home in Sussex. Lived quietly, cared for my child. Instead, I was restless, and my father taught me the business. He didn’t even encourage me. I was as hotheaded as always, insisted on it.”

  “You are good at your work. There is no shame in that.”

  “I’m an unnatural woman,” she insisted.

  He stroked down her back again and cupped her bottom in both hands. “Not from my vantage point. You are an entirely natural woman, with a good mind and a stout heart. Who else was going to run the business?”

  “Greggory,” she said. “Once Gawain didn’t want it, my father would have trained Greggory.”

  “But he’s not your father’s son.”

  “No, but he is my grandfather’s grandson, and the first factory was founded by him, John Redcake.”

  “I see. Does this other branch of the family resent you?”

  “Not at all. My Uncle Arthur is a painter, and was happy to be bought out by my father so he could pursue his art. Greggory is his oldest son, and he’s more interested in his fiancée than the business. For now, at least.”

  “Then you are what the family needs. Don’t feel unnatural for that. Every family is different.”

  “What will ours be like?”

  “Are you going to marry me now, for sure?”

  She nodded, rubbing her face against him. “How could I say no to this? But everything has to end well, Ewan, or I will be completely broken.”

  “It will, darling. Now rest for a little while, and then I shall embrace you again, before we get you home.”

  “I’d like to sleep in this little bed.” She yawned.

  “No, that would be a scandal. I shall take you home, then call on you quite properly in the morning for our return to Bristol.”

  “I should go now. What if we receive a call from Bristol this afternoon?”

  “You know there won’t be any news. Not on a Saturday evening. It became obvious on Thursday that this kidnapping scheme is complex. They will act carefully.”

  “Do you really think Jacob will have been moved?”

  “I think the place they took you to was carefully chosen for complete anonymity. I don’t know that we’ll ever find it, so he might very well still be there. You have an unusually good sense of geography. I’m amazed that we came as close as we did.”

  “I could have been wrong.”

  “I don’t think so, not with the warehouse so close by. It will be their undoing, if anything is.”

  “I hope you are right.”

  Ewan tipped her sideways, and she found herself flush against his body on her side. He bent his head to hers, giving her a gentle kiss on the lips. “Relax, rest a little. I shall trouble you agai
n, madam, when I am restored.”

  “How long does that take?” she asked, curious.

  “I don’t know. I am an old man of twenty-seven now, and you are my first lover of the year.”

  “And the last, I hope.” She poked him in the side.

  “The last forever, I hope.” He mimicked her. “No, Matilda, if your face is the last I ever see, on that final morning of my life, I shall count myself a lucky man. And never think to stray from you, as so many men do.”

  “We can take comfort in each other.” She whispered this, feeling vulnerable.

  “With a family as strong willed as yours, we shall have to promise to always put one another first. Otherwise one or another of your relatives will run roughshod over us, as we have already seen.”

  “I know it, Ewan; I do know it. But you are going to be an earl, and power will start coming more naturally to you. For now, it is a little hard to see yourself as more than a secretary. I feel that myself, having gone from a younger, pampered daughter to a woman of business. I do not have much in the way of role models. Alys is one for me, somewhat, but she is so involved in the marquess’s estates and her own reproducing. I’d honestly never thought I would marry or think of having another child.”

  “She still owns the tea shop.”

  “I don’t think she’ll ever sell it, nor do I think Lady Judah will stop dabbling in cake decorating, but neither of them do more than dip into their interests. They have too much else to do. Whereas I left far more of the child rearing to staff.” She swallowed hard. “And paid the price for it.”

  “Most women of your class have nannies,” he said. “You did nothing unusual, and I will not allow you to feel you’ve done anything wrong. I am proud of you for doing something constructive with your time, instead of spending endless hours in society meetings or embroidery, like so many do.”

  “Some of it is worthwhile,” she said. “You do not really know very many women like me. Our lives are more useful than you might expect. We aren’t entirely decorative.”

  “I’m sure you are right. I have a great deal to learn.”

  “We both do. We must promise to never argue at bedtime, so we can wake up happy with each other.”

  “Agreed.” He kissed her head. “And now, as for the rest, I do believe I am quite restored.”

  She giggled, feeling his manhood nudge her meaningfully. It had grown again, and she was eager to put Ewan through his paces before he deemed it time for her to leave for St. James’s Square.

  After church services the next morning, Ewan presented himself at St. James’s Square. He hadn’t listened to the vicar at all, too busy castigating himself for agreeing to an engagement he couldn’t sensibly keep. How could he want something so dangerous to Jacob’s well-being? The earl did not see Matilda as the future countess, and he would lose his restored position if he announced their intention to wed.

  He was convinced a connection existed between that warehouse and Jacob. They would be back in Bristol that evening. Tomorrow, he would confront Albert Pigge again and get to the bottom of this.

  He heard a flurry of slippered feet when Pounds ushered him into a cheery back parlor looking over the garden. Matilda crashed into him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  “I missed you last night. How I wanted to wake up in your arms,” she said, squeezing him close.

  “It makes me very happy to hear that,” Ewan said, stroking her hair. “I look forward to waking up that way every morning.”

  “I don’t want to wait. Let’s have the banns called right away. I have to believe that we’ll find Jacob over the next week. Something is going to change, I can just feel it.”

  “Yes, it has to,” he agreed, hoping that event wouldn’t be finding the child’s little body. But the Redcakes had handed off money once before without proof the boy was alive. They would do it again, even if it beggared them in the process, as long as any hope existed.

  “At my family’s church, then, in Bristol? We could be married in May. I’ll make all the arrangements; you won’t have to do anything but arrive on time.”

  “I wish I could agree,” he said, as gently as he knew how.

  There was a moment’s pause, then Matilda released his waist and stepped back. “What do you mean? Not May?”

  “May might be fine, but we must find Jacob before we even announce our engagement.”

  “Why? As you said, I could be expecting already, and that isn’t suitable for an earl’s heir. You need to secure the succession.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. He hadn’t thought of that. “Of course you are right, but Lord Fitzwalter will terminate me again when he finds out I’m to marry you. You’ve forgotten all about the special license. We can be married any time. No need to call banns.”

  “So we find Jacob, marry, and then the earl will wipe you from his businesses again.”

  “Correct, but meanwhile, I’ll have access to the properties. I mean to search the warehouse, every inch of it.”

  She swallowed. “I see what you mean, but Ewan, if there is any hint that I’m increasing—anything at all—we must deal with that for the future’s sake. Oh, dear, I really am the most inappropriate bride for you.”

  “I can live with that because I do not want to live without you. Do you know how many years I longed for you to so much as notice me?”

  “No, I didn’t know you then. I’m not even sure when you saw me first.”

  “It was in 1884. Right when Redcake’s opened in London and I came to work for your father. You and all your sisters were at the staff party to celebrate a successful first week.”

  “You found me attractive? I’m so like Alys, and Rose is so much more beautiful.”

  “It was a long time after that before I saw you again, but I never forgot you.”

  “I was such a romantic when I was younger,” she said reflectively. “If you had wooed me, I wonder what might have happened.”

  “You are still a romantic.” He smiled at her. “You simply take more persuading than you used to.”

  “I cannot comprehend that Mr. Bliven has died,” she said. “I’m sure my mood has something to do with that. Oh, Ewan, life is so terribly short.”

  “We will make the most of it,” he promised. “It will be fun to have a delicious secret for a few days.”

  “It will be much more delicious if you sneak into my bed at night.” Not that he would dare.

  He chuckled. “No possibility of that. Your father is sleeping in the house. I am not romantic enough to risk my life.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Mr. Hales, this is entirely irregular,” Mr. Pigge protested from behind his oversize desk in the Douglas warehouse office on Monday morning. “To the best of my knowledge, you have no position in your uncle’s business interests.”

  “That is a lie,” Ewan declared. He stood from the low visitor’s chair to give himself more authority. “I know you received a telephone call this morning. I spoke to the solicitor, Mr. Norwich, myself.”

  “Well,” Pigge said, snorting and wiping his nose with a handkerchief. “Well.”

  “I do not care to employ a liar,” Ewan said in measured tones.

  “Please, Mr. Hales, you understand I must be cautious, with you in and out of favor with the earl in such a manner.”

  “Mr. Norwich is the earl’s particular mouthpiece. It is not for you to have an opinion on my relationship with my uncle. Be assured I am the authority of this enterprise.”

  “How am I to know who Mr. Norwich is? Most communications come to me through Corwin Vare in London. These telephones leave me quite flustered.” He wiped his forehead.

  “Perhaps you would do better in Vermont,” Ewan said. “Although I would prefer to have a trustworthy man in a position so remote.”

  “Come now, sir,” Pigge said, standing as well.

  Ewan stared at the man. Matilda had recommended he stand during the interview, when he’d shared how Pigge’s desk and chair see
med to be on a dais compared to the visitor’s seating. How would she unlock the reason behind Pigge’s choice to stand? Was he trying to assert authority over Ewan, who was undeniably his senior and the heir to the earl besides?

  He could not waste more time. He did not want this man following him around the warehouse. Five handpicked men were waiting at a pub down the street, ready to search the warehouse for Jacob. “Please return to your home, Mr. Pigge. I will consider the conditions of your future employment further, but I cannot tolerate looking at you and that ghastly nose hair one more moment today.”

  Pigge puffed his cheeks until he looked like a balloon about to pop. “I am outraged, sir!”

  “I do not care. We will both have the rest of the day to consider our tempers. Do I need to call a constable?”

  “Of course not.” Pigge put his hand to his waistcoat and marched out, leaving his overcoat behind.

  “Good riddance,” Ewan muttered. He hadn’t liked the man’s attitude toward Matilda anyway. He rustled through the man’s desk for five minutes, looking for financial records, a list of employees, anything that might be of use. Finding nothing of value, he stepped into the outer office, told the astonished secretary that he was not to allow Pigge into the office for the rest of the day, and went to the pub to gather Matilda’s men.

  The warehouse was a long dirty rectangle a couple of blocks from the river. When Ewan came back with the men, he assigned them each about 20 percent of the cavernous space to search and took the offices for himself.

  “We don’t know anything about where he’s being kept, only where he was on the one night,” he told them. “Don’t be flashy about your search. Tell the employees that you are here to learn the operation. Maybe someone will let something slip. But if you see any evidence of a child—clothes or anything—come find me.”

  Given the time of year, it seemed the warehouse was stocking barley and wheat seed, as well as peas and beans for the spring planting. Rows of feed sacks stretched the length of the warehouse.

  When the first man returned to him, having completed his task, Ewan sent him to search the property outside, looking for outbuildings. Then he returned to the offices, searching for any documents that might relate to Jacob. Despite Pigge’s clear knowledge of the kidnapping, he and the men found nothing. Had he retaken control of Douglas Industries for nothing?