Lord Whitsnow and the Seven Orphans

by Em Taylor

  She turned and backed into the room.

  “Yes well, that was a lapse in propriety.”

  “You liked it. Then you kissed me in the lake and let my suck your nipples through your wet gown and chemise.”

  “You make me sound…”

  “Like a sensual woman who is aroused by a man?”

  “As though I am fast.”

  He chuckled. “Not fast enough for my liking, my love.”

  “What if someone sees me leaving your bedchamber?”

  “They won’t.”

  “The door is locked.”

  “Easily unlocked.”

  “I thought you said you did not have a key.”

  “I do not. But as I said, I am not such a dull dog as everyone thinks. I used to explore this house, including the locked rooms when I was a boy. I could hardly ask the house keeper for her keys, now could I?

  “I suppose not.”

  He crossed to his dressing table, opened a drawer and ferreted around for a few moment before extracting a couple of bent hairpins.

  He motioned for her to follow through his dressing room.

  Robert watched her eyes widen as she took in the large number of coats, breeches shirts, boots, and shoes. He supposed a young lady who had barely ever been out of Cumberland would find so many clothes to be ridiculous. He reached the locked door and tested the handle. Definitely locked. Giving the door a couple of bangs to dislodge the key, he then stuck the hair pin into the lock. He had to move it a few times to fully dislodge the key but eventually he heard it fall with a clunk to the floor.

  He started to wiggle the hairpins in the lock.

  “My Lord, if you are capable of this, I am not safe in my chamber at night.”

  He turned and raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Miss Butterworth, I may be capable of opening a door with a couple of hairpins along with a couple of thuds to dislodge the key, which you would surely hear, but you are quite safe. I do not ravish innocent or indeed any lady against her will. I do not ravish anyone of the female sex against their will whether they be lady, servant or courtesan. I am a gentleman, not a wild monster incapable of keeping his baser instincts at bay. However, if you should like me to arrange another bedchamber for you, one where you feel safe from my dangerous male presence, I shall arrange it immediately and you are welcome to use the other door to go back to your bedchamber, once you have changed out of my shirt.”

  Her face had turned from pink to red to white and now she looked down at her feet, then away from him.

  “I apologise, My Lord. That was not kind of me to suggest that you were dishonourable when you have been nothing but honourable. And I have been the harlot.”

  “You have been no such thing. You have enjoyed my attentions. There is nothing wrong with that.” He continued to attack the lock with the hairpin and felt it click.

  Opening the door, he gestured her through before going back, unravelling her gown and chemise from his cravat and the linens with which they had dried themselves.

  “We shall dry this by the fire in this morning room and then you can hand it to your maid and she shall be none the wiser,” he said. “Now go and change. If you need me to tighten your stays and lace up your gown, I am happy to do so. Then bring me back my shirt so it is not found in your rooms.”

  “You seem to have done this before, My Lord.”

  He liked her little streak of jealousy. It meant he was making progress.

  “I have not. However, I am good at problem-solving and I can see problems before they arise. It is one of the main talents one needs to run four profitable estates.”

  “I see. I shall be back presently.”

  Robert sat on a seat near the hearth and waited. He listened as she muttered to herself and hurried about her dressing room. He smiled to himself. She was such an interesting woman who had secrets. He was sure of it. He just had not yet worked out what they were. And they were the reason she refused to marry him. He would get to the bottom of it and he would put her mind at rest, whatever the problem was.

  She walked out of her dressing room, gown clutched to her breasts, checks flushed a dark red, eyes downcast. She looked utterly adorable.

  “Would you be so kind as to tighten my stays?”

  “Of course.” He stood and met her in the middle of the room. Sunlight draped itself across them and warmth enveloped him. Out of the shadows and wind, it really was rather pleasant. He untangled a couple of sections of ribbon then tugged each section to tighten it before taking the ends and cinching them tight. She gasped,

  “Too tight?”

  “No, just a bit rougher than my maid.”

  “Have I hurt you?” Blood seemed to drain from his internal organs at the very thought.

  “No, not at all.” She gave a slight laugh. “You just startled me.”

  “I apologise.”

  “There is no need.” She reached a hand behind her, obviously planning to give him a placating pat on the leg but she must have missed her mark. He may have been slightly further away from her than she thought. Instead her hand touched the straining buckskin-clad erection he’d hoped she had not noticed. But instead of primly pulling her hand away and pretending it had not happened, she turned to look at what she had mistakenly patted.

  He groaned, half with pleasure, half with embarrassment.

  “I… I should do something about this for you,” she said, little lines appearing between her brows as she frowned down at the bulge in his breeches.

  “Do something for me.”

  “I should hate to be responsible if you were unable to have children.”

  What the devil was she talking about?

  “While I have not produced any bastards to my knowledge, there is no reason to assume I cannot have children.”

  “But this cannot be healthy.”

  “I can assure you, Miss Butterworth, that my cock is perfectly healthy, functioning well and I have never had the French Pox. Now, would you like me to do up your gown?”

  She nodded. Considering she had never shrunk from his anger or irritation before, he wondered why she did it now.

  He quickly fastened her gown, she handed him his shirt and he gave her a curt bow before leaving the room. He was annoyed at himself for snapping at her, but he did not understand what she’d meant. He’d had a cockstand for damn near an hour that he could hammer nails into stone with and she’d been trying to offer him something, but he knew not what?

  He needed relief from the ache in his prick and ballocks. Not even bothering going into his bedroom, he leaned against the wall of the dressing room and dropped the falls of his breeches, releasing his heavy length into his hand. It felt so good. He massages his ballocks for a few moments and groaned loudly.

  The sound of the lock covering moving against the door in the morning room made him look over. There was no covering on the lock on this side. It had probably broken off at some point and never been replaced. Whatever the case, until now, Robert had never given it any thought. Had never been so grateful that it was not there. Had it been there, Miss Butterworth would not be getting her very own erotic show.

  He moved the colonel and privates, as he’d heard some of the servants call it one day when they had not realised he was in earshot, up and down his hard shaft, slowly and meticulously, moving his hips with each stroke. If Lucy wanted to see this, she would get the entire performance. He smeared the moisture at the tip of the bulbous head over the crown and moaned deep in his throat. He imagined her on the other side of the door, bent over, her pert bottom in the air, clenching her thighs together as she licked her lips and tried not to moan too.

  Damn he was far too close to orgasm to enjoy this fully. The little minx had teased and tempted him to the point of madness.

  “You see what you do to me, Lucy,” he whispered,” knowing she would think him speaking to himself. Knowing she would feel powerful and aroused by his words as he increased the speed of his strokes. “God, I wish m
y hand was your breasts.” And he did. He thought she would like that. He had a feeling Lucy would make a very creative lover.

  He gripped himself harder and pumped into his fist, wishing like hell it was her—imagining her on his bed, her red hair splayed out on his dark blue satin pillows, her pink lips reddened from his kisses, her breasts heaving from their exertions and her eyes glinting with her new-found knowledge of what happened between a man and a woman.

  He felt the orgasm tickle its way up his spine and then nestle in the very depth of his being before he lost his rhythm completely and his seed spilled all over his stomach, his hand and his red and still unsatisfied prick.

  He leaned forward, gasping for breath and then remembered his voyeur.

  “Lucy! Please come through here.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation then the door opened.

  “My Lord? Oh!” Her attempt at surprise was terrible.

  “The next time you wish to watch, I would appreciate the common courtesy of you entering the room to do it.”

  “I… I…” a blush climbed from her chest, up her neck to her cheeks until her whole face made her look like she had caught the measles too.

  “I am not angry, Lucy. It was quite arousing. I just would like to watch you as you watch me.” He was cleaning himself off with the shirt he had brought from the morning room and her eyes were transfixed. A frowned marred her brow. “What is wrong? Is it shrinking?”

  He chuckled.

  “Yes, my darling. Soldiers do not stand to attention all day. They would get tired. And after a battle they need a little rest. Fear not. If you should wish to change your mind about marrying me, this particular soldier will perk up and be ready for action almost immediately. Give or take ten minutes if I have just done that.”

  “I see. Thank you for explaining. And I am sorry for watching you.”

  He buttoned up his breeches and discarded the shirt onto the floor before moving towards her. “Please do not apologise for being curious. But please be honest next time. I like honesty.”

  She bit her lip and nodded before turning to leave.

  Robert ran a hand through his hair and pursed his lips. Damn, how could he get her to open up to him?

  Chapter 13

  The children seemed to be recovering. While still a little feverish, with coughs and sniffles, the rashes were disappearing and they all had started to complain of being bored.

  Lucy had brought a few toys into the sickroom under the watchful gaze of the nurse, along with a couple of books. Nothing too strenuous and nothing too exciting. However, when Eleanor remained fractious and it was clear that Miss Fallon was becoming impatient with her, Lucy intervened and took the child down to the music room.

  Lucy was not sure whether Miss Fallon had difficulty dealing with Eleanor’s deafness or if, perhaps, she did not like girls. She had been very patient when Ben had been fractious, and he was over a year younger than Eleanor and had been very difficult to soothe.

  When they got to the music room, Eleanor’s face lit up. She pointed to the harp, but Lucy shook her head. “No. I am unable to play the harp. I shall play the pianoforte for you instead.”

  Eleanor snuggled into Lucy’s neck and sighed. It was a contented little sound and Lucy’s heart melted. She ached for every time she had denied this child, every time she had looked into her eyes and seen her own eyes staring right back at her, every time she had wanted to see the word “mama” form on those silent little lips. And despite her illness appearing relatively mild, she had worried for her daughter more than the boys. Whether it was maternal instinct or because Eleanor was less sturdy than the boys since they oftentimes would not allow her to play their games. She was relieved to see that the little girl, while still a little flat and clingy, was definitely on the mend.

  As Eleanor lay on the long piano stool, her head in Lucy’s lap and her hands under the piano, Lucy contemplated Lord Whitsnow. It had been a close shave the day he had suggested that Eleanor was her brother’s bastard, but she had been able to rebut that accusation honestly. He unsettled her tremendously, but she loved his kisses and caresses and longed for his touch again. Eddie had been but a boy and she now understood the difference between the fumblings of an eager youth and the ministrations of a man who had knowledge and experience.

  A low cough brought her out of her musings. She was playing without even thinking. She did not need music for this Handel piece. She knew it by heart. She looked up to see Lord Whitsnow standing at the door, his eyes dark with desire.

  “I am playing music for Eleanor.” She nodded in the general direction of her lap. From the door he would not be able to see the child. “Music soothes her even though she cannot hear. I do not understand it but since it works, I do not query it.”

  Robert walked over to the piano and came around to the back of the stool, looking down upon her nightgown-clad charge. Eleanor was blissfully unaware of his presence.

  “It will be the vibrations.”

  “The vibrations?”

  “Yes, Sound travels in waves through the air and vibrates our eardrums allowing us to hear. She will be soothed by the vibrations of wood on the piano. The vibrations will change with the higher and lower registers and with louder and softer playing.”

  “Are you saying she hears the music?”

  “Not hears, per se but she experiences it through her sense of touch.”

  “How is it that you know so much about deafness?”

  “It is not deafness. It is physics. We learned it at school and university.”

  “Oh, I see. I have read a lot of books on things like agriculture but not many on science.”

  “You like agriculture?”

  “I do not particularly enjoy it but…” She sighed. “I have this dream of having a little plot of land for the children. Children should have animals; do you not think? I notice you do not have a dog.”

  “There are dogs. They are in the stable.”

  “But none as a pet.”

  “We had one when I was a boy. He died while I was away at school one autumn. The year my father died. My mother died two years later. She died of a fever, but I am sure she had no will to live once he died. Which is rather unfortunate for Emily and me. It suggests her children were not enough of a reason to live.”

  “Oh Robert, I am sure that is not so.” She stopped playing the piano and turned in her seat, dislodging Eleanor, who made a little whining noise of protest. Lucy scooped her up into a cradle hold and faced her towards Robert in order that she could see why her music had been so rudely interrupted. Eleanor’s expression was worth it. Her tired little features lit up at the stern-looking man. The little girl really did seem to like Robert.

  She reached her arms up to the earl who looked to Lucy for permission. She nodded her head and he bent his head. Eleanor wrapped her little arms around his neck and, as he lifted her off her feet, she tried to wrap her legs around his waist, but her nightgown prevented her. He chuckled against her hair and Lucy watch the vibration of Eleanor’s back as she silently giggled. Robert tucked her legs under his arm then sat astride the piano stool, leaning Eleanor’s back against the wood of the instrument. He nestled her close, giving Lucy more room to play.

  “Perhaps a waltz?”

  “How very modern, My Lord.”

  He chuckled. “It shall be quite some time before I ask you to dance a waltz, I am afraid. Dancing was never my thing. I hate it with a passion.”

  “Why?” she asked as she started to play a lilting tune.

  “I suppose it is because anytime I asked a young lady to dance, I saw her mama’s eyes light up with hope that I would wed her darling daughter. The pressure was immense. I so despise the marriage mart.”

  “Hence this ridiculous idea to marry me.”

  “It is not ridiculous. And I like you… very, very much.” His voice had deepened on that last bit and she felt a warmth in her belly that only he manage to create.

  “My Lord…”


  “Not My Lord again. Lucy, we were over this. Please, Robert.”

  “We are not alone.”

  “Eleanor is sleeping.”

  She looked down and sure enough, her darling daughter’s mouth was open, and her red eyelashes brushed her cheeks in slumber. She wrinkled her nose and moved a little restlessly in Robert’s arms, but he adjusted his hold and she settled again. Lucy could not help but think that he would make a wonderful father.

  Her fingers lingered on the keys as she looked down at her daughter, asleep in the arms of the man she was rapidly developing feelings for. This was not good. Not good at all. Her crazy mind was beginning to want what she could not have. The man, the family, and Eleanor as part of that family—a normal child being brought up in a normal way as though she had not been the product of sin and stupidity.

  “Do you ride, Lucy?”

  “Horses?”

  He huffed out a quiet laugh. “No elephants. Of course, horses.”

  She pursed her lips. “I am a gently bred young lady, My Lord. Of course, I ride.”

  “Have you been riding since you came to stay?”

  “Once.”

  “Then we have a saddle that fits.”

  “Yes. Emily’s saddle.”

  “Good. Would you like to ride out to the waterfall, have a picnic with me and go swimming this afternoon? The weather is really rather pleasant.”

  “Swimming?”

  “Yes. One immerses oneself in the water and…”

  “I understand the concept, My Lord. We cannot go swimming. It is not proper.”

  “You are, of course correct. It is not proper. That is half the fun of it. However, everyone else shall think we are going for a picnic. Bring an extra shift to swim in and I shall bring a pair of cotton breeches. We shall take my valet and his sweetheart who is one of the downstairs maids. She can ride with him. They shall picnic farther up the river, but only they and we shall know that.”

  “Will they be swimming too.”

  “I doubt that very much. I suspect Maxwell has much more fun things to do with Jess than swim with her.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened. “They shall…”