Finally her husband rolled off her, sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, and stood looking down at her. "Well done, m'dear. I'll see you again tomorrow night."
After he left, Chastity turned her face into the pillow and wept.
#
Thomas saw the strain on her face first thing the next morning when she arrived at the stables. For the first time he noticed the fine lines around her eyes. She looked exhausted, but he found his tongue tied. What could he say to her, after all? She did not belong to him.
He assisted her onto Ginger, his hand lingering on her leg. "How long before he leaves?" he asked tightly.
She didn't look at him. "Too long," she said as she rode away.
He made a point not to be in the stables when she returned. He'd finished up his duties early and trudged toward the guest cottage at the south end of the property. There was a clean, clear lake behind the structure, and although it was far too cold at this time of the year for a swim, he removed his dusty clothes and dove in.
Swimming hard he plunged through the frigid water, desperately trying to remove the image of Chastity's wan face from his mind. Expunge the ugly scenes of her submitting to her husband's demands. The sun was low in the sky when he'd spent himself and floated like a frozen log on the water's surface.
He sensed her before he heard the splash of water at the shore.
"Good God, what are you tr – trying to d – do to yourself?" Chastity's teeth chattered so hard he could hear them as she stood knee deep and naked at the edge of the lake. Her arms crossed over her breasts, more from the cold than modesty, he surmised.
"Ay, I'm tryin' to kill myself." He laughed at the glorious sight of her. She'd come to him, but he had no idea why. He began swimming toward her with long, broad strokes.
"When I was a girl," Chastity said irrelevantly, "my father tossed me in the river to teach me how to swim." She smiled with nearly blue lips.
"You learned right quick, I'll wager. Better plunge right in, get it over with."
She ducked beneath the water and rose shrieking. He' d reached her by now and embraced her tightly. "How did you know I was here?" he whispered in her ear.
"Mrs. Griffin," she said and told him what the housekeeper had intimated about the cottage.
"Really? For us? I knew there was more to Griffin than what shows on that steely exterior." When she shivered and wrapped her legs around his hips, he said, "I know a quick way to warm you up."
"Inside the cottage beside a roaring fire?" she ventured.
"No, this." He plunged into her ready body with one swift stroke and clamped his lips on one breast, teasing the nipple until it hardened in his mouth. "If you go over, if you come for me, you'll raise your body's temperature," he murmured. "Swear, 'tis true."
"Liar," she muttered with a moan as her climax washed over her like a tidal wave.
Chapter 13
"Where does his lordship think you are at this moment?" Thomas asked.
They lay on a thick carpet rolled close to the fire which he'd set blazing. Under the warm quilt they were both naked, her hair still damp from the lake.
"If he even thinks about where I am, likely writing letters in my chamber or reading in the library." Chastity eyed him through thick lashes. "I do a great deal of reading – and writing."
He knew she'd meant to make him laugh, but he felt the deep cut of duty and propriety take hold of him. Where had these emotions come from? He'd bedded many women, enjoyed the hard lust of wildly passionate ones and the sweet tenderness of shy ones.
With Chastity he felt something more, something that shook him to his core. Lust, yes, thank Christ for that. Hunger and a primitive need to have her again and again until they were both raw with pain.
He ran his fingers down her naked spine and felt her tremble. He had the power to make her feel this way, he realized. Not her husband. That fact both thrilled and shamed him.
"I do not want you to go back to your husband tonight," he ventured.
"You know that is impossible."
She jerked upright, clasped her arms around her knees and afforded him the full display of naked shoulders, spine and rounded ass. He wanted to sink himself into that tight ass, make her climax so often, so long, and so hard that it drove every rational thought from her mind.
"He's expecting me," she continued, "and I cannot refuse."
He trailed his fingers over her silky shoulders. "I know," he muttered, "but I dinna like the thought of his hands on you." He heard the Irish come out in his voice, knew she would recognize his emotion.
She lay back down beside him, propped her head on one hand. "I want to know something about you, Thomas. Tell me."
He didn't want to share anything personal or private with her. If he considered what they'd done together as pleasurable acts of lust and carnality, when the time came, he just might be able to let her go.
She trailed the back of her hand against his bristly cheek. "Come on. You know almost everything about me."
'Twas true. The help always knew the secret stories of the family of the manor. He knew, for example, that Chastity had come to the marriage for her lineage and breeding – old, old family – she was the daughter of aristocracy that traced its lineage back to William the Conqueror.
"I'm the son of a duke," he told her, and watched her eyes grow huge and round, bright blue orbs of wonder. Why had he blurted out that information? It'd never mattered to him before. "Born on the wrong side of the blanket, of course," he added hastily, "so it barely counts."
"Then you'll never inherit?" she asked, teasing the thick dark curls on his chest.
"Nary a penny."
"And what is this – uh, duke's – title?"
She didn't believe him, he realized, and her doubt amused him.
"Arthur Davenport, the Duke of Somerset."
"So, your name is 'Thomas Davenport'"?
"No, I took my mother's name. Unfortunately she was a poor Gypsy woman with nothing to recommend her but her beauty and her youth."
She looked up at him, a tender look on her face. "I'm sorry."
"No need for sorrow, m'lady."
"Wait! The Duke of Somerset. I know that name. He had no direct heirs, I've heard. He could've named you if he chose to," she ventured.
His mouth tightened involuntarily. "I choose not to take his name or his title."
After a moment he felt her relax beside him. "They married me to – to Charring so that he could have a pedigree and my family could have a transfusion of money into the family accounts."
Her voice sounded only a little bitter. "Even though I am so very old – " She punctuated each of the last three words with a poke of her slender finger to his chest. "My husband hopes to get an heir."
"Bartered and sold like so much horse flesh?"
She smiled. "Exactly. And the price was steep." She laughed. "I'm a very expensive catch."
"Why did they wait until you were far past marriageable age?"
"They wanted the best bargain they could find," she mused aloud. "And I was always an obedient child. And an only child. I suppose the years passed while they wasted the family money and had nothing left to barter with but – but me."
"You should be screaming and shouting about it," he muttered. "You don't even sound angry."
She lifted one slender shoulder. "It's done."
With regal grace she climbed on top of him and began kissing him in the most arousing places. "And now I've got you."
Thomas liked when she play the role of aggressor. He felt his control slip second by second. She was getting quite good at it, but he had much yet to teach her. When he reached for his cock, it sprang to attention between his legs.
"I want to take it into my mouth," she whispered in his ear. "I want my mouth on you like yours was – on me."
He groaned. "Yes."
"Show me how."
"You need no tutoring, it seems," he growled.
She explored the tip of him, lickin
g gingerly around the head. "Hmm, salty." She wrapped her hand around his shaft and pumped it up and down, timidly as first, but faster as he covered her hand with his to instruct. He thrust his hips in time to her motions.
Then she took him into her mouth as deep as she could, he knew, and drew him out agonizingly slowly, only to slide her tongue back up to the head and swirl it around in a tantalizing rhythm. She kept it up quite nicely for someone who was so inexperienced.
Finally, when he could stand it no longer, he flipped her around so that she sat on his chest and her head faced his upthrust and defiant-looking cock.
He nearly laughed, but was struggling too hard not to spew himself into her mouth. "A minute, give me a minute to catch my breath."
She paused a moment, looked at him over his shoulder. "You're so soft and silky. I never realized ... "
"God's blood, m'lady, you'll unman me!"
"Realized," she pondered slowly as she worked him with her hand and her mouth, "how utterly delightful a man's body can be."
Chapter 14
Thomas pushed at her spine, bending her forward until her mouth closed over him again and she took his bollocks in her hands, gently squeezing them, bringing him unbearably intense pleasure. He pulled her legs down beside his torso so she lay upside down on top of his body. He had a perfect view of her pale, rounded ass.
Christ, Jesus, what a feast! He growled low in appreciation.
He urged her beautiful pink cunny close to his face, caught the erotic female scent of her. He spread her nether lips with his thumbs and stared at the lovely folds, thought how sensual she looked from this position. He began by stroking her gently with his thumbs. She moaned and gushed in response, slick and wet.
He nuzzled the garden gate with his lips, spread her wide and delighted in the cream on her thatch. God, he was rock hard and ready for her. But, first, more exquisite torture for her. His cock jumped involuntarily between her lips as he proceeded.
He lifted her toward his mouth and feasted on that womanly dripping of her cunt, using teeth and lips and tongue until he felt her jerk and spasm as she came with his mouth fucking her pussy, with his pole jammed hard into her throat.
He withdrew from her lips and emptied himself onto her breasts.
They lay panting and drenched with sweat, their fevered bodies cooling as the fire died down in the cottage. When the light no longer filtered through the windows, she rose and silently put her clothes back on.
"He's like a bloodhound, I swear," she murmured. "I'll have to bathe, to wash up, before I – before ... "
"Don't," he ground out.
Her blue eyes darkened like a stormy sky. "He's not a bad man."
Thomas wondered if she believed the lie she told them both as he stared up at the wooden beams of the ceiling.
Sometime after she left him, he dressed and cleaned out the grate. He didn't want anyone to know she and he had spent time here, although he was aware that keeping secrets from below stairs staff was nearly impossible. And Chastity had said that Griffin had pointed her to this isolated spot. So the housekeeper knew, or suspected, something was going on between the lady of the manor and the stable master.
He tried to tell himself she was a quick piece of fluff, a tight and delightful ass with which to ease his needs. Nothing more to him.
When brutal reality set in, he realized he didn't want to leave Charring Manor, but how could he remain knowing that each night she'd go to the Baron, lie with him until he got a child on her.
Damnation! A child that ought to be his.
Fuck it all! He wasn't a man made for permanency. If he couldn't have the Baroness and let her husband have her too – and he knew he couldn't – he'd leave. There was a wide world of estates that needed good stable masters.
Desolation settled on his shoulders like a plough horse's load. How was he to give her up?
#
Bathed, perfumed, and dressed in a fine linen gown, Lady Chastity Charring waited for her husband. It was now after nine o-clock. They'd both dined alone in their rooms, and there was nothing left for her but to perform her duty.
She felt dull, inert, drained of all vitality – so different from when she was with Thomas. He seemed very fond of her, perhaps even admired her, but what did that matter? Surely he did not love her, and even if he did, she and the stable master had no future together.
She mused idly over the idea of returning to London with Charring. Briefly thought of taking another lover after this business of child birthing was over.
No, she thought. That wasn't worthy of her.
She'd betrayed her husband, it was true, but she felt something deeper with Thomas than she'd ever thought possible. Dare she think it was love? After all these years of denying herself a man to admire and respect – and yes, to have fun with – had fate given her a chance when it really was too late for her?
She was weary of this charade of a marriage. Perhaps she ought to confess, to tell Charring exactly what she'd been up to. He'd kill her, she thought. Not Thomas, though, because good stable masters were too hard to come by. He'd take out his retribution on her.
Any decent man would.
Chastity heard the sounds of voices outside her chamber, hurried, loud, frightened. What was going on? She glanced at the clock over the mantle. It was nearly ten.
Where was her husband?
She jerked open her chamber door to find her maid and Griffin standing close together with Samuel, Charring Manor's grumpy-faced butler, hovering near them.
"Baroness," Samuel ventured. "There's been a – an incident."
Chastity felt the blood drain from her face. Not Thomas, she prayed. God, not Thomas. She never gave a thought to the possibility that Baron Charring, Lord Oscar Lockham, had come to harm. He was vital and vigorous for a man his age, and he never took ill.
From the corner of her eye she saw Thomas standing several steps down on the long winding staircase. Their eyes met and she saw her own relief mirrored on his face. She cried out and clapped her hand over her mouth. He must've been very worried about her to venture into the manor, to have the temerity to ascend the staircase. She supposed the upheaval caused his audacity to go unnoticed.
"Baroness," Samuel intoned, urging Griffin to take her arm, "Baron Charring has suffered a – a fall, an accident in his bedchamber. I've sent for the doctor, but I'm afraid, my lady, that it is too late."
She gasped, locked eyes with Thomas again and watched him retreat down the stairs.
The next several hours were horrific. The doctor pronounced the Baron dead from a fall he apparently sustained as he returned from inspecting the newly tilled acreage to the south of the estate. He had slipped on a wet stone and hit his head very hard.
Such a silly thing, really, Chastity thought, to take down such a large man. She didn't know how to feel about his death, but the tears came naturally to her. She might've mourned for someone she truly loved. He was a good man, she reminded herself, as guilt flooded her.
After the doctor left, Marianne fetched a dosage of laudanum the physician had left "for her nerves." She took it because she knew otherwise she'd never sleep. All the while she thought of Thomas and what the baron's death meant for the two of them.
And guilt branded her again like a hot iron.
She slept late the next morning, awakening only when Marianne brought her tea in the early afternoon. "You must eat something, m'lady." The young girl's face was bleak with worry. "You must try to go on."
She nodded, too ashamed of the girl's assumption to speak.
"There's arrangements to – to be taken care of," the girl ventured. "Shall I send Griffin to see you?"
This, at least, was something to do. "Yes, send Griffin. I – I'm sure she'll be – a comfort."
It was Griffin who told her the next morning that Thomas, the stable master, had left without a word of notice within an hour of the Baron's death.
Chapter 15
Six Months Later
&nbs
p; Chastity still wore mourning and looked more lovely than ever in the severe black waistcoat and skirts. However, she looked thin and the smudges of blue beneath her eyes nearly matched their vivid color. Both spoke of grief and pain.
Pain that he had caused her.
Thomas was received at the front door of Charring Manor, handed over his gloves and hat to Samuel without a blink. Griffin stood at the bottom of the staircase, and if she were surprised at his somewhat elevated status, she did no more than lift her brows and follow him as he was led into the main parlour.
Lady Rockham had her back to the door, but turned as Samuel announced him.
"Your Grace, the Duke of Somerset, my lady."
She turned slowly and the perplexed look on her face terrified him. Would she welcome him back or renounce him for the cad he'd been when he fled? He told himself he'd done it for her – that the Baron's death meant nothing to the two of them, altered nothing in their status or their relationship. She was still the lady and he the stable master.
Part of that was true. He could never come to Chastity in the way he wanted as long as he remained in that position.
"I've returned," he said needlessly, and for the first time in her presence he felt his youth compared to her maturity. He nearly squirmed like a schoolboy.
She lifted one finely-shaped brow. "So I see."
He inspected her thoroughly, raked hungry eyes over her body. "You're too thin," he snapped. "You've lost weight."
"I lost a husband," she countered coolly.
"Ay."
"And – and a lover." She stumbled over the last word. "You should have left me word, Thomas. You should have told me your plan. You should not have broken my heart."
"I told myself it was lust – a hearty passion for the desires of the flesh." He reached her, cupped one hand under her elbow, the other around her cheek. "I'm a poor liar."
She smiled. "I know."
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