by Sahara Kelly
“Good morning, my Lord. Forgive my early appearance, but there is much to be done.” She sipped her tea as he went to the sideboard. “And household matters must take priority, as you can see.”
He stared at the small dish of eggs, the even smaller dish of kidneys and two lonely sausages. “We’re getting to the crisis point, aren’t we.” He sighed, taking toast, a few eggs and a kidney. “There’s jam?”
“Indeed. Mrs. Hampstead’s gooseberry jam. Delicious.”
“Right then.” He pulled out his chair at the head of the table, noting with a certain amount of pleasure that Rosaline was on his left, rather than at the other end. He liked being able to converse with her and preferred to do so without having to shout down the length of the table. Silly business, but his father had always insisted that it was how they should go about being Ridlingtons. Such foolishness, compared to the warmth and intimacy of sitting next to one’s wife at breakfast.
“I’m going to have to ask some awkward questions, Edmund. About money.”
The world clanked back into harsh reality. “Yes, I know.” He frowned at the sausage. “I’m almost done with the preliminary review of the Ridlington finances. It’s not a pretty picture.”
“Is there enough to pay the staff their wages?”
Edmund nodded. “Yes. I made sure of that. We have three months set aside, which should buy us some time to straighten things out a bit.”
“That’s good news.” She bit into the toast and chewed with evident pleasure. “Mmm. Very nice indeed.” She finished her mouthful and dabbed her lips with her napkin.
She had very nice lips, noted Edmund. He’d not paid as much attention to them as he should have, he realized. Something he would rectify at the earliest opportunity.
“I suppose the housekeeping budget isn’t too healthy, though.”
Dragging his mind away from her lips and the extremely arousing visions that had shot through his mind like grapeshot, he nodded. “Sadly, that’s correct.”
Their conversation wandered over various aspects of housekeeping, the maintenance of Ridlington, the farms and the property. Talking with Rosaline, discovered Edmund, was akin to taking his thoughts and organizing them into tidy piles.
She helped him understand what was a priority and what could wait. What should be done soon and what might be put aside until spring.
“Will you come to my study this morning so that we can get some hard figures on this?” Edmund watched her face as she finished her tea.
“Yes, of course. But first perhaps we should go and see how our injured guest is doing. I’m curious to find out what Mr. Farnwell has to say for himself this morning.”
“Good lord, yes. I’d completely forgotten about him.” Edmund blinked. It was unlike him to forget something like that. What on earth was the matter with him today? He was having a difficult time focusing on serious matters, because his mind kept wandering away to the distraction that was Rosaline.
“Come then, if you’re done.” She glanced at his empty plate.
“Apparently I am.” When had that happened?
They rose together and left the small parlor, turning along the corridor toward the old library where they’d left their patient.
There was a chair outside with a neatly folded blanket, indicating that their guard had availed himself of its warmth during the night.
Edmund pushed the door open and Rosaline followed him inside. There was a maid there, collecting the last of the dressings, and tidying the blankets and pillows. But of the patient himself, there was no sign.
“Where is he?” asked Rosaline. “Mr. Farnwell. Is he up?”
The maid nodded. “Up and gone, m’Lady. He weren’t here when Arthur woke up at first light and went in to see to him. The door over there ‘ad been unlocked, so we’re thinkin’ that’s how he left.”
“Damn.” Edmund crossed the room. “Yes, the key was here. Quite simple to let oneself out without anyone knowing.”
“Will there be anything else, Ma’am?”
“No, that’ll be all. Thank you and please tell Arthur we’re grateful for his assistance last night.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” The maid curtseyed and left with her arms full.
The room was silent as the two occupants looked around, Rosaline wandering the length of the room and Edmund’s thoughts revolving around the many questions he’d planned on asking Farnwell.
“I wonder who shot him.”
“And I wonder why.” She turned, having reached the window. “You know, this could be a lovely room, Edmund. It needs a good clean and some new furniture, but with these windows, looking out into the gardens…and I’m sure the sun will be warm if it ever comes out again…”
“My mother used to like it.” He smiled at her as he crossed to her side. “But when she died, my father let it all go. Had it shut up for a few years until Simon needed a place to study. He used it for a while, but it’s been left to rot too long. I agree. It could be lovely again.”
She smiled up at him, her eyes sympathetic.
He couldn’t help himself. He bent and took her lips with his, then followed that by slipping his arms around her and turning her to face him.
She made a slight sound, her lips opening as her hands slid up his arms to his shoulders and then to his neck. She held him as tightly as he held her, and once again he found himself falling head over heels into the wondrous magic that was his wife.
*~~*~~*
Rosaline relished the taste of him, the feel of his jacket beneath her fingertips and then the silk of his hair tied back in the usual tidy tail. She’d not known desire like this before, nor imagined how powerful a driving force it could be. But at this instant her entire being, every muscle, every nerve, every inch of her skin yearned for him in a way that shook her to her core.
Her hands trembled as she moved her arms down, bringing her hands to his chest and unfastening his waistcoat.
“Rosaline,” he murmured, against her hair. “I want you.”
There was a brief moment where she struggled against the urge to box his ears and point out, in the most emphatic of terms, that undoing a man’s waistcoat was a substantial indicator that his sentiments were returned. But she had reached his shirt and found warm skin beneath.
Her touch was enough to answer his statement with one of her own. One he understood.
His hands dropped to the ties at the back of her gown, making short shrift of them and loosening the garment easily.
Her breath left her in a gasp as he picked her up and sat her on top of a bureau against the wall. Without a word he seized her skirts and thrust them up onto her lap, stepping forward and pushing her thighs wide apart as he did so.
“Lower your dress,” he growled, his hands sliding along the velvet skin of her legs, higher and higher until she was ready to explode.
“Take off your shirt,” she growled back, her hands reaching for him as if to rip his clothing and hurry him up.
They were the only words spoken for a while, since Edmund was of a mind to present his naked torso for his wife’s delectation, and Rosaline widened her legs even more, heedless of the fact that her sex was now bared to her husband’s gaze.
He groaned as his hands touched her, then moved behind her and pulled her close, to the edge of the bureau. She held him, her fingers moving over his skin, finding the discs of his nipples and lingering there, noting the tiny shudder that her eager movements produced.
But then he pushed her hands away, unfastened his breeches and let them fall.
Her indrawn breath was half gasp, half moan. He was magnificent.
Erect, flushed and glittering with tiny drops of arousal, Edmund’s cock was a thing of beauty, thrusting toward her from a nest of curly black hair. She reached for him, eager to feel the hardness and the contrast of the skin moving like satin over iron.
But he stopped her hand with his. “Touch me now and I’m done. Wait. Just a little while.”
She looked up
at him, seeing his cheeks taut and reddened, and his eyes heavy-lidded with desire. His gaze drifted over her and he flicked away her dress from where it hung on one shoulder. Now her breasts were bare, full and with tips hard as berries.
He leaned in, touching them, and she arched her back so that he could suckle the ripe buds and drive her into some kind of insane sensual madness. Boiling bolts of lightning darted from her breasts to her groin, making her whimper and writhe, her legs spreading out to touch his and lock around him, trying to pull his cock to where it would do the most good.
But he wasn’t done with her yet. Both breasts were worshipped, licked, suckled, teased, even gently bitten. And then he moved down.
So close to the edge of the bureau she felt she would fall any second, she managed to grip the edge as Edmund dropped to his knees and plunged his head between her legs, finding her soft folds with his mouth.
Fighting the scream of shock and pleasure, Rosaline hung on for dear life, experiencing for the first time the indescribable sensations of a tongue seeking out her most sensitive places, and toying with them, arousing her beyond anything she could ever have imagined.
Her thoughts were at war with themselves, scrambling over the shocking and inappropriate behavior to find such wondrous and excitingly erotic feelings coursing through her being. Finally, she gave up, losing herself in whatever it was he was doing with his lips and his tongue.
It was beyond bliss, beyond ecstasy and she felt her spine shiver and tighten with the tell-tale signals that her release was near.
It took a massive effort for her to push him back, but she managed it. “Edmund. I am too close…please. I want you inside me…”
He looked at her, his face shining with her juices, his eyes dark and on fire.
Straightening, she reached for him once more, but this time, her hands found his waist, her legs latched around his thighs and she slowly brought their bodies into alignment. The bureau was the perfect height.
The first touch of his cock against her skin made her groan, and when he kept pushing, harder and harder until he was buried deep inside her, she whimpered and closed her eyes.
The stretching. Dear God, she’d forgotten how it felt to have this kind of intimacy. She’d never actually felt this full, since Edmund was a lot larger than her late husband.
And oh my goodness, he knew how to move.
Slowly at first, he slid out then back in, his control amazing, his cock rubbing all the right places.
Across the room was a pair of arm chairs with an old wall mirror between them. There was dust and grime on the glass, but it was still enough for Rosaline to watch the muscles in her husband’s back flex as they took their pleasure in each other. Some would call it simple fucking, but she knew there was nothing simple about her emotions at this moment.
His backside was hard and she saw the skin stretch and shift with his actions as he picked up the pace. With each deeper thrust, her desire grew closer to the surface, and soon she could no longer focus on anything but the place where they were joined. Her sex was slick and wet, her breasts hard and aching, and her hips pushed forward to meet his penetration, claiming him, holding him with inner muscles that trembled and tugged on the hardness of his cock.
She closed her eyes, lost to everything but her need to come, and let the giant waves of passion explode over her, bringing a cry to her throat and an agony of spasms to those inner places Edmund was still pounding.
Then he froze, a low groan of release rumbling from his chest, his body rigid as his cock pulsed hotly inside her.
She was still in the throes of her own release and together they clung like tangled seaweed atop an angry ocean, tossed wherever the waves saw fit to take them. It was wild, wonderful, almost savage in its intensity and the most amazing experience Rosaline had ever had with a man.
As she eased down from the peak, her muscles loosening and her breath returning, a thought darted through her mind.
Dear God, I’m in trouble now.
Chapter Eight
What had he done?
It wasn’t more than half an hour after breakfast and he’d just taken his wife, quite savagely and most wonderfully, on top of a side table in a musty room. Not only that, it was their first time.
He struggled for something to say as he refastened his clothing. “Rosaline…”
She flashed him an overly bright smile. “Please don’t apologize, Edmund. There’s something in your tone that makes me think those words are itching to be said. And there’s no need.” She shook out her skirts and turned for him to refasten the ties on her bodice. “It’s an awfully energizing way to begin our morning’s work, don’t you think?”
He finished the ties and she slipped away from his touch. “I…yes…” he began.
“Now, I think we should get on with our tasks, don’t you?” Her steps took her firmly toward the door. “We can’t postpone the inevitable and there is so much for us to do today.” She paused. “Perhaps I might ask Chidwell if he can find out some more about Mr. Farnwell. I would like to know if he is well, in spite of his wound and my poor attempts at medical care.”
Reaching the door, she turned and gave him another of those smiles. “I’ll let you know how I fare, shall I?”
What else could he say? “Of course.”
And she was gone, leaving Edmund confused, a little embarrassed and quite nonplussed at the consequences of their erotic dalliance. He glanced downward, to ensure his clothing was completely in place. It was, but at the memory of what had just passed, his cock stirred.
“You might as well not bother, my lad.” Edmund addressed his anatomy firmly. “We’ve mucked everything up pretty well, so far, you and I. Let’s not make it worse.”
And that, he realized a short time later, was how their relationship was going to proceed.
They would be civilized, charming and friendly during the day, behaving much as the typical country society rules dictated. No overtly affectionate displays, or long lingering glances. The occasional light touch of hand to arm—that was all.
But at night, when the candles were snuffed, she would come to him or he would go to her. The darkness seemed to act as a catalyst, allowing them both to indulge their sensual desires without need of conversation.
They inevitably fell asleep intertwined, limbs limp and bodies sated.
But come the dawn, each would be in their own beds, and for his part it was always a disappointment to open his eyes on a new day and immediately feel the absence of his wife.
But how to address this issue? And was it really an issue?
Shouldn’t he be content with a woman who was turning into an enormous asset when it came to all the areas of his life that were weak, and also gave him so much and more under cover of the night?
Many men would have killed for exactly what he had. Why did he want more? Aware that his emotions were aroused by Rosaline, not just his body, Edmund admitted to himself that he was scared. Afraid to voice them, say those words aloud that he had never spoken to anyone in his life. Or had anyone say them to him.
After all, he was a Ridlington.
Ridlingtons didn’t demand affection, and rarely showed any.
These and other musings ran through his mind as he bent to his paperwork some two weeks after his wedding. The accounts were beginning to sort themselves out; Rosaline had effected a very clever piece of horse-trading with a local farmer and they now boasted chickens in the formerly-empty henhouse, not to mention a good haul of logs warming more rooms.
Things were indeed improving. The holiday season was recognized with a day of relaxation, some little gifts scrounged for the staff and a very nice meal in the evening. Kitty had charmed a large goose from one of the local squires, turning it over to Mrs. Hampstead who worked her culinary magic on it.
It was a good day, even though the light snow prevented any guests. Simon had ridden cautiously through the little storm to celebrate the morning service, but the congregation was ligh
t, kept home by either a disinterest in the religious aspect of this day, or the weather.
However, he’d not been disconsolate, since upon his return to Ridlington he’d set up a search party and for an hour or two they all roamed the cellars—something that had been previously forbidden. As adults, they’d had little interest, but the child never truly disappears, and thus six Ridlingtons, plus Rosaline, had poked, tripped, prodded, gotten themselves quite grubby, and finally announced the whole thing a success when a small trove of wines had been unearthed from a long-disused cupboard. Nobody even knew it was there until Hecate stopped in front of it and pointed at it.
“Here.” She stood there, refusing to move, just pointing.
Knowing their sister, the others immediately did a bit of pushing, hammering and forcing things with other larger things. At last the door—such as it was—fell apart and a small cupboard was revealed, boasting floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with bottles.
Glee, for that instant, shone over the Ridlingtons, as it did later when several bottles were broached and declared quite delicious.
Once the excuse to celebrate had passed, though, it was back to the routine of winter at Ridlington, and back to the routine of married life for Edmund and Rosaline.
Chidwell tapped upon his office door in early January. “May I beg a moment of your time, my Lord?”
“Of course.” Edmund leaned back with a sigh of relief. Things were improving but it was slow and there were still too many variables for comfort.
“I wish to express the thanks of the entire staff for the improvements that you have been making on our behalf.”
Edmund waved a hand carelessly. “All things that should have been done years ago, Chidwell. Please don’t mention it.” And since both he and Rosaline had denied themselves new horses so that a new stove might grace the kitchens, Edmund truly hoped he wouldn’t mention it.
“Very good, my Lord.” Chidwell bowed slightly. “However, you should know that there has been some interest in the possibility of new staff positions here. I’ve fielded more than a few inquiries.”