“One of the upstairs maids sir, she sees to your rooms and served as Lady Annaliese’s maid when old Maggie died a few years back.”
He harrumphed. That silly little twit that was always lurking around swishing her skirts and flashing her scrawny backside while pretending to pick lint up off the carpet?
He felt his blood boil. He hated snitches, detested those who gossiped about things that did not concern them. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to curb his anger.
“Gather the household—everyone who is in my employ—every man, woman, or child who relies on me for their livelihood or depends on me for their protection. I want to see them all in the grand salon in thirty minutes. No exceptions. Am I understood?”
“Yes sir.”
“And after I have spoken to the household, I want you to reprimand this Calista. And do it in front of everyone. No need to waste the gesture. It would be an excellent time to set an example and show I plan to ring true on this.”
“Yes sir.”
“I’ll trust you to see to it then,” he snapped at her, and then as if punctuating his command, he bounced his fist off the dark wood of the massive doorframe.
He had finally settled down a bit, but it took only the memory of his mother chastising him and reminding him of his place, to uncoil his rage and stoke the fire in his belly anew.
He strode into the grand salon at 7:25 and everyone froze in the most upright position they could manage. For the cook and the gardeners, it was more of a stoop, but still their eyes focused on the earl’s face just as intently as the rest of them.
He was very pleased at the turnout: everyone from the stables; the tenants who lived close by had shown up; even his huntsman and hawker were in attendance.
He had changed from his formal attire. He was considering whether to dine with his mother after he finished with his little tirade or whether he needed a good jaunt through the fields. He looked every bit the country gentleman ready for the hunt in his thick Hawick sweater. He was impossibly tall, broad shouldered and iron-fisted as he made his way to the center of the room. In buff-colored breeches and blackened boots, he appeared every inch the commander in charge of his troops, such as they were. Every single person held his or her breath so as not to draw his attention.
He paced the long row, paying little heed to the fact that they had all shown up in their cleanest uniforms, tunics, trousers, or day dresses. The only one who was not present was Mrs. Cottingham who had been coming down the stairs with Jonathan in her arms when he’d excused her from the assembly. She was inadvertently the cause for this gathering; he did not need her to be here causing even more speculation.
“It has come to my attention, that my private life, while on display to a select few, is no longer sacrosanct. In fact, it seems it has become gossip fodder among my servants. So much so, that even my mother’s servants are now privy to my comings and goings. So . . . let me be absolutely clear about this, as I want no misunderstandings now or in the future. Should anyone of you happen to see me shagging my Aunt Tilda on the round St. Regis table in the entry hall, unless she is clearly calling out for assistance, you will ignore what you see and tell no one. No one,” he reiterated. “This is not only my house, it is my home. Though many are required to maintain it, it is my sanctuary. I have no choice but to put up with the lack of privacy being an earl in such a grand house affords. But I do have a choice in whom I hire and retain to work here. If you value your position, you will not only consider my desires, you will use these words as your mantra. ‘If I gossip about the earl or anyone he holds dear, I will be sacked. It is no one’s business how he conducts his affairs. Especially not his mother’s!’ In fact, I demand each of you recite this aloud so I can be assured there are no misunderstandings.” He repeated it verbatim, found the maid named Calista in the lineup, moved to stand directly in front of her, his eyes boring into hers, as he waited for his servants to call it back to him.
With that done to his satisfaction, he paced the line, stared at each person intently, and stomped from the room.
The hush that followed was so profound that it was hard to believe forty people were gathered under the huge chandeliers. No one breathed, no one muttered, no one rolled his or her eyes or even blinked. When Mrs. Cockrell clapped her hands everyone jumped.
“You heard his lordship. If there’s ought among you who does no’ understand his wishes, I will be in my office. I have been instructed to pay a month’s wages and tender a favorable recommendation to anyone who does not feel this should apply to them.”
Not a single person moved.
“Let’s be off then. We all have our work to do. Calista, come with me, we need to discuss whether you are to be discharged or severely reprimanded for your part in this.”
Chapter Fourteen
The earl sat in a chair in front of the fire, a crystal tumbler of whisky dangled over the armrest bolster, held loosely by the tips of his fingers. Twice, he brought it to the light, admired its fine topaz glints then returned it to hang suspended by his long fingers again. The third time, he downed it, then opened his fingers to let the empty glass fall to the carpet. The dull cushioning thud was the only sound in the room, save the intermittent hiss of the dying fire.
He missed Annaliese. He had never realized how much he had counted on their evening conversations to soothe the stresses of the day. She would have understood his need to walk with Catherine, to banter about things that did not concern the running of the household, to actually talk with someone who would not guard her conversation, someone who was nice and pleasant with no agenda he had to divine. Because that was what they had done together, walked and talked, and shared their day—it brought a normalcy and a simple aspect to things that he suspected the peasants who worked for him enjoyed but didn’t fully appreciate.
He often wondered if he hadn’t been an earl’s son, would he have been able to have a happier life—would he have been able to hold a warm woman in his arms at night, turn her to him and breathe hoarsely in her ear, that he had need of her . . . a great burgeoning need. He closed his eyes to imagine it and saw Catherine, her long golden tresses fanning a pillow, her beautiful sea green eyes looking deeply into his, begging him to declare her his by covering her soft, yielding body with his steely, passionate one and joining in their fierce need of each other.
He groaned with want of a woman, and despite his fully dressed state, he placed his hand over his swelling cock. He was so damned tired of servicing himself that he was tempted to send for some of the saltpeter his old captain of the guard used to hand out to the soldiers with their pay packets. Anything would be better than this near constant ache, and the sense that he was missing out on the best things life had to offer. He felt so alone he wanted to gnash his teeth and chew on the leather strop he held in his lap. It was the one his valet used to hone his razor, and he had taken it from the dresser with the idea striking out at someone or something when he’d first entered his room. He had been so angry it had been all he could do not to break every vase, curio, or costly statuette within reach on the long trek back to his room after berating his servants—for tattling on him. To his mother, no less! The leather belt had appealed to him as a weapon, and he had even used it to strike his own thigh several times in frustration. But as soon as he discovered that the physical pain he unleashed could not begin to compete with the mental pain he was suffering, he forced himself to calm. That he’d wanted to lash out in anger did not surprise him. The last few years had been filled with almost a daily suppression of needs, wants, desires. Now he was harboring grief as well. Anger . . . frustration . . . impatience, and a deep loneliness he hadn’t expected to experience for decades to come, kept him company. Those were his companions now. And for the first time in his life, he understood why some men chose to walk into battle with their pistols at their sides. Then he heard a loud wail and his heart t
hudded. And lifted.
The cry of distress came from Jonathan . . . his son. There was someone who needed him, someone who lived only for his simple needs to be met. Wanting only to be clean, warm, well fed and well loved. He stood, bent and retrieved the tumbler from the floor, and replaced it on the sideboard next to the brandy decanter. Not bothering to do more than run his fingers through his tousled locks, he made his way to the connecting door. He listened for a moment and smiled when he heard Catherine cooing to his son, praising him for the mess he had created in the triangle of cloth covering his privates.
He knocked lightly and entered. Catherine, her hair loose around her face, the mass of spun gold gathered in a ribbon that was saucily askew, looked over at him with a start, then gave him a smile that warmed the chambers of his heart.
“Is he all right?”
“Oh, he’s better than all right,” she teased. “He’s perfect. This wee lad has done his part and is now progressing normally. According to the book you found for me, he’s doing splendidly.”
“That is what that awful smell is all about?” He said with a scrunched up nose.
“It is indeed. But I’ve almost got him cleaned up. I’ll powder and grease his little bottom and he’ll be sweet smelling again, and then you can hold him before we begin the cycle anew.” Her impish grin and boundless enthusiasm pleased him enormously.
He watched as she took great care to clean him with first a damp cloth, then a dry one. A jar of ointment was opened and a dab was smeared over his pink little bottom, then powder from a canister was liberally sprinkled over the front and back before he was wrapped, tied and covered with a new gown. The earl stepped from behind her where he’d been peering over her shoulder and inhaling her sweet clean fragrance so deeply that his chest was rising and falling with each breath. He moved to stand in front of the changing table and carefully lifted his son into his arms. Mindful of the infant’s wobbly neck, he placed his large hand under the baby’s head.
He carried him to the nearby rocking chair then sat and held him up to his face. He kissed his cheek, then held him close to his chest, both hands holding him against his shoulder.
“Oh, now that’s he’s clean and fresh smelling, he’s your charge, is he?” Catherine chided as she cleaned up the area and tossed the used linens in a bucket to soak.
“I just want to hold him awhile,” he said as he stood again and strolled back toward his room.
She heard him mutter, “Just needed to hold someone I love tonight.” She watched him until he had gone behind the door, but noticed he hadn’t closed it. To hold and be held lovingly, it was something she dearly missed as well. She wondered if she would ever have someone hold her again as Thomas had.
She could hear little snippets of laughter, low droning songs being sung, and the creak of a floorboard as the earl paced with his son. She sat in a chair before the fire in her room, feeling the tiny dribbles leaking from her breasts as she waited to nurse Jonathan for the last time before retiring.
When she heard the earl bringing him back, she asked him if he would bring him to her instead of putting him in his bassinette.
“But he’s asleep.”
“He needs to eat before settling down for the night. He’s quite adept, he can do both at the same time, I assure you.”
The earl placed Jonathan in her lap and as he stood he ran his fingertip down the baby’s smooth cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured, “for taking such good care of my son.”
“You’re welcome, he’s a pleasure for sure.”
“He’s lucky to have you.” He turned to take his leave.
“I take it tonight’s assembly was about our stroll today?”
He stopped and turned back. “How did you know?”
“I saw her ladyship’s maid at the window when we made the turn. Calista was there with her. From the look on their faces, I knew there’d be trouble. I’m sorry.”
“There is nothing for you to be sorry about. You didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, neither did I.” He brightened as an idea came to him. He walked back to where she sat unbuttoning her gown. His tread had been so quiet she wasn’t aware of him returning. He quickly turned away just as the tip of a pink-capped breast poked through the opening she had created.
“May I talk to you about something after you have him . . . er . . . situated? I promise not to look.”
She hesitated, then nodded, only he didn’t see her nod. “Yes,” she said in a low timid voice. “And I don’t care if you look. It’s your son.”
“But it’s your breast.”
“You’re paying me well for the use of it.”
He gasped.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she stammered when she realized what she had said. “I am no strumpet, but neither am I a prude. It is natural what he is doing, and I can only imagine how pleased you would be to see your son eating so heartily.”
He could not resist, not after words like that. And he could justify it, in the same way she had, he was paying for the use of her breasts.
He walked around her chair and sat in the chair opposite. And stared at his son as his cheeks worked non-stop drawing nourishment from one of Catherine’s lovely breasts. He could see the lily-white fullness of her generous mound as it was well exposed. The baby’s fist was resting on it, appearing as if trying to pull her closer to his mouth.
He was awestruck by the sight. It was so natural, yet tantalizingly forbidden for him to be watching this lovely woman feeding his son by her breast. But she was so beautiful, his son at her breast such a sweet little miracle with astounding instincts. He was charmed by the picture they made. He alternated staring at her lovely expression and staring at the place where she was connected to his son. And he was indeed sleeping as evidenced by the soft popping sound as his mouth released her only a few minutes later. If tethered by chains and pulled by titans he would not have been able to look away from the sight of her impossibly long pink nipple coated with slick wetness.
She gripped her breast from the underside as she moved to tuck it away and a few drops of thin milk beaded then dripped. He closed his eyes as he groaned at the sight.
Catherine looked over at him with a faint smile curving her lips. In her mind, she had been substituting his presence for Thomas, having wanted to share this experience with him so badly. She inhaled deeply. She, too, had to close her eyes. The sight of a man so overcome and so clearly aroused made her lightheaded.
There was silence between them until she stood with Jonathan in her arms and made her way to the bassinette, holding him to her shoulder for the satisfying sound of air being expelled.
“Don’t you have to use the other one?” it was an innocent question, idle curiosity and not a suggestion for her to offer her other breast in hopes he could enjoy a similar sight.
“Not always. In this instance, I think he’ll avail himself of it sometime during the night. He was too relaxed after his quiet time with you to gorge much. But this is nature’s way; I’ll be ready when he is. He’ll naught go hungry, milord.”
“Please call me Thorne, Catherine. I’m afraid that now I’ve seen you feeding my son, there is absolutely no way I’m going to be able to call you Mrs. Cottingham. At least not when we’re alone.”
“You said you wanted to talk to me about something?”
“Yes. I’ve decided I need to be more forceful with regard to who’s in command here at Merseyside. Seems my authority has been lax of late and I now find I am being ordered around. I don’t like it and I won’t have it.”
“And so?”
“So I’ve decided that I need to put people in their place. You and I, and the baby, are going to take a daily stroll. And by God, I’d better not hear a word about it—from anyone.”
“So I am to help you put people in their place?”
“You are to help me show everyone in my household, including my mother and her maid, that I cannot and will not be badgered. I enjoyed our walk today, and I want to do more of it. In the morning I will order a pram. Until it arrives, I will carry Jonathan on our daily walks. Is this agreeable to you?”
“Are you sure you want to cause so much difficulty? Your mother won’t be pleased. Neither will your housekeeper.”
“Makes me look forward to it even more. They’ll cause you no trouble. I will see to that. This is my house. Those are my gardens. You are my nursemaid. Jonathan is my son. And you will both join me on my daily walk. That’s the end of it. There are so few things that give me pleasure of late, that I’ll not be denied the few that do. And you Catherine, give me great pleasure.” He turned and strolled away and she smiled when she heard him murmur to himself, “I need to exert some control around here. I am the earl!”
He was indeed, a thorne, Catherine mused, all bristly and pointedly harsh. She blushed as she recalled how bold she had been. Had she actually allowed a peer of the realm to watch her as she nursed his child? Her body thrummed with the implications. He’d seen her breast, and if she wasn’t mistaken he had been enthralled. Warm feelings flooded her as she remembered how he had looked at her, how he had practically devoured her with his eyes.
Chapter Fifteen
The following day was too windy and damp to attempt a stroll around the grounds. And to her disappointment, the earl seemed to ignore both her and Jonathan for the better part of the afternoon. Jonathan had been christened in the chapel early that morning, and afterward a celebratory mid-day meal had followed. Gathering from the snippets of conversation between the upstairs maids, the earl was now preoccupied in his study on a curious estate matter.
The next morning was fair and warm, but still, she heard nothing about them taking a walk. By early afternoon, Catherine finally acknowledged that his speech about independence had probably been nothing more than errant ramblings—likely caused by the liquor he had imbibed as a result of his anger at his mother’s meddling.
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