Six Weeks With a Lord

by Eve Pendle

  “There were several shopgirls.” Grace pushed her shoulders down. “Beth, for instance, is an excellent saleswoman, and I trained her myself.”

  There was a little murmur across the room.

  “She can add up a score of items in her head as she weighs out each one, and then recite each item and its price at the end. Such numeracy is a crucial skill for anyone working in a shop. It’s just practice, really.”

  “But how do you get practiced?” said another woman.

  “Most shopkeepers start as apprentices when they’re boys. That makes it difficult for women, as apprentices have years of knowledge and experience. But much of that apprenticeship is fetching and carrying, sweeping up or polishing. I do not doubt that every woman in this room has experience of such tasks.” Amused raised eyebrows met her statement.

  “You said you taught this girl, Beth.” Mrs. Cooper leaned forward ingratiatingly. “You could teach some of the young women the skills they need to serve in a shop so they can get jobs. We could issue them with certificates to show to prospective employers.”

  It was a good notion, and Grace was about to say so when she saw Everett; a look of concern crossed his face before he hid it with a neutral expression.

  It was a cold reminder they had less than four weeks remaining of their bargain. She couldn’t commit to helping with something when she would be in London. But even so, suddenly her mind was twitching at the possibilities. She could train women to be proficient at all the adding and measuring and selling that being a shop attendant required. She could open a store, here in the village, and use it for teaching.

  “Lady Westbury has a great many demands on her time at the moment,” Everett said from the back of the room.

  Some of the ladies swiveled to look at him, others looked rather startled, seeming to have forgotten his presence altogether.

  “However, I like the idea, and if Lady Westbury finds herself too occupied to hold the classes, I will employ someone else to give them. As long as there is sufficient interest.”

  There was a general mumble of “thank you,” and “that’s very gracious of you, my lord,” and Grace felt her mouth curve into a conflicted smile. When she left Larksview, the town would have benefitted from her presence. Clearly, Everett was well prepared for her departure. But did she really want to leave?

  …

  “You and your mother ran Alnott Stores,” Everett said when the meeting was over and any number of odd questions about store work had been answered, and they were alone in the carriage. She was flushed with her success, eyes bright, and he wanted to catch her up in his arms and twirl her round. A close embrace and a long kiss would be the perfect celebration. Instead, he said, “I’m glad you have claimed your success. It made me sorry to hear you deny your mother’s part.”

  “Not everyone approves.” Grace’s gaze skittered away from him, then crept back with a slow smile.

  It was a long way from her automatic, defensive reaction at the beginning of their marriage. She’d grown more confident in being Lady Westbury, too, believing that her authority and the influence of his name would protect her family from censure. Watching her own her beliefs swelled his chest. She fought hard and she needed an ally. That would be him. Though watching her with the local women reminded him that he’d initially acknowledged it might be Larksview, not him, that persuaded her to stay.

  “I approve.” His voice came out gravelly. He’d do anything to have her stay, but he wanted her to stay for him. Close wasn’t close enough.

  She raised her chin and regarded him. Her hand crept over to rest in his, a slight weight.

  His heart rate picked up at the little contact through their gloves, and the trust it implied. It was a sensitive creature, trust. It would come out only in safe moments, padding cautiously out into the light, soothed by the days of companionable silence and consistent support. The last thing Everett wanted to do was scare it away.

  Neither of them ever referred to the day on the lake. Their mutual attraction constantly sat between them, but it was risky and unpredictable. They were getting on so well, pushing at the limits of each other’s knowledge and logic. He thought the force of his lust would scare her away. Many days it astonished him, how much he wanted Grace. He had never felt anything like the need that filled him in her presence. Years of army discipline were finally becoming useful.

  “Thank you for offering to support the school.” She regarded him from beneath her lashes.

  He ducked his head to look into her hope-filled eyes. “I like the idea. I know you have a lot to do, but once Henry is back, I wouldn’t want you to be bored.” It probably wasn’t fair to say that, intentionally setting an idea like a barbed hook into her. A lure that she might take up this occupation. Especially since letters of threat from the Lawsons had arrived that very week.

  “I won’t be bored,” she half laughed.

  But he could see the thought had taken. She didn’t move away, leaving them almost near enough to kiss if he closed in. He stilled, sharing her breath, lowering his observation to the sweet pink bow of her open mouth, then back up.

  “You will do it either way, though?” Her brown eyes searched his face.

  “Yes. I’ll do anything for you.” It was true. He straightened and thought he caught a flash of disappointment in her before she smothered it. Good. She had to understand that he could satisfy her every desire. “You just have to say the word.”

  The estate needed her, but he needed her more.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Fourth Week

  Grace was reading about the construction of a ha-ha, but somehow the subject could not hold her attention. Everett was across from her in the study and he kept drawing her gaze like they were two sides of a set of scales, moving synchronously. They’d swapped tasks for the afternoon and Everett had passed over the pamphlet, explaining that the men at Home Farm required a project until the cattle recovered. The work of digging a ditch and building a wall to make the ha-ha would be ideal. As a bonus, it would allow the cattle to pasture close to the house without unsightly fences.

  They’d been working together for a week now. Each day, the air between them felt more charged, like a thunderstorm developing. Her occasional social visits to the local ladies did nothing to clear the tension. From the incident in the boat, she knew that beneath his clothes he was smooth and firm. From their walks together, she knew she liked the feel of him near to her. Her mind kept returning to their not-quite-kiss on the lake.

  You need to take the lead, he had told her, if she wanted anything to happen between them. He’d said as much when they’d made their bargain. But at the time she had thought she couldn’t want him. Well, she had always thought him beautiful, with his sparkling gray eyes and floppy dark hair. But now, the feeling when she was close to him was a fizzing, popping, hungry sensation she wanted more of.

  She could just ask him for what she wanted. No one would be damaged by their sharing a little familiarity, some conversation.

  Everett, I want you to kiss me. Those would be the words. If she could just say them to him, he might fulfill the potential. He would give her that warmth of his eyes when he regarded her, in the form of his mouth on hers.

  Everett, I want you to kiss me. The words were simple, and yet they seemed impossible to say. It was too much of a risk. Saying the words would open a box they’d been skirting around, getting closer and closer. If she kissed him, it could spoil all their companionable intimacy and distract her from her purpose. She could lose her head and forget everything. But still, she wanted to feel his kiss. The request would be trivial. She opened her mouth to form an E. Everett.

  She mouthed the words silently, feeling the shape of them. It was like a chant, or a prayer. Everett, I want you to kiss me.

  “Pardon?” The word was polite and formal, but Everett’s deep tone made it almost sensual. Her gaze met his.

  “Nothing.” Her stomach flipped. The expression in his eyes said she
had voiced her thought out loud.

  He nodded with easy acceptance, but was she imagining the disappointment in his eyes? Certainly, he lingered, dipping his glance from her eyes to her lips, before returning to the letter on his desk.

  Grace returned to the pamphlet. The words swam.

  To keep out cattle, the minimum depth of a ha-ha must be…

  Perhaps she had read him wrongly. Maybe he wasn’t interested in her as a woman. He was always so gentlemanly. She had thought they were growing closer, but she had evidently just said that she wanted—

  “Grace.” She looked up to find him watching her. “You only need to ask, you know.” He said the words like an invitation, his voice rough and seductive. “Were you to want something”—he didn’t place any emphasis upon it, but that word “something” was imbued with potential—“I swore I wouldn’t claim any husbandly rights, but you may claim anything from me that you wish.”

  “Perhaps I should claim your cravat and make it orderly.” She tried to lighten the tone and bring them back to their easy friendship. Something. Anything. The words were filled with so much promise. “But, ah, no. It would be unfair to the wretched garment to have a brief span of favor, then fall into untidiness again. Only three weeks.”

  “Always.” She hadn’t extinguished his seriousness. “You may have whatever you want from me.”

  Her heart jolted and her mind filled with a soft-edged vision of them entwined together. His lips on hers, his arms holding her against him.

  Everett must have taken her silence as dissent, as he continued, “Regardless of how this started, I have come to care for you. Wherever you and I are, whatever happens, I will always consider you my wife. You will always be able to claim anything from me that is within my power to give you.”

  Love. That was what she wanted to claim from him or rather for him to give her. She wanted the lust, too, but she wanted love just as much. There was nothing in their bargain to preclude them falling in love. She allowed herself to see an image that hovered enticingly at the periphery of her imagination. Her mind filled with the two of them working on the estate, sailing together, laughing over dinner, and their gazes lingering at breakfast.

  There was a score of reasons this was a bad idea, but none came to mind now. Or some did, but they seemed like the insubstantial threads of a cobweb compared to the attraction to Everett that was a thick hemp rope pulling her gently and inexorably closer.

  “I think— It wouldn’t mean that we were going to, you know…”

  “I would never presume.” His voice revealed a smile that his mouth was hiding.

  “Or even repeat it,” she added quickly.

  He nodded slowly.

  Grace had no idea what she was really asking for, but his calm gave her hope she was doing the right thing.

  “Kiss me.” It came out as a command, stronger and more confident than she felt.

  There was the scrape of a chair and then he was in front of her, hands clasping her face and stormy eyes intent on hers. She let her eyelids fall against the pressure of emotion. He took that as assent, lowering his mouth to hers.

  The moment their lips touched, Grace wondered why it had taken so long for her to realize this was what she wanted. The kiss was sweet at first, as though he was holding himself back. She’d thought shutting her eyes would block out the emotion she could see in him. Instead, her closed eyes seemed to intensify her own feelings, raising a tightness in her chest matching the burgeoning ache between her legs. Without thinking, she was on her feet, pressing herself to him. Her rapidly beating heart sounded loud, the rustle of his sleeve as he moved one arm down to grasp her waist was like the toll of a bell.

  “Oh, Grace,” he whispered into her mouth, as he pulled back. “I have wanted this so much.”

  “I have, too.” Her confession was a release and a tighter bind of need when he groaned in response. His lips were again on hers, hot and demanding this time. A shock of excitement raced down her spine. When he opened his mouth slightly, she took the cue, opened hers and met his invading tongue with her own. The stroke of his tongue on her lips went through her as though what her mouth felt was tied to every other part of her body. She was overwhelmed and greedy and reached up to run her fingers down the brace of his strong arms.

  He released her waist to cup her face in his big hands, drawing back. She realized as soon as she opened her eyes that she shouldn’t have. He was looking straight into her, as though he could see every one of her impure thoughts and illicit fantasies and shared every one.

  “Let me give you release.” He stroked the hair at the back of her neck.

  She wanted him. She wanted all of him so much it scared her. This was all too much, too soon. “You said you wouldn’t claim the rights of a husband.”

  “Not claim.” His low voice was reassuring. “Give. I want to give you all the pleasure a husband can give to his wife. No ulterior motive, no consequences, just ecstasy for you. I promise.”

  Her body thrummed for the feel of him between her legs. “Nothing else?”

  “Just this.” His deep voice reverberated through her.

  He would know just what to do and how to touch her, his clever fingertips stroking just the right places. She would be a molten, helpless paradox of want and satisfaction if she let him touch her. She would be at his mercy. “How can I trust you?”

  “Come.” He released her and caught up her hand in his, pulling her over to the wall with the bellpull. He put the cord into her hand, closing her fingers around it, then gently pushed her so she was leaning back against the wall, his body flush against hers, the evidence of his desire pressing against her belly. “There. If I do anything you don’t like, you can call the servants.”

  “You could send them away. You’re the master.” But as she said the words, she knew that they were unfair.

  “Surely, you know me better than that.”

  “Yes.” The word came out as an exhale.

  “Yes?”

  His face filled with hope and want, before he sank down to his knees. Grace held tightly to the cord of the bellpull.

  His hand ran up her leg, bunching the layers of fabric and hoops as it went. The contrast between the smooth consistency of her petticoats and the pressure of his rough fingers made her gasp. He parted her drawers with his other hand and his breath came warm against her skin. The first touch to her inner thighs was a jolt of bristle from his jaw, and she let out a little squeak. His chuckle was muffled as he fit his lips against her mound. There was a long moment when Grace wondered what exactly he was doing.

  “Spread your legs, darling,” he murmured against her thigh, the words seeming to reach her through the vibrations in her body rather than via the air. He dipped his head and nudged his rough cheek against her thighs and she relinquished, stepping outward to allow him in.

  Then all rational thought left her. His tongue and lips pushed against her, licking her to spiral her higher and higher. She leaned back against the wallpaper, unable to hold herself fully.

  She’d never felt anything like it in her life. Better than chocolate melting in her mouth or butterflies of excitement in her stomach. It built, each second better than the last. Each stroke of his tongue more teasingly good, making her ache.

  Even as she wriggled away from his overwhelming touch burgeoning through her, she was grateful he held her fast. The sensation he was drawing from her made her fingertips seem like clunky, dull things that never had touched anything pleasurable. She clutched at the wallpaper and sucked in air to survive the onslaught of pleasure that wracked her.

  His knowing look had held all of this. The slight bulge between his legs, and his firmly rounded buttocks that she’d admired were all leading to this. Then, the feeling was cresting, pushing, and washing over her. She could only feel him and his warmth and the waves going through her. The world had melted away, irrelevant in the melee of Everett’s erotic ministrations.

  The tingles receded slowly, leaving
a glowing feeling radiating out from her core, across her skin. The room was full of the sound of her breaths, still fast. Had she cried out? She brought up her hands to cover her mouth, as though she could take back any revealing sound she’d made. The bellpull. She’d let it go. There was no alarm being sounded, just the solidity of Everett’s hands and the wall behind her.

  Finally, she opened her eyes. She almost expected the room to have tilted or been stained red to mark this occasion. Instead, Everett was rearranging her skirts and the room was dark wood paneling and sunlight pouring in from outside, just as it had been before this earthquake he’d unleashed on her.

  “My god,” she whispered. “That was…” There were no words to describe what that was. Or if there were, her life of dry goods purchases and ledgers hadn’t given her the vocabulary for it. She was weak with it.

  “I’m glad you liked it.” Everett’s expression seemed, for lack of a better description, smug. Then he was holding her hip with one hand, steadying her, and stroking her face with the other. He was completely master of the situation, whereas she was shaken like an apple from its tree in the wind.

  “Don’t you want…?” she asked tentatively. She wasn’t sure what he might want in return, but it felt awfully one sided. She had been transposed to another world; he had been her springboard, left behind on the ground. He gently pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear she hadn’t realized had come loose, then followed the movement down the sensitive skin of her neck and across her bosom. She held her breath, aroused all over again when she had thought she was replete.

  “Yes. All that and more. But only when you want to give it, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her mouth, took her hand, and led her back to her chair.