A Husband for Hire (The Heirs & Spares Series Book 1)

by Patricia A. Knight

  Eleanor murmured in her sleep and nuzzled into him. Her arm wrapped his waist. With an indulgent sigh, he pulled her closer.

  Whether he wished to acknowledge it or not—and he didn’t—he had fallen madly in love with his wife—and therein was the source of his apprehension.

  She did not love him, and he doubted she would welcome the entanglement of his emotions. Well…without burdening her with unwanted sentiments, he could still introduce her to the joys of the flesh and satisfy his promise to the Earl by protecting her from the vagaries of life. He smiled. Plus, there was nothing to prevent him from trying to win Eleanor to him.

  The Eleanor Campaign was still on.

  Chapter Eighteen

  E

  leanor awoke alone in the great bed immersed in a sense of well-being. The case clock in the room indicated the morning somewhat advanced. She smiled to herself. She was certain that Miles, in a thoughtful gesture typical of him, had cautioned the staff to allow her to sleep. She rolled to her side and hugged a pillow to her breasts. With a certain degree of caution, she stretched her legs. Other than a slight soreness ‘down there’ and some light spotting on the sheets, there was nothing to remind her of the activities of the previous night. She chuckled to herself. Finally, she knew what the fuss was about. She’d been initiated into the secret society of married women. She felt like opening the windows and crowing to the world, “Now I know! I’m one of you!” In many respects, with its physical pleasures and Miles’ whispered words of praise, last night had gone a long way toward mitigating the slights and rejections she’d suffered years ago.

  Why had no one told her of the profound degree of pleasure to be had with a man? Why had no one told her of the profound effect such an intimate act would have on a woman’s heart? To strip her body naked, spread her legs and admit a man’s breeding organ into her most female of places created an intimacy and a baring of self that had no parallel. She had recognized her vulnerability to Miles from their very first meeting. Even though she had done her best to maintain a certain emotional distance, last night turned all such attempts into wasted effort. She was perilously close to falling tail-over-tea-kettle in love with her husband, indeed, if that ship had not already sailed.

  How was an aging former spinster supposed to keep a handsome, charming male like Miles at her side? She had no womanly wiles—besides, he would see right through her if she tried something as ridiculous as simpering and batting her eyes at him. He would know it for what it was—a sham. After several minutes of contemplation, she concluded she had no recourse other than to simply be herself; she’d seek his company, include him in the day-to-day workings of the estate and allow the majesty of Rutledge to woo him. However, there was no reason not to exert herself to be winning and to display herself at her feminine best.

  When Eleanor went down to a very late breakfast, rather than the manly outfits she was accustomed to stride out in, Sally dressed her in one of the becoming riding habits Lady Florence had insisted she buy with matching half boots and a smart hat. The family dining room was deserted, so she found Walters.

  “Walters, just the man I need. Do you know the whereabouts of Lord Miles?”

  Walters acknowledged her with an abbreviated bow. “I believe Lord Miles mentioned his intent to find Mr. Bitters on a horse-related matter.”

  “Thank you, Walters.” Eleanor smiled. “I’ll look in the stables.”

  By following the sounds of men’s laughter, she found him closeted with her stud manager, sharing a cheroot and a glass of brandy. Both men were engaged in hearty laughter of the hail-fellow-well-met variety. Her heart softened even more. How very like Miles to make immediate friends with her staff. If only it was that easy for her. Putting a smile on her face, she peeked her head around the door. “May a lady enter? Or is this just a gentlemen’s affair?”

  “Eleanor! You are always welcome. We are just blowing a cloud.” Miles stood and offered her his seat on the sofa. He made to stub out a cigar he had obviously just begun, and Eleanor placed a gloved hand on his arm.

  “Please don’t let me stop you,” she said. “I’ve always enjoyed the smell of a fine cigar.” With a bright smile on her face, she continued. “As a matter of fact…I think I’d like to try one. I’ll have some of that brandy also.”

  “Eleanor…” Miles began in a hesitant voice.

  “I like the smell of cigars very well, so I think it’s time I tried the taste.” She smiled brilliantly.

  John Bitters gazed across the room at Miles and raised his shoulders in a shrug. Flipping open a wooden box on his desk, he handed her a tube of rolled tobacco, lit a piece of kindling from the fire and held it to the end of her thin cigar. “Pull the smoke into your mouth in tugs, Lady Miles, but don’t inhale it,” instructed her stud manager.

  Bitter, acrid, smoke-filled her mouth, and despite her efforts, some went into her lungs. It was only by the grace of God she didn’t hack it out. She coughed daintily and with a smile pasted on her face, took another puff. That was no better. A lazy curl of pungent smoke rose to sting her eyes. She ventured a surreptitious swipe at the tears that pooled on her lower lid. Miles, his face one of concern, handed her a tumbler that held a scant finger of brandy. She swallowed a gulp and restrained a painful wince as the brandy scalded its way down her throat. By all that was holy, what did men see in this? With a voice somewhat more hoarse than normal, she inquired, “What were you speaking about when I interrupted?”

  “I was just feeling Mr. Bitters out about Day Dreamer’s chances of being the second filly in history to win the Epsom Derby,” Miles said, his eyes never leaving her.

  “I told his lordship that I favored her chances highly.” Bitters grinned. “The speeds she’s been clocking at home are…” Her stud manager looked heavenward and shook his head. “I suggested that we all make the trek to Newmarket to watch her run in the Welborn Cup—the Earl and the Countess, too, should they be up to it.”

  Miles arched an eyebrow and Bitters directed an inquisitive look her way.

  “Merciful heavens, you want me to decide? Miles…” Eleanor puffed, coughed and turned it into a light laugh by the imposition of will. She caught Miles’ eyes, “Well, my lord? What say you?” She took several more puffs on the cigar. Those went more smoothly though she thought the taste vile—not at all like the smell—and she felt very lightheaded.

  His forehead wrinkled in a frown that vanished as quickly as it formed. “If you are leaving the decision to me, my lady, then I say we go. We can take the trip in easy stages if your father and mother wish to come as well. I’ll alert my mother to expect house guests for weekend next.”

  Eleanor set down the partially smoked cigar and gulped the remainder of the brandy, stifling a shiver as it burned its way to her stomach. A hint of nausea threatened but she ignored it. “Good, it’s settled. We can ask Father and Mother at dinner. I’m certain they will want to accompany us if their health is up to it.” Holding Miles in an intent gaze, a smile tipping her lips, she stood and walked up to within inches of him. “I’m going to inspect a mill in the village of Warringford. It’s a lovely ride out and back that will take much of the day. I would like it very well if you would accompany me.” She ruined what she had planned as an enticing foray by coughing several times into her glove. Her stomach lurched unhappily, and she ignored it.

  Miles smiled. “I’ll be happy to join you, though if you are expecting me to weigh in with any intelligence on the running or maintenance of a grist mill, you will be sadly disappointed.”

  “No.” She returned his smile. “I would just enjoy your company, and you will see some of the most charming aspects of the estate.”

  “I am at your disposal, my lady.”

  “Are you certain you are up to an all-day ride, Eleanor?” Miles murmured as he wrapped his hands around his wife’s waist, put her up on her flea-bitten gray, and found the left stirrup for her foot.

  “Why ever would I not?”

  He shrugged
slightly and with a slight smile sent her a telling upwards glance while he arranged her skirts to fall neatly.

  “Oh…” She colored a pretty pink. “Um, no…I feel quite fine. I took no lasting injury,” she stated softly. “But it was kind of you to ask.”

  He took the reins of his horse from the groom and turned to mount his bay. He withheld his response until they had cleared the stable yard and were out of hearing of any staff. When Eleanor headed them down the carriage drive and into a narrow lane edged by hedgerows, he judged them sufficiently private. “When you appeared in that habit—you look quite the thing, by the way—rather than your customary breeches and boots, I wondered if you had suffered some ill effects from our activities of last evening and chose not to ride astride.”

  “No, no ill effects.” She shook her head shyly. “I liked it. Well…most of it, but the part I didn’t like won’t happen again. Will it?” she asked hesitantly.

  “No,” he assured her.

  Eleanor straightened and directed a forthright gaze at him. “Well then…I liked what we did, and I hope...I hope we will do that again.” As he grinned and began to reply, a faint look of alarm crossed her face, and she put her gloved fingers to her mouth and swallowed several times. “Pardon me a moment, please,” she blurted and urged her horse with leg and whip through a gap in the hedgerow, whereupon she slid off her animal and vanished from his sight. Her disappearance was closely followed by the sound of violent retching.

  He sent his own horse through the gap after her and dismounted, tying up the reins on both their animals and knelt beside Eleanor, wrapping an arm around her waist to help support her as she continued to be comprehensively ill. When it seemed she had emptied her stomach, he helped her to stand and steadied her while digging in his jacket for his handkerchief.

  “Here, Eleanor.”

  She took his white linen square with a garbled, “Thank you,” and wiped the tears streaming from her eyes and then blew her nose. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what brought that on. I am mortified beyond words.”

  “Please don’t be,” he laughed. He knew it was not well done of him to laugh, but he couldn’t help it. She flashed him a disgruntled look, and he sobered though still smiled broadly. “It was the cigar. It is common knowledge the first experience with any sort of tobacco frequently ends with a casting up of one’s accounts.”

  His handkerchief clutched in one hand, she pulled back and stared. “Really? Then why do you men do it? There is nothing about the experience that I can recommend.”

  He shrugged still grinning. “It is a rite of passage to adulthood, I suppose. Come here.” He pulled her into his arms, and she came willingly. She fit perfectly against him. “I’m sorry you were sick. Would it help to know I did exactly the same thing after my first experience?”

  “I suppose. How old were you?”

  “Twelve.”

  She snorted in self-derision. “Twelve, not thirty.” With a sigh, she straightened out of his arms. “You are sworn to secrecy. If you tell Bitters, I will devise some awful retribution.”

  He chuckled and caught their horses. They hadn’t wandered far. He handed Eleanor the reins to her gray along with a hip flask he fished from a broad pocket of his coat. “Here, rinse your mouth.”

  Eleanor eyed the flask with suspicion. “What’s in it?”

  He smiled. “Does it really matter?”

  “I suppose not,” she huffed as she unscrewed the cap and took a swig, swished it around her mouth and then spat it out. “Ugh, brandy.” Grimacing, she recapped the flask and handed it back. “Thank you.”

  Once more, he put her up on her horse, arranged her skirts and mounted his own. When they were both through the hedge and back on their way, Eleanor sighed heavily and muttered something under her breath.

  “Yes?”

  With a roll of her eyes at the heavens and another heavy sigh, she responded, “I was chastising myself for being three kinds of a fool. I heard you and Bitters sharing such jolly laughter that I yearned to be a part of it.” She glanced at him and then straight ahead. “You are of such an easy and considerate nature that people like you the moment they meet you. What comes so naturally to you is awkward for me, and I made a cake of myself in an effort to appear congenial.” She made a sound of disgust.

  Miles considered her statement as they rode side-by-side along the shaded lane, then caught her attention. “You don’t have to try with me, Eleanor.”

  She shot him a quick glance. “No?”

  He recalled the warm, responsive woman he’d made love to last night and whom he planned on making love to again at the earliest opportunity. He gave her a slow, lazy smile that he made certain reflected his warm admiration. “No. I find the present version of Lady Miles Everleigh very much to my taste.”

  Her shy sidelong gaze was much longer this time. “The discrepancy in our ages doesn’t bother you?”

  “I can honestly say I’ve given it no thought whatsoever.”

  The corners of her mouth tipped up as she set her horse into a trot.

  It would have been ungentlemanly of him to remind her of his past amours, so he did not add that she was the youngest bed partner he’d had in years.

  Chapter Nineteen

  T

  he hilly forest land Eleanor guided him through startled Miles with its striking vistas. She stopped at one overlook where a break in the fir and hardwood trees displayed the vignette of a waterfall plunging fifty feet into a placid lake with cattle grazing the banks under willow trees. Eleanor explained that the waterfall was the end of the river that powered the water wheel at the mill in Wallingford. Another pause in their ride occurred by an apple orchard with the trees in the last of their blossom while Eleanor spoke with the wife of the tenant farmer as her young children played a noisy game of hide-and-seek among the trees. As they rode off, Eleanor confided, “The best hard cider in all of England comes from this orchard. We sell as much as we make. It turns a tidy profit.”

  “Is it the farmer or the apples that produce such a good result?”

  Eleanor smiled. “Neither. It is the brewer who happens to be the woman I paused to speak with. I keep trying to glean her secrets so we can apply them at other farms, but she holds her methods and ingredients close.”

  “What do you find to be the sources of most revenue for Rutledge?”

  Eleanor responded with a fascinating outpouring of information about the wide span of income-producing products that brought vast wealth to Rutledge and its farms and villages. She knew the people of Rutledge well and regaled Miles with many humorous anecdotes interwoven with facts and figures about crop-yield and such. Miles had no difficulty appearing interested as she captured and held his attention completely, and he knew a moment of wistfulness, wishing he could halt time and preserve this perfect afternoon spent in uncomplicated interaction with an intelligent and vivacious woman of easy laughter and animated expression.

  Such passed several hours of companionable travel until they came upon the village of Wallingford and the new mill race that Eleanor wanted to view for herself. She pointed to a partial diversion of the river into a stone-lined chute that fed the four-story waterwheel attached to the multi-story mill.

  “We had some very bad flooding here last spring, and the water overran the millrace, eroding the mortar and displacing the stones. The miller called in a stone mason to repair the damage, and I wanted to view the results. We grind wheat and corn here in quantity. When the miller opens the flume fully, the flume is the box where the water from the millrace enters the mill, we can grind upwards of 2,500 pounds of corn flour per day and double that of wheat. Would you like to meet the miller and see the mill in operation? Mr. Townsend is also a millwright, which makes him of greater value to Rutledge than a simple miller, as he can repair the inner workings of the mill as well as see to the grinding of the grain.”

  “Yes, I would be very interested to see the workings.”

  “We can tie the horses
in that copse of trees.”

  The grove of trees was situated such that it enclosed them in the idyllic privacy of dense green boughs, lush spring grass and a scattering of bluebells while the river burbled as a backdrop of sound, and after a glance around to appreciate the beauty of the setting, Miles dismounted to assist Eleanor from her horse. As she had done the last few times that day when he’d wrapped his hands around her waist to assist her on or off her horse, her body softened as if she welcomed his touch, and assured of no onlookers, he took advantage of her pliancy, holding her to him when her feet touched the ground, to place a kiss on her full, upturned lips.

  After a moment of startlement, she relaxed into him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. The kiss started as a simple, spontaneous demonstration of his burgeoning feelings for Eleanor, but with her enthusiastic participation, it flourished into something far less innocent. When his hand strayed to massage her breast and pass his thumb over the hard nub of her nipple, she made a sound of encouragement and pressed herself more fully into him. She might as well have set alight oiled straw, so quickly did he catch fire. He could only indulge his desire for a finite time. With an effort, he wrenched himself away from her and dropped his hands to still her hips and hold her from him. Her arms still draped his shoulders, and her kiss-swollen lips shone with wetness. Her hazel eyes opened and held his in question.

  “If we don’t stop now, Eleanor, I will have you in the bluebells.”

  “Really? In the bluebells? Outside?” A slow smile grew on her face, and her expression held a certain smug satisfaction. She shrugged lightly, and her hands dropped to her sides. “I can think of places more onerous.”