Her body eased, relaxed into the security of his embrace as they both looked out the window.
“Better?” he asked quietly.
“Much,” she replied, turning her head a little and rubbing it against him. “Much better, Jeremy. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, dear Lady,” he murmured. “Holding you is a pleasure I’ve hoped for.” His hands rubbed up and down her arms, a gentle soothing that brought a sigh of delight to her lips. “You know we’re all here for you, and not just as your servants, but as your friends…” he paused, squeezing her close. “And more, if you’ll have us.”
“Like the pond,” she whispered.
“Even better than the pond,” he whispered back.
She made her choice there and then. “Jeremy, would you come to me tonight? I need…I need your arms, your warmth…”
She felt his chest rise and fall. “It would be my pleasure, my Lady. And—I hope—yours too.”
She turned a little, her heart lifting at that thought. “I don’t think that’s in any doubt…”
His arms moved, loosening, his hands sliding beneath her breasts and cupping them. Her nipples hardened at his touch and he found them, rubbing his thumbnails in just the right place to make her gasp. “Do I have to wait until tonight?”
She choked out a laugh. “Yes, you do.” His thumbs moved again. “But this is an excellent start…” She leaned back, lifted her hands and placed them over his, crushing her breasts and moaning a little beneath her breath.
Then she pulled away, noting that he let her go immediately. She lifted her chin, but found she couldn’t turn and look at him. She was suddenly riddled with concern as to what she might see.
Would he look complacent? Satisfied his mistress had called on him for sex? Would he look disgusted or horrified? A number of emotions tripped over themselves as they skittered through her mind.
“I think I might ask Mrs Barnsley to join me for tea this afternoon.”
“An excellent idea. She will be very happy to hear about the plans for the Whit Sunday fête,” he answered.
With those prosaic words, the field had levelled, and order restored itself in her mind. Gwyneth turned with a smile. “Would you be so kind as to send her a message, Jeremy? And let Evan know I’ll need tea at possibly three o’clock or thereabouts?”
“Of course, Ma’am.” He bowed, smiled and turned away.
The die had been cast. Gwyneth had selected a lover. Now all that remained was to survive the day, and not regret the night to come.
The arrival of Mrs Barnsley, promptly at half-past two, certainly brought a breath of fresh air into the parlour.
“‘Bout time,” she said, sitting down with a thump in one of the upholstered chairs. “Yer leavin’ the fête awful late, m’Lady.”
“Forgive me,” said Gwyneth. “I didn’t know. I’m still learning about the whys and wherefores of Wolfbridge, and there’s a lot to take in.”
Mrs B nodded. “I’ll give yer that. An’ since yer were sick, makes it all the ‘arder. But we’re ‘ere now, so let’s be at it.”
Gwyneth told her of the Medieval fair idea, amused as Mrs B’s face lit up with enthusiasm.
“Now there’s a good idea, Ma’am. Yer got brains as well as looks, I’m thinkin’.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “An’ we can do chickens on a spit outside, mebbe a pig if the weather ‘olds fine…lots ‘o them tent thingies…keep the sun off the pies, o’ course…”
“We were thinking perhaps toy swords, and hobby horses for the children? Maybe some bits and pieces of silk, scraps and so on, for a bit of veil here and there…”
Mrs B’s eyes glazed.“Ohhh…”
Taking that as an endorsement, Gwyneth continued to relate some of the other ideas they’d come up with, all met with the same enthusiasm.
Notes were made, alternative ideas tossed around, and neither realised that half an hour had sped by until Jeremy knocked and entered with the tea tray.
“Now that’s what I call tea,” beamed Mrs B. “Yer a good lad, Jeremy.”
Jeremy grinned and bowed. “I’m honoured you think so, Ma’am.”
