“Well, then, I again toast the club for virgin gentlemen,” Henry says, cocking his glass once more. “May we all find remedy for our predicament in a swift and unexpected manner.”
The other men all chuckle. Except for Peter, although he does smile. Theo even raises his glass.
And I pray that in my own case, Henry’s wish will soon come true.
Chapter 1
Alfred
Dorset, England
Two Months Later
My hands shake, causing my cup and saucer to clatter together.
“Excuse me, Mr. Saintsbury?”
I came to Trescott Abbey this morning to meet my new employer, the owner of the estate to which my living belongs. She inherited the place only one month ago, two after my arrival in Trescott.
And while her late father was a very respectable man, Miss Annabelle de Lacey, the woman now addressing me, is notorious.
Given this reputation, I imagined Miss de Lacey as a woman of a certain age, a kind of blunt-spoken bawdy house madame trying to restore herself to respectability. That was how she appeared in the few caricatures of her that Iglimpsed in London. Buxom, pockmarked, leering. I was sure I could handle that with no issue.
But Miss Annabelle de Lacey is something else altogether.
Looking at her for too long threatens my sanity. My mouth goes dry and my blood hums.
Nevertheless, when I arrived here and we were seated with our tea, I launched into my prepared speech. And that appears to have been a grave mistake.
I cough. I know she heard me the first time. But all I can do is repeat myself.
“I was urging you, Miss de Lacey, to attend church on Sundays. It would be an excellent example to set for the parishioners of Trescott. Given your position.”
And particularly given your reputation. I do not say these words but they hang in the air between us anyway.
Annabelle de Lacey sits on her damask armchair as if it were a throne. She does notperchlike a gently-bred lady. She surveys me with disdain, as if she has been the master of a grand estate since birth. Of course, she was rich before her recent inheritance. She has had great success in business. Everyone knows that.
I can’t understand how my employer, my patron, can be so young and so attractive. Of all the talk I heard in the village, no one mentioned her beauty. Nor had I realized that she would be so near my age. I imagined her as ten, fifteen years my senior. I miscalculated. Badly.
“Mr. Saintsbury, I would rather hang than attend church. Particularlyyourchurch. Do you think I, of all people, could learn anything from a clumsy, nervous man such as yourself? You are shaking before me. I am to believe that you are a conduit of the Almighty? I think such a man would be able to sit before me without cowering.”
I swallow hard at this insult. Humiliation clogs my throat. I set the teacup on the tray, no longer trusting myself to hold it, and wince when hot liquid sluices over my fingers, flooding the saucer below.
“My apologies,” I repeat, reaching for my serviette and dabbing at the saucer. But to my horror, the frantic nature of the movement upsets the entire cup, flooding the tray beneath. I can’t apologize again—and yet I have no other option. “I am sorry?—”
“Stop, Mr. Saintsbury.” Her bored tone sears me. I could not be more aware that I am nothing to a woman like her. To her, I must appear pathetic, indeed. Now, imploring her to attend church feels like idiocy of the highest order.
I can’t help but look up at her, however. Something about the way she says my name.
Her face is a revelation. Blue eyes, disarming in their softness—and not at all suited to her malicious tone. Full lips framed by blonde, curly hair, a Roman nose that on another woman might be overwhelming but instead roots her in arresting particularity. I am transfixed. I find myself struggling to breathe.
Not to mention, she has a generous bosom.
Averygenerous bosom.
And tall—only a few inches shorter than me and I am a large man.
She has the kind of beauty that claws at my chest and swells my cock. The kind of beauty that has always done that to me. It is as if God designed her to tempt me.
