ChapterSeven
For the remainder of the week, a refrain played in Xenia’s head.
Do not fail again.
She didn’t know what was more terrifying: the bats she’d unleashed or the meal she’d cooked. Either way, she was in no danger of putting her best foot forward. She was fortunate that her employer had let bygones be bygones and was giving her another chance. Truth be told, Lord Ethan’s compassion had surprised her, leading her to question whether she’d misjudged him.
Perhaps the day he’d left her in the rain had been an exception to his behavior rather than the rule. Everyone had a bad day, after all. And she couldn’t forget how he’d gallantly rescued her from the bats. At night, tucked in her cozy bed, she relived the way he’d carried her as if she were a princess. Brooding, sleek as a panther in his black dressing gown, he’d been a tempting beast.
Her mind had roamed to wicked places. Her hands, too.
What if, after he tossed her on the bed, he’d torn off her nightgown? Shivering, she’d imagined him raking a possessive gaze over her naked flesh and laying bare her darkest fantasies.
You’ve been a naughty girl, he said.
I didn’t mean to release the bats, she protested.
Don’t lie to your master. I see you, Xenia, the wicked and the good. You are mine.
As longing swelled inside her, he leaned over, anchoring her wrists above her head. He roughly kneed her legs apart, invading the cove of her body as if he had every right. His trouser-covered thigh pressed against her wet, quivering sex.
What happened next varied depending on her mood. Although she’d never lain with a man, she had a salacious imagination, fed by everything she’d witnessed in the brothels where she’d worked. Her dirty mind had helped her to earn a living, and now she used it for her own pleasure. She let her carnal creativity run wild, picturing the scenes that made her blood run hottest.
Her master would tell her to kneel and service his big, jutting cock with her mouth. Or he would toss her on a bed, claiming her virginity with a powerful thrust. Or he would make her ride him, and she’d skewer herself on his rod again and again while he fondled her breasts… No matter how they made love, his attention never strayed from her. His violet-blue eyes were focused on her, as if she were the only thing he saw.
You’re beautiful.His deep voice was the essence of desire.And you belong to me. Say it.
I belong to you,she breathed.
She’d touched herself, smothering her moans in her pillow.
She blamed her hot-blooded nature on her mother. Mama had changed lovers as often as undergarments…even when she’d been married to Papa. When it came to relationships—and life choices in general—Xenia refused to follow in her mother’s footsteps. When she made love, she wanted it to be with someone special…someone she loved. This, along with pragmatic concerns about getting with child or contracting some horrid disease, was why she’d held onto her virginity.
But now she was three and twenty, randy, and the wrong man held her imagination captive. Even if Lord Ethan wasn’t the grumpy bounder she’d initially believed him to be, hewasher employer. His world was a stratosphere above hers, and he would never be interested in a servant. And what about her vow to avoid all attachments? She’d taken this job as a temporary measure, something to tide her over until she could return to the Nunnery.
It is just lust. Don’t get distracted. Focus on your work.
For better or worse, she hadn’t seen much of Lord Ethan. He’d cloistered himself in his study or bedchamber. She’d tried to ask Mr. Valentine if something was amiss, but the valet, a fastidious fellow with hair the color of marmalade, had made it clear she ought to mind her own business. Even the friendly Brunswick seemed reluctant to discuss their master.
“His lordship has his reasons for wanting privacy,”was the most the butler would say.“It’s best to leave him be, Mrs. Wood.”
Whatever one could say about Lord Ethan, he’d apparently earned the loyalty of his longtime retainers. She pushed thoughts of him aside and concentrated on her duties. It had taken two days and an untold amount of elbow grease, but she’d managed to scrub off the grime coating the entrance hall floor. The effort had been worth it: the pink marble she’d uncovered was resplendent. The floor was so pretty that she resolved to fix up the chandelier so that its light could sparkle over the polished stone.
Brunswick had conveyed the master’s decree that she had carte blanche to make improvements as she wished. She could open accounts at the village shops and hire servants at her discretion. The latter was proving difficult due to the fear of Bloody Thom. With the mop fair three days away, she was hoping that the sight of her, hale and hearty after a week’s employ at Bottoms House, would entice others to join her.
Meanwhile, she’d found a temporary solution to take care of the meals. Chuddums had an inn named the Briarbush at the corner of High Street, and apropos to its name, the place offered few comforts, encouraging travelers to get back on the road. However, the establishment had one redeeming quality: its kitchen. Mrs. Thornton, the innkeeper’s wife, was a temperamental genius who cooked a single dish a day. The menu depended on her mood, and she plunked her food in front of customers while sharing her philosophy on hospitality:“Eat it or starve.”
Luckily, her hearty country fare was delicious. After much pleading (and a significant bribe) from Xenia, Mrs. Thornton agreed to send daily baskets to the manor. Since Xenia hadn’t heard any complaints about the meals from Lord Ethan (and received ardent approval from the staff), she patted herself on the back for a job well done.
Thus, when her day off arrived, she rewarded herself by exploring the village. It was one of those glorious summer days when it seemed like the good weather would last forever. She trotted down High Street with the sun on her back, a gentle breeze stirring the frayed ribbons of her bonnet, and birds swooping and singing overhead.
She couldn’t recall the last time she’d had free time and a bit of spending money. She planned to treat herself to afternoon tea and gossip with Mrs. Pettigrew at the Leaning House but made a quick detour to Hatcherds. On the way, she was waylaid by the ever-helpful Wally, who sported a yellow checkered coat today. When she presented him with a small pot of balm she’d made to ease his rheumatism, he thanked her with a wide, toothless grin.
“This will help me chase down that damned Fenwyck if I ever catch him in the act,” the nonagenarian declared.
At the bookshop, Xenia’s entry startled the wizened proprietor awake from his nap at the counter.
“If it isn’t my favorite patron,” Mr. Khan said, beaming.
