“Thank you, Lord Wellesley.”
“Better.” He smirked. “You are learning.”
She let out a huff of air.
“Was there anything else you wished to say upon the matter?”
She hesitated. “The three loaves I baked today, my lord, surely those?—”
“Ah yes,” he laughed outright, “paid towards your fine. Let’s see now, how much does flatbread go for at market these days here in Cumberland? I’ll guess five pence? Multiplied by three, Charles. Do the math for me now if you’re to manage my household.”
She sank her head. “Fifteen pence, sir, or one shilling and three.”
“Precisely. You’ve a long way yet towards thirty pounds, my dear.” He once again laid her head upon his lap to massage her scalp, tangling his fingers deeper into her soft, shining hair.
He felt her body relax into the sensation, though he knew she was disheartened by the math.
“Lord Wellesley, may I ask how much I shall earn as housekeeper of Almsdale Abbey?”
Wells laughed out loud, his hand suddenly gripping her neck. “We shall discuss the details tomorrow, Charles. Right now I wish for silence.”
He was going to enjoy this woman. Thoroughly.
CHAPTER SIX
His lordship had not tortured Charles more that night, though he’d made her strip before him to survey the damage he’d done, inspecting her body a little too closely for her comfort. Wellesley had told her she was to share his bed each night unclothed, unless ordered otherwise, for until more rooms were readied there were no other beds for her. She was to begin airing said rooms forthwith in her new position at Almsdale.
Charles was relieved he’d agreed to make her his housekeeper, even if she’d be enslaved to his bed at night. The arrangement meant she could salvage her reputation and so spare her sister, earning funds she might even set aside.
It was an idea previously unthinkable.
When there’s a will, there’s a way,she quietly told herself—God and Lord Wells willing. She was surprised she felt as calm as she now did, considering how harshly he’d punished her. It was as if her muddled mind had been reset by his egregious beating, the fear and confusion she’d felt since being caught in his coop somehow toppled.
Though she’d not lethimknow this.
When she’d finally been allowed to crawl into his bed, his lordship had not joined her but remained a while longer inhis chair by the fire, looking contemplative. She’d watched him from beneath the covers, then pretended to be asleep when he eventually lay down beside her, polite enough not to spoon her raw backside but instead merely stroke her flank, as if he savored such touch.
Despite herself, she found she savored it too.
“Good morning, Charles,” Lord Wellesley whispered at her ear, pulling her hair aside to nibble the lobe. “Sleep well?”
His tongue tickled, making her startle and roll onto her back. Groaning in pain, she quickly flipped to her side. He rolled her towards him once more, so that she faced him in the bed.
“You snore,” he stated.
“I do not.” She kept her eyes shut tight against him.
“You snore like a fox kit,” he teased. “Tiny little wheezes.”
“My sister snores.” She finally opened one eye, adding, “I do not.”
“And I say you do.” His hand traced the slope of her breast, landing at its tip, lingering there.
She felt a spark run from nipple to gut, hating how readily her body warmed to his touch as he continued to roll the tip between his fingers, as if enjoying how it pebbled.
“You must not hate me that much, Charles.” His hand moved to her other breast.
“I never said I hated you, Lord Wellesley.”
