“John, I did not ask for a lecture. I asked your opinion as to her mood, that is all. And it is none of your business how she and I get along otherwise. It appears her housekeeping skills are admirable enough, and as to her other skills?—”
“She ain’t workin’ out as mistress near so good, is she?” Cuthbert spoke frankly, a liberty accorded him only because of their shared past. “Y’ ain’t fooled me, Yer Grace. Known yer too long I have. And the offer still stands, sir, t’ find you a different gel.”
But Wellesley’s mood only darkened. “We don’t need yet another woman in this house.” He snorted. “Miss Merrinan and Mrs. Jenkins will be enough. Nor would it help to have more skirts about for our fair-weather crew to leer at.” He knew his men were growing bored, and boredom did not bode well with their lot.
“Fine, sir,” Cuthbert ground out; his steward always knew when something ate at Wells. “You up for another match then?” he asked, though the hour was late.
“Not tonight, John, though you could use some lessons from Charles. She’s damned good at chess.”
His man harrumphed. “Too clever, sir. I said as much. A clever woman makes for trouble, Yer Grace, always does. Now her sister, on the other hand, she’s a?—”
“Her sister?” Wells had forgotten. “I should like to meet this sister of hers, and the father, Cuthbert. When are you due to deliver them food again?”
“Day after t’ morrow, Yer Grace.” He frowned. “Though you’ll not learn much, sir. Their old man’s daft as a March hare, but Miss Eleanor’s a delight.” His face flushed, a fact not unnoticed by Wells. “She’s the opposite o’ yer mistress, that’s for damn sure,” he added with feeling.
“Good,” said Wells, surprised by Cuthbert’s emotion. “I intend to meet her myself.”
At long last Charles sat soaking in his lordship’s large tub. As housekeeper she’d had the authority to order Cuthbert’s crew to bring it to Lord Wellesley’s chamber, on the pretext that Wells himself wished to bathe. But once they’d gone it was she who stripped and lowered herself in, reveling in the hot balm of water on her aching bones.
A night of lovemaking and a day of labor made for sore limbs. Only she’d not call it lovemaking, she corrected in her head. She’d call itfucking, as he had. It deserved the crude term.
Charles sank deeper into the water, luxuriating in its caress, letting it buoy her almost. She soaped her hair, rinsing the grime and dust of the house from every strand, then scrubbed her skin until it shone with health. She’d put on weight, she could tell, and this, too, felt good. She’d eaten well ever since arriving at the Abbey, the gnawing need in her belly lessening with each meal.She sighed, content. Regardless of what Lord Wellesley should say or do to her tonight, she had this moment, all to herself.
She relished it.
***
Wells slipped inside his room, stealthy as ever, as his mistress soaked in his tub. He’d wanted to bathe himself, the minx, and would now have to share her water. He began to strip quietly, thinking any moment she would hear him and turn her head. But she did not, or chose not to. He couldn’t tell which.
“May I join you?”
She made something of a splash. “My lord, I did not hear you enter, sir. Forgive me, I’ll leave you the?—”
“No.” He laid a hand upon her shoulder to push her back down. “No need to get out, I shall simply let myself in.” Which he did, though the fit was tight. His long legs stuck up at angles to fold her smaller body into his chest. He pulled her back against him, feeling the water embrace him with warmth.
“You read my mind.” He wrapped his arms about her waist, his back against the tub’s hard edge.
“How was your day, my lord?” she asked—a little stiffly, he thought.
“Fine, Charles. And yours?”
“Productive, sir.” She began to relax more into him as his hands slowly travelled from her waist to her chest.
“Cuthbert says our new cook will arrive by week’s end.” He was going to keep their conversation as banal as possible not to scare her off.
“Yes, my lord. I started readying a room in the servant’s wing for her. And Cuthbert found a room for me close by your own.”
“You sharemyroom, Charles.”
“Of course, my lord, only there’s a closet down the hall but a short distance to this chamber, which will do nicely should Mrs. Jenkins?—”
“—need you at night only to discover you in my bed,” he finished for her. “I see you think of everything, Fox.”
“It is my job to think of everything, Lord Wellesley.”
“And what of your job as mistress, Charles?” He was almost afraid to ask. “Tell me, are you sore today?”
“A little, sir.” She blushed. “The bath has helped.” She surprised him by taking his hand to give his palm a quick kiss.
