“You lost your freedom the moment you were caught,” he snapped. “And I will brook no more argument from a thief.” He glared at her then, tired of talk and distracted by the curling of her flaxen hair, which was drying nicely by the fire and giving her a decidedly softer look. He strode to the door, pulled the bell, and went to fill his glass, pouring her one as well. “Drink up, Charles,” he told her, “as it will only help improve your mood.”
Yet the moment he handed her the glass she threw its contents in his face and bolted for the door, only to run smack into Cuthbert, who nimbly hauled her back.
Wells pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his dripping brow and equally damp mop of hair. “As always, Cuthbert, your timing is impeccable,” he muttered.
His steward shoved the girl back inside. “Y’ rang, Yer Grace?”
“Yes.” Wells was still drying his face while refusing to meet the girl’s eyes. “I have decided yon thief here will serve her sentence in service to me for the foreseeable future, so I would ask that you deliver her family two chickens tomorrow first thing, informing them of her new employment here at the Abbey and returning with whatever clothing she owns that does notstink. I expect the villagers will know where to find her people. And get rid of this offending water forthwith.” Wells made another face.
“O’ course, Yer Grace.” Cuthbert let out a loud whistle between his fingers to summon the same men who’d delivered the tub. Within seconds the horde arrived to dismantle the contents, in no time emptying the room. And then Wellesley’s steward closed the door behind him, locking it with a click.
Wells watched the girl sink into such despair she looked like she might crumple, like she longed to dissolve into the worn Persian carpet till she was one with the rug’s mottled fibers. He imagined it took every bit of strength she had not to shed a tear before him.
She was made of sterner stuff.
Wells watched her struggle with herself before he poured her another glass, feeling an annoying twinge of conscience. “Now is not the time for self-pity, miss.” He handed it to her. “Drink up.”
This time, she downed it.
CHAPTER TWO
Charles Merrinan wished to God this arrogant lord would pour her another drink, for she could hope only for complete stupor now to survive Wellesley’s next move. That she should be forced so low—all for but attempting to feed her family—was a thought her muddled mind could not shake. Yet she’d no one to blame but herself. Herself and that damned thieving fox.
“Tell me what you are thinking, Charles.” His lordship interrupted her thoughts, patting his large lap with his thick, large hands. “That I may assuage your fears.”
His hulking shape was a blur as she stumbled over, having downed enough whiskey to stop putting up a fight. She allowed him to settle her across his thighs, leaning into him a little even, propped against his broad chest. She mumbled drunkenly, “Bloody fox caused my bloody ruin.”
“A fox, eh?” He began to pull back her hair, tracing a rough fingertip along her jawline. “What fox, pray tell?”
She sighed, shifting in his lap, the motion causing her robe to reveal more than she liked as she tried to draw it closed. “The fox that stole our chickens, my lord. Took the last two last night, and without eggs we shall never manage another winter.”
“I see,” he murmured into her neck, softly kissing her there and running his tongue to the hollow of her throat, making her shiver. “Which makesyou,my dear, the fox inmyhenhouse.”
“Our father’s in poor health, my lord, and my sister’s not strong enough to?—”
“Wrestle chickens?” He interrupted her again, leaning her back to part her robe and reveal more flesh, dipping his dark head of curls to kiss her there between her breasts, and there across the tops, his fingers pulling open her damp shift.
Charles felt her heart beat faster. “I’d no choice, my lord. Surely you must see we have but fallen on hard times. It is not my nature to thieve, sir, truly it is not.”
“Of course not,” his deep voice rumbled into her bosom, opening the banyan to her waist now to palm one orb through her shift, his lips seeking the other’s pert point.
“My lord!” She gasped as he sucked the pink tip through the cloth into a tight knot of pleasure.
“You are not a whore, Charles, you are my mistress now. No shame in that. I will ensure your family is cared for this winter; they shall not want for food. Nor shall you.”
She let out another gasp as he sucked her other bud into a similar taut peak.
“And despite what you may think of me, Charles, you shall not lack for enjoyment from our pursuits, I promise.”
“But my lord I know nothing of?—”
“You’ll be a quick study, girl, I can tell.”
“But what if?—?”
“We shall make sure that does not happen.”
“But how?—?”
