“My lord,” she begged, panting. Her mind was a mess, her body a wild and greedy thing.
“Say it,” he urged, his hand stroking her into submission.
“Roland. . .” she pleaded.
“Say you do not doubt me and I’ll grant you your release.”
She met his eyes in desperation.
“I cannot . . .” she started, but he pressed her more deeply to the door, his body pinning her now beneath him as his hand plundered her core and her pleasure mounted, the pressure so exquisite and full she . . .
“I don’t doubt!” Charles gasped as he pushed her over the edge, supporting her breaking, shattering body while tremors shuddered through her.
He gave her a moment to regain her senses, then gently pulled her skirts from her hands, unballing the twisted fabric from her fists.
His lordship lovingly bit her lip. “Finish your dusting, housekeeper.” His ensuing kiss scorched her soul. “And remember who you serve in this house.” He slid his hand to her bodice, squeezing one breast through her dress. “I’ll expect you in my bed tonight, willing and eager.Unquestioning.”
As the door clicked shut Charles slumped to the floor, exhausted and inflamed. She was stunned by the encounter and thought briefly of Eleanor, of how little her sister knew of men. She was flummoxed by her own response to Lord Wellesley’s behavior, for here she was again, as aroused by his rough treatment as she was his more generous nature. Tender and cruel, her master.
She adjusted her skirts and returned to her work, her legs still unsteady and her heart in knots. Charles did not peek inside anymore books.
It struck Wells that evening that he was, perhaps, content. Ever since the disaster in London he’d been restless, on edgesomehow, and yet tonight, seated in his parlor by a warm fire, a glass of fine claret in his hand, he felt calm. The south wall had been repaired just before the snows hit. The men injured in the collapse were healing well, and come spring Adams’s crew would begin work on the north end. What’s more, the Abbey inside was slowly being transformed. Cuthbert was the perfect steward, Jenkins the perfect cook, and Charles Merrinan the perfect lover. He smiled just to think on her. Every interaction with his housekeeping mistress these days brought a smile to his face, even when she balked at his requests. Even then, frustrated by his teasing, her eyes told him she was his. His Fox wanted him now, just as much as he wanted her.
He leaned back in his chair and took another sip. Life was indeed good. He was not being tossed about on a ship, he was not being harangued by marriage-hungry harpies in London drawing rooms, he was not being forced to dance with dull debutantesat crushing balls. He was his own man, in his own home, surrounded by competent, willing staff—and a damn fine mistress. Which set his thoughts drifting towards what he’d made Charles do in the library this afternoon, and what he might do with her tonight, when she presented herself as ordered.
“Yer Grace?” Cuthbert’s knock interrupted.
“John.” He motioned him in.
“A word, sir?”
Wells nodded.
Cuthbert stared awkwardly at his feet. “I should like permission t’ ask Miss Eleanor Merrinan for her hand in marriage, sir.”
Wellesley’s fine mood disintegrated.
“Marriage, John?” He ground his teeth.
“Not just yet but soon, Yer Grace. We’ve been courtin’ these past few weeks and?—”
“And you cannot wait a few weeks more, John? A blasted year perhaps?” Wells’s heartbeat spiraled. “We have only just gotten here, for Christ’s sake, and I should hate to lose the excellent steward I find I have.”
“Yer Grace,” Cuthbert’s tone sobered, “y’ needn’t lose me if I marry. Y’ know I made a vow t’ yer father that I’d always?—”
“Yes and now another vow, to a woman no less, one who will surely?—”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Yer Grace, but Miss Eleanor’s not asked that I leave my position here, sir. She asks only that I?—”
“But if you’re not living here, John, then you’re hardly my steward, now are you?”
Cuthbert inhaled a breath. “It’s just we see no reason t’ wait when we both know it’s what we want.”
“She won’t bed you till you marry, is that it?” Wells grimaced. “Well then.”
“You watch yer tongue, sir.” Cuthbert’s tone cut.
“Oh I’ll watch my tongue alright, because it sounds to me like you want what I have with her sister, John, only Miss Eleanor’s too good to lower herself, or else you think too highly of her to?—”
