The Fox: in his Henhouse (The Dubious Mates #1)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

T hat morning, Charles baked four more loaves for Lord Wellesley and scrambled herself two eggs. For the first time in forever she was not hungry. Dressed in his lordship’s clothes, she’d also held her head high when his men had entered the kitchen and commented on her appearance. And she would continue to hold her head high, for if she were to be housekeeper here at Almsdale she’d need to command these brutes—unless Wells shipped them back to London and hired himself some competent Cumbrians instead. Charles would see about recommending that to his lordship forthwith.

She left out three loaves for the horde and hid the fourth high upon the butter shelf for Lord Wellesley. And then she decided to use some of that butter to bake his lordship scones. She needed to remain in his good graces, especially after yesterday’s rough punishment and this morning’s fresh embarrassment. She was still mortified by her own behavior—and his—yet made herself focus on baking, not sexual congress.

In no time she’d pulled out a hot pan, letting it cool before she hid the scones with his lordship’s loaf. And then it was time to explore.

Charles wished to determine the lay of the house, to discover what she’d be up against as housekeeper, and she could tell straightaway the work would be monumental. The Abbey had lain empty far too long—for as long as its fields had lain fallow. Room after room she entered had things amiss: shattered panes of glass with birds’ nests in the rafters, or else a colony of roosting bats. The drapery was mildewed and musty while layers of dust and cobwebs covered furniture, the pieces half buried under sheets. Even the walls were grimy; anything and everything she touched felt unclean. Like the mouse prints she found scattered across tables and floors, she, too, left tracks in each dust-riddled room she entered.

Yet the Abbey remained glorious despite its disrepair, its environs spacious and grand, the woodwork of finest quality and each mantelpiece in every room astoundingly unique. She roamed from space to space, amazed. She imagined the house as it had been long ago, ancestral home to Allendale Duchy. No wonder his lordship wished to rebuild and renovate; underneath the years of neglect the Abbey remained a jewel.

One room in particular left her breathless with awe—a room of sea and light, the wall of south facing windows allowing in more sky than imaginable, letting in all of Cumberland itself. The walls were covered with seashells of every art and dimension carefully fit into whorls and patterns to form cresting, rolling waves unlike anything she’d ever seen. Who had commissioned this magical room and why? She walked its four corners, fingers tracing the bumpy shells along the walls, then looked up at the ceiling’s dark blue sky to discern constellations painted in proportion to their locations, bits of sparkling quartz embedded in the center of each star. She imagined she stood on a ship, navigating the ocean. She imagined herself an explorer, a sea captain, spyglass in hand.

Charles closed her eyes and breathed.

She lay down in the center of the room—gingerly as her bottom still smarted—in order to stare better at the magnificent ceiling. The sun streaked in and caught the air she’d disturbed, making the room shimmer with stardust. A breeze from outside rattled the windows, as if sails on a ship, and she smiled to herself, stretching her arms wide in delight, laughing out loud. It was magical this room, and she did not want to leave it. She’d start here as housekeeper and wipe every shell, shine every pane of glass and mirror, until every surface sparkled. She would polish the room’s brass sconces, filling each with tallow candles, then return some night to lie here again, in an ocean of moonlight.

For the first time in a long time, Charles felt possibility within reach. She could do this. She could be both housekeeper and mistress to a man she barely knew and trusted even less. She would serve Lord Wellesley that he might serve her, too. This— he —was her life now, however unlikely and unexpected, however unwelcome even. She gazed at the room about her once more, closed her eyes, and inhaled another breath.

***

From a corner of the doorway Wells stood in hiding, watching his mistress. When he’d not found her in the kitchen he’d simply followed her footprints on their dusty path about the Abbey. Yet he’d stopped short of announcing himself, loath to interrupt, because he’d not seen Charles so happy and relaxed as this, not even under his competent male touch. That was but a physical release, while this . . . This was unadulterated joy. She was radiant. He watched her caress the shell walls and grab at sunbeams filtered through dust clouds. It made him smile to see his Fox so enchanted with a room he’d adored since childhood.

He backed away from the door and quietly made his way downstairs. He didn’t want her to know he’d seen her. It had been a private moment, and he knew how precious such moments were. He’d not take that from her. There would be other moments to enjoy her. Plenty, he hoped, as he smiled to himself, feeling more content with his choice to come to Cumberland.

He’d been wise to leave London. He could feel it in his bones.

Charles eventually left the sea room, having decided that was what she’d call it, and continued her tour about the Abbey, finding huge oil paintings that would also need cleaning—careful cleaning at that. She got lost at one point and arrived at a dead end, following short stairs to a heavy oak door she struggled to push open wide enough to slip inside. It was a turret of sorts, the round room affording wonderful views of the fells, with circular walls hugged by benches of deep red upholstery—in need of airing and repairing, of course. It had an oriental feel to it, this room, the brocade wall tapestries sumptuous in their patterns. She brushed off sections, finding birds and fruit and flowers embroidered into twisting, twining vines. She marveled yet again at the craftsmanship of such work, wondering who had stitched these long ago, when with a WHOOSH and a BANG the thick door suddenly slammed shut, making her breath catch and her heart pound.

She quickly realized the wind had pulled the door shut and went to push it open but could not. She pushed again. She pulled this time. Charles rattled and jiggled and worked at the latch until she beat the door with her fist in frustration, yelping with pain as the skin of her knuckles cracked. She panicked to imagine herself trapped. How could this door now be so stuck?

Charles attempted to clear her mind. She would sit and think a moment. A door did not lock itself, a person locked it, or in this case, the wind had. She began to work at the mechanism, jiggling whatever lay inside in hopes the latch might spring free. It did not. She pushed again at the door, throwing all her weight at it, groaning for effort, yet still it would not budge. And no one knew where she was.

Bloody hell , she swore to herself, thinking Lord Wellesley would be furious if she did not return. He’d assume she’d run off and then stop sending her family food, leaving them to starve and her to slowly decay in this tower, withering away.

No, she exhaled. She was being ridiculous. She was not going to die in this turret. And if he were as stubborn as she thought him, Lord Wellesley would go looking for her if only to drag her back for punishment. Charles began pounding on the door, shouting at the top of her lungs, “Help! Someone! Anyone! Help !”

She pounded and shouted for what felt like an eternity, yet still no one came. She slumped against the dusty red upholstery, wanting to weep. To have gone from such highs to such lows again in this place . . . Could she not for once enjoy a moment’s peace before life turned on her again? Bloody, blasted hell ! She jumped up again to pound at the door and shout at the top of her?—

The door miraculously opened, Cuthbert’s red face peering in at her in shock. He managed to slide the door halfway open as he nearly tumbled inside, straight into Charles, for she’d thrown herself into his arms, hugging him in such relief he had to gruffly extricate himself from her grasp.

“There now, save yer ardor for his grace, woman, enough already,” he grumbled.

Charles roughly wiped her eyes and stepped back to apologize. “Forgive me, Cuthbert, I was overcome is all. The door shut behind me and I could not . . . It would not . . .”

He frowned. “And just what were you doin’ in this part o’ the house, miss?”

“I was exploring the Abbey as I am to be?—”

He grabbed her roughly to haul her from the turret and propel her firmly down the hall before him. “More like tryin’ t’ run off again, I’m sure. His grace’ll hear o’ this. I told him you were more trouble’n you’re worth, and he’ll hear it again from me straightaways.”

“Mr. Cuthbert,” Charles protested, “I am to be housekeeper here at Almsdale Abbey and as such I must insist you?—”

“You insist on nothin’ ,” he growled, dragging her behind him till she was nearly tripping over her steps. “Damn Cumberland woman,” he muttered. “Why can’t you be as accommodatin’ as yer sister? She’s got more sense in her pinky than you’ve got in yer?—”

“You’ve spoken with my sister?” Charles dug in her heels, resisting his grasp, though he was stronger and continued to drag her forward. “What does she say? How does she fare?”

He was still muttering to himself. “She’s a sight better’n you, dressed in men’s clothes. What the devil his grace sees in you I?—”

“Cuthbert, tell me at once of my sister,” Charles demanded.

He stopped to glare at her, his hold on her still tight. “Miss Eleanor is well, and thanked me kindly for the basket o’ food and invited me to tea like a proper lady. And she neither spits nor shouts nor swears like the hellion you is, miss.”

Charles scowled at him. “You have taken tea with my sister, Cuthbert?” She arched a brow. “How she can stand five minutes in your company amazes me sir, for yes, Eleanor is a lady, unlike myself—because I have done everything in my power to ensure she remains one.”

She saw him wince.

“I take it you’ve met our father too? And see how we live? Do you think he’d be alive still if I’d the luxury of behaving as Eleanor does?” Her eyes bored into him. “I do what I must, sir, even if it means stealing chickens, so as to ensure my sister remains the honorable woman she was born. So don’t you dare compare us further.”

Charles heard clapping as Lord Wellesley came into view. “Well said, Miss Merrinan. Well said.”

Both she and Cuthbert scowled in equal turn at his lordship.

“Found her locked in the turret, Yer Grace, sneakin’ about. No doubt lookin’ t’ escape.”

“My lord, inform your man I was but surveying the rooms I am to oversee as housekeeper here, and that I appreciate neither his tone nor his rough handling of my person.” Charles again tried unsuccessfully to free herself from Cuthbert’s grip.

Lord Wells looked at the two, a shine in his eye. “I see staff proves difficult yet again . . . And here I was pleased with myself for convincing Mrs. Jenkins to come cook for us.”

“You did, my lord?” Charles’s thoughts immediately shifted. “Oh, that is wonderful news! You won’t regret it, I assure you. Did you try her rum nicky? It’s her best dish.”

Only Cuthbert yanked her back into line. “Don’t you interrupt his grace when he’s talkin’, gel.”

“John,” Wells admonished, “you are to treat Miss Merrinan with the respect she is due as housekeeper here.”

Cuthbert’s eyes widened, at last letting go her arm.

Wellesley’s brow darkened. “As my steward and my housekeeper I shall depend upon you both to keep the rest of Almsdale’s staff in line, and childish disagreements, such as the one displayed just now, shall not be tolerated. Do I make myself clear?” He eyed them both sharply.

“Yes, sir,” they mumbled, heads down.

“Good. Now I’d like a word with Cuthbert first, before I deal with you, miss, so I advise you to head to my room where you will find paper and ink still, that you begin a list of household supplies needed. As I am sure you have seen, there is a mountain of work to be done here, and I’d like you to start forthwith.”

“Of course, my lord.” Charles curtsied in Lord Wellesley’s breeches, a ridiculous sight she was sure.

His lordship smirked before adding, “And you may wish to stand , rather than sit, while your write your list, Miss Merrinan,” making her ears burn as she walked away.

***

John Cuthbert launched straight in the moment she was gone, livid that Lord Wells had made this woman housekeeper of Almsdale. The last thing he needed was a hot-tempered miss ordering him about.

“Yer Grace, beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but that gel’s not fit to?—”

“She is quite fit, John, deliciously so, and I daresay perfectly fit to run a household too. It suits my purpose twofold: She remains respectable by day and agreeable in my bed at night. I see no reason to change my mind so don’t even try.” Wells shot him a look. “I know you don’t like her, John, but I insist you learn to work with her. She’s got a good head on her shoulders and has proven useful with the locals already.”

“But sir, she’s usin’ you to?—”

“Of course she’s using me, John. As I am using her. I’d think less of her if she didn’t. You’ve met her family. I imagine they’re poor as dirt but come from some class somewhere back, else she wouldn’t be so educated, nor nearly so conceited. So you do your job and she’ll do hers, and with luck by spring this place will be halfway hospitable.”

Cuthbert sighed. It was a losing battle, he knew, but he looked Wells in the eye anyway and tried once more. “That gel’s trouble, sir, and I’ve me eye on a different miss for you in town, a prettier one who’s neither so clever nor so?—”

But Wells stopped him short. “John, I don’t need another girl, this one suits. You leave Miss Merrinan to me. Besides, I’ve more pressing business for you to attend to anyway.” And his lordship launched into a list of tasks he wanted done yesterday.

John shook his head, thinking his master was as stubborn as his pig-headed new mistress; the two deserved each other.

Wells snuck up on Charles bent over his chest of drawers, writing. His old breeches hugged her buttocks so delightfully he placed both hands at either cheek, making her jump enough to ruin her line, ink trailing across the page. He heard her snort in irritation.

“And how is your bottom today, miss, better, I hope?” His hands slid to her waist as he gently pressed himself against her, sliding them further up her torso to cup her fulsome breasts.

She sucked in her breath, as if unused to a man’s wanton touch, and drily answered, “Sore, my lord.”

“Pity,” he said. “I had hoped to ruin you before dinner, but I see I’ll have to wait.” He did not intend to ruin her today, or even tomorrow, not after this morning’s fiasco. He was going to take his time with her, but he didn’t want her to know that. Anticipation, after all, bred desire, and he wanted her good and ready for him when he finally did claim her.

“Have you finished your list of supplies? And what do you make of the Abbey, Charles? I am curious to hear my new housekeeper’s thoughts.”

She turned about only to find herself trapped in his arms, for Wells had no intention of letting her go. He merely petted her as one would a cat, letting down her hair again and swiftly undoing her shirt. He could feel her pulse begin to race, her breaths quicken, while his hands explored her freely.

“As your lordship already knows,” she began with shaky voice, “the Abbey is in great disrepair. The rooms are . . . That is, exterior work must be done first in some places before . . . interior restoration can . . .” She was struggling to speak. “My lord, I beg you I cannot . . . I cannot concentrate when you . . . When . . . ”

His lips met the hollow of her throat, his tongue lapping circles there, teasing her relentlessly, till she cried, “My lord, if you do not stop I shan’t be able to?—”

“What, Charles?” His tongue dipped lower.

“I shan’t be able to complete my duties as housekeeper, sir!” She gasped as he freed one ripe orb from her stays to pop into his mouth.

“Lord Wellesley, I beg you . . .”

“Beg me what, Charles?”

“I beg you, stop!”

So he did, pulling away to stare his fill. She looked deliciously bothered and delectably bewitching, her chest heaving with one breast exposed.

He smiled wickedly. “Very well then, continue.” He lowered himself into a chair across the room.

“Continue? Now? After you’ve just . . .” She seemed appalled.

“You bid me stop so you might continue with your assessment of the Abbey. I have done so, therefore, pray proceed.” He kept his face blank, though his lips twitched.

She stared back, speechless, as if torn between fury and desire, her body caught. He knew that feeling well.

“I’m waiting.” He arched one brow.

And in an instant she’d thrown herself upon him, her lips locking onto his as her hands fisted his hair, demanding he finish what he’d begun. Wells was instantly aroused yet taken aback by her attack, though he returned her kiss with equal ardor. She straddled his lap, despite her bottom’s welts, and he pushed off her shirt, pulling at cords to loosen her stays. He strained to fill her and was shocked when she freed him from his trousers, taking him in her hand as he’d only just shown her how to do.

“Christ, woman, you want me, don’t you.” He broke from her lips, breathing hard as his eyes met hers.

“Yes.” She stared back, repeating simply, “Yes.”

“You’re not ready,” he growled, slipping his hand between her legs.

“I am, my lord.” She barely hesitated. “I am now.”

“No.” He took her mouth again, his hand simply working her through her breeches, though he made her shatter too quickly, wound so tight he hadn’t even needed to stroke bare flesh.

God, she was too much.

She broke from him then, her eyes meeting his with a look he’d not seen before as she dropped from his lap to her knees and surprised him utterly, parting his legs to slip in between, lips willing to kiss and caress what only that morning she’d been terrified to do.

He struggled for control, her hot mouth on his member suddenly too much for his senses, his all-too-fast release embarrassing. As if he were powerless to resist her.

Wells leaned back in his chair, breathing hard, and watched his mistress lick her lips, a hint of triumph in her eyes. Was Cuthbert right? Would she now use him too well? He searched his mind for an answer. Or was she simply awakened to him, as he’d hoped she might become? He didn’t know and almost didn’t care. He exhaled, tangling his hand in her hair as she tucked him back into his trousers and laid her head upon his lap, breathing hard yet herself. They remained that way a moment longer in silence.

“Why am I not ready, my lord?” Charles broke their quiet.

He was again surprised by her. “Because of this morning, Fox. I do not wish to scare you more.”

“But I am no longer frightened.” She lifted her head from his lap.

“I would rather not test that theory.” He grimaced.

“Then how will you know when I?—?”

“I’ll know.”

“But that is not an answer that is?—”

“Hush, girl, trust me to know.”

“Trust is earned, my lord.” Her brow creased.

“Like respect, yes, we’ve established this already.” He pulled her onto his lap again, though she winced to sit on his knee. He adjusted her slightly, till she was made more comfortable.

“You have pleased me greatly thus far, let us leave it at that, and let us endeavor to please one another further, yes?” He turned her chin to look at him.

“Yes, my lord.”

“You enjoy me a little now, I take it?” His look tested as his finger traced her lower lip, the swell of her bosom rousing him anew.

She blushed. “I am not immune to your charms, it seems, sir.”

“I see.” He smirked. “Not immune, good, though I shall have to try harder to get you to actually like me, no doubt.”

And it was her turn to smile, a spark in her eye. “I like that you intend to try, my lord.” Her smile became a veritable grin. “As if you wished to court me, rather than command me.”

Wells laughed before he kissed her again hard, savoring her awhile, leaning her back to demand her full surrender. “A fox is wooed before it is tamed, yes. And I’ve a feeling that to command you, Charles, a degree of taming need happen first.” He fondled her more, pinching a nipple almost roughly as he added, “Though it would be wise, Miss Merrinan, you not forget your place in the natural order of things.”

“I’ve no illusions as to my position here, Lord Wellesley.” She stiffened slightly upon his lap. “My allegiance to your lordship is no longer in question.”

“Good.” He continued to pet her. “Then let us speak now as to your other duties to me here, for it is not all play we will engage in, miss, but work, too.”

She leaned in to tickle his ear with a low, heated breath, breasts falling dangerously close to his lips. “It is my pleasure to obey you, Lord Wellesley,” she whispered in a seductive, sultry tone.

And with a groan Wells fell to feasting on her anew, all thought of work having utterly fled his mind.