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

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

E leanor Merrinan carefully poached two eggs for her father, the way he liked them, then sighed deeply, wishing Charles were home to enjoy this rich breakfast too. Why had she not come to see them, and what was she up to at the Abbey? In what position had she found work? Eleanor shook her head, worried.

She had just set a plate before Papa, who’d asked three times already where Charles was, when a knock surprised, too early still for callers.

“Mr. Cuthbert, sir,” she exclaimed upon opening the door. She pulled her shawl closer about her, blushing that he should see her in her nightdress, hair unbound.

The man turned a shade red himself. “Ma’am, er, miss.” He held out a basket while staring at his feet.

“We did not . . .” she stammered. “We did not expect you so early I’m afraid.” Her blush deepened. “But come in for a bite, sir. Have you broken fast yet this morning?”

Mr. Cuthbert merely stared at her, which she took to mean yes, and shooting him a little smile, she bid him enter, which he finally did.

She sat him across from Papa, who looked up from his eggs and began to speak to the man as if the fellow were his steward rather than Lord Wellesley’s.

Eleanor was mortified.

She quickly placed a hand on her father’s shoulder. “Papa,” she chided, “you mustn’t order our visitor about when he is our guest. Eat your eggs and give the man some peace.” She smiled warmly at Mr. Cuthbert, doing her best to smooth any slight made by Papa.

***

John felt his insides melt.

“It is very kind of you to bring us more provisions again so soon, sir. We are overcome by his lordship’s generosity, truly.”

She placed two eggs and a hunk of bread with butter before him, then proceeded to pour him tea. Butter ! John thought. How’d that bloody get in the basket?

“Yet I must ask you, sir, have you news of my sister? Is she well?” Her face registered concern. “It is unlike Charles not to send word.”

He rummaged in his pocket and brought out a letter, which she eagerly unfolded, her relief upon reading it palpable.

“Oh thank goodness!” she exclaimed. “Housekeeper is indeed an excellent position, one she will no doubt . . .” She broke off, skimming the letter. “Yet my sister writes she may not visit for some time. Why?” Her bold, brown eyes met Cuthbert’s with nothing short of dismay. “How is she not allowed time off, sir? I do not understand. Surely one day a fortnight, even a month, household staff is allowed a day’s rest?”

John cleared his throat. “There were the matter o’ the chickens, miss,” he mumbled into his plate to spare the young lady more humiliation.

“I see.” She looked away. “Well, we shall make do then, and I will write her back, of course.”

“Happy t’ deliver yer correspondence, miss,” he told her.

“Would you?” She beamed at him. “Thank you, sir. I should be most grateful, only . . .” Her face promptly fell.

“Is aught the matter, miss?”

She continued looking down. “It is only . . . I wonder, sir, if when you come next you might spare paper and ink for me?”

He immediately relaxed. “O’ course, miss.”

She visibly brightened. “I am much obliged, sir. More tea?”

He merely nodded, feeling tongue-tied before this lovely lady, especially as she was in her night-rail yet, and with her dark hair cascading down her back he wanted nothing more than to bury his face into those rich brown waves and inhale her.

She poured him another cup and, noting his plate already empty, delivered him another slice of bread, but not before she’d heaped butter on it again. Their eyes met over the table and she smiled, making John look away a little fast, his cheeks blazing as she chatted on.

“Does his lordship plan to stay long at Almsdale, sir? Does he wish to make a home here for himself? The village must be aflutter with the news, I imagine. And is Lord Wellesley a good man, sir? Is he . . .” She hesitated. “Is he a fair master, now that my sister is employed at the Abbey? She is outspoken, you see, and I should hope he does not count the matter of her”—she struggled—“ indiscretion all too much against her, Mr. Cuthbert. Charles has not a bad bone in her body, truly. She acts only out of?—”

“She’s his housekeeper now, miss.” He gruffly cut her off. “And he’s a good and fair master, one I’d give me life for. She could do worse’n work for Lord Wells.”

“I see. Thank you, Mr. Cuthbert. You have eased my conscience much.”

“ Yer conscience?”

“Yes.” Her face turned grave. “Charles does everything to ensure our wellbeing, you see, so I feel responsible for her behavior as she acts solely out of concern for us.” She made for the stove, clearly trying to hide tears.

John fell a pang of guilt towards Wellesley’s new mistress, then pushed aside the thought, ornery woman that she was. He watched Charles’s sister, all sweetness and grace, hastily wipe her eyes and fry him another egg. He thought again how different the two were.

“Hungry still, sir?” she called out.

“Don’t mind if I do, miss,” he answered, watching her. He could watch this girl all day, he thought. And then he berated himself. He’d more errands to run. He couldn’t just sit here staring at her.

She served him again then joined him at the table, her father having nodded off at his plate, his soft snores making his chin wobble a little. John looked from her father to her and crinkled his eyes.

The small smile she flashed him was pure sunshine.

Charles sat in the parlor, knitting, while Lord Wellesley and his steward sat across a chessboard, deep in thought. She’d been at Almsdale for over a week now and had managed to send Eleanor a letter and receive one in return, relieved to hear both her sister and father were well, having been visited not a few times already by John Cuthbert and his baskets. They were provided for, as promised, and she had slept the better for it, though she wished to God she might lay eyes on them again herself. That would depend entirely on his lordship’s whim, of course, something Charles was as yet unwilling to test.

He’d still not debauched her, letting her bottom heal and letting her settle in as housekeeper too. Which is not to say he hadn’t taken advantage of her otherwise, for she’d been manhandled plenty in his bed, here in his sitting room, in the kitchen, even in the Abbey’s halls. That he could sneak up on her so stealthily still took her aback, but he’d not been more cruel; she counted herself lucky, though she recalled his warning well enough. She also recalled how she’d taken matters into her own hands, or mouth, as it were, that day she’d learned on her knees how she might control him . Lord Wellesley may have made her his mistress, but that’s all he would get from her, and not a bit more.

Charles had also taken in his lordship’s breeches and shirt, fitting these to her person better and feeling more comfortable in male garb. She found she liked men’s clothes; Lord Wells told her he liked her in trousers too. But this would change as soon as her new uniform arrived from the dress shop.

She almost wished it wouldn’t.

She’d begun airing two bedrooms already, layers of neglect nearly overwhelming at the outset, but she’d told herself she had a job to do and would do it doggedly. Her family would have food and heat this winter—that’s all that mattered. She’d taken stock of several of the Abbey’s rooms with his lordship, the two deciding together which should be scrubbed and which would require more structural repairs first.

In secret she’d also begun work on the sea room, though she’d not told Lord Wellesley this, wishing to keep it to herself. Every morning she went first thing, after she’d finished baking and while the men were still noisily at breakfast. She gave herself an hour only in the magical space, but already she’d made progress.

***

Wells stole a peek at his mistress across the chessboard and thought of all he now knew about her, and just how little that truly was. He had used his ability at stealth—a skill he’d perfected at sea of all places—to secretly follow his housekeeper about on her first day of work. Unsurprisingly, he’d found her in the shell room, busily scrubbing. Yet he was gratified she found pleasure in her new position, because a happy mistress was, after all, a pleasing mistress. Wells might like his women spirited, but Charles Merrinan had pushed his limits before; he had no desire to cob her again. Ever.

He watched Cuthbert frown at the board, searching for a move with which to deflect.

“Take your time, John.” Wells got up to fetch himself a drink. “More whiskey?” he called over his shoulder.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Cuthbert answered even as Wellesley’s ears pricked.

“ Rook to castle ,” he thought he heard Charles mutter to his steward. From the corner of his eye Wells watched her casually walk over to whisper something else into John’s ear, then continue to the hearth to stoke the fire, cool as a cucumber.

Wells returned to the board and handed Cuthbert his glass.

“Interesting move, John.” He neatly countered with his own. “Where to now?” He looked his steward in the eye as he settled back into his seat.

Cuthbert swigged his drink and grimaced.

“Or should I ask Miss Merrinan’s opinion instead?”

She stiffened but remained focused on her task, stitches moving fast about her four needles in click, wrap, clack.

“I should think I have no opinion, my lord,” she answered calmly.

“Oh I should think you do,” Wells said, just as calm.

***

Charles sucked in her breath.

“Sit with us, miss,” Lord Wellesley ordered, and she knew at once she’d been found out.

Cuthbert downed the rest of his whiskey and set his glass aside with a clink. “I’m out, sir, let her play t’ end. I’ve an early start tomorrow as ’tis.”

“Very well,” his lordship replied. “Good night, John.”

“Yer Grace.” Cuthbert left them.

Alone.

Charles remained frozen in her seat, though her needles knit and purled with even speed. She feared Lord Wellesley was displeased.

“Well, don’t just sit there, girl, come finish the game,” he grumbled. “How long have you been staring at Cuthbert’s attempts and biting your tongue, I wonder?”

She gulped but put down her knitting to take the steward’s still-warm seat. “Forgive me, my lord. It is easy to let one’s mind wander when one’s hands are otherwise engaged.”

“Hmph.” He motioned to the board. “Your move.”

She executed it with ease.

Wells countered.

Yet her next move left him visibly agape, and she could not bring herself to speak the words expected, fearing reprisal if she should.

“My, my.” He shook his head, leaning back to stare at her. “You do surprise.”

Charles lowered her head. “My lord, I wished only to help Cuthbert save face, as you have beaten him roundly these past three nights and I thought it a little much for him to bear more?—”

He let out a choked laugh, shaking his head. “ You wished spare Cuthbert’s pride? You, who deride the man near daily?” He bit his lip against more laughter. “Oh you must hate to see me win. I should think this is less about Cuthbert than it is about me, miss.”

“Not everything is about you, sir.” She instantly regretted her words.

His eyes bored into her. “No, it isn’t, is it?”

She refused to meet his gaze. “I’ll not interfere again, my lord, you’ve my word.”

“Your word, eh?” When she dared a glance those same eyes narrowed at her. “And just what is your word worth, Charles? Worth more than Cuthbert’s? A man I’d trust with my life, have entrusted?”

“My word is as good as any man’s, my lord.”

“As good as John’s I think not.”

“And why should a woman’s word hold less weight than a man’s?”

For a moment their eyes locked on one another, his lordship’s stare inscrutable, until Charles decided to ask what had long now bothered her; she may as well anger him more.

“For that matter, why do you allow your steward and servants to insult the Duchy with rank impudence, my lord, when it is clear you are not yet Duke?”

Wellesley’s lips tightened. “I need not answer either brash question.” He scowled. “But because I do not wish either brought up again, ever ,” he stressed, “I will answer you this once. Only once.”

Charles gulped.

“My men know I am less than eager to become the next Duke.” He grimaced. “For reasons that do not concern you.” His eyes flashed. “When we arrived at the Abbey they believed it time I got used to the idea, given my father’s ailing health, and so took to addressing me as His Grace.”

He’d flinched upon saying the title aloud, emboldening her to probe further. “But that does not explain why you suffer their abuse, sir, only why they do it.”

“Yes, Charles.” He spoke through his teeth. “Yet that is all I will say on the subject.” He inhaled, nostrils flaring once more. “Men as faithful as mine, as steadfast as Cuthbert, will always have my respect, regardless of insult.”

She was still shocked that a future Peer of the Realm should so lower himself before such ruffians. “I see,” she said, not really seeing at all. “Yet a woman who dares address you as Your Grace is . . .”

“Women cannot be trusted, Charles.”

She let out a hiss of hot air as fresh rage bubbled inside her—with nowhere to go.

***

Wells watched her stick out her chin at him. It aroused him, that pert little chin of hers, and he was pleased he’d managed to provoke her. “Now be a good girl and come sit on my lap, that I might pet you a while before I take you to bed. I’ve a mind to finally debauch you tonight, as punishment for your ruining my game.”

The way she bit her lip, glowering at him, aroused him only more.

She grudgingly seated herself on the edge of his lap, still stewing, he could tell, before he turned her to straddle him, hands busy at her shirt, quick to bare her stays. She remained stiff and stubborn.

“What, no kisses tonight, Fox? And here I thought we’d moved past your mulish reticence. I thought you’d come to like me just a little.”

“I like you less tonight, sir.” Her tone was flat.

“Because I tell you women cannot be trusted?” His lips met the valley of her breasts. “I know it to be a fact, Charles, else I should never have left London. Women all profess one thing, then do the opposite. I’d not trust you with my life for a second, girl.” His hands, gripping her backside, pulled her to his crotch.

“Yet you trust me with your sex, sir.” She leaned in and bit his ear, making him wince. “You trust me with your hearth, your bread.” Her mouth moved to his neck, nipping flesh harder still. “You’d trust Cuthbert with your life but not just any man, meaning not all men are created equal either.” Her teeth now traced the swell of his Adam’s apple, dipping to his windpipe, where so positioned he felt she might crush it with her jaw. “So how is it you claim all women are the same, my lord?”

Wells inhaled a breath; her words were argued well. Rationally. They gave him pause. “Because Eve, my dear, brought Adam’s downfall.”

“Eve, my lord, gave Adam the world .” She lifted her head to face him. “Would you rather discover the world, Lord Wellesley, in all its exquisite, complex wonder, or remain eternally a babe in Eden?”

His pulse quickened. “I did not say I regretted Eve’s decision, woman.”

“Good,” she told him, “because I thank her for it every goddamn day.”

And then her lips met his in a dark and daring kiss, obliterating all further talk, until he carried her to his bed. There, he stripped her of all clothing and laid her out, his thoughts single-minded in purpose. He was done waiting. If she wished to embrace Eve’s downfall he would show her this night how that downfall happened, and she would thank him for it after.

His knee pushed her legs wide as his hands gripped her hips, lips meeting one breast, making her gasp. Then he leaned in close, his breath at her ear caressing, “You’re ready, Fox, and I’ll no longer wait. Tell me you are Eve and I will give you Adam.”

In answer she arched her back and pulled him down, her nails scoring through his clothes to draw him closer, her mouth on his own her sole answer. His Fox, it seemed, gave in to him at last.

His hand slid inside to test her, finding her willing, eager even beneath his touch. He stroked her there while his tongue returned her kiss, testing and teasing as he brought her close but not too, wanting her at the edge when he entered, wanting to revel in her surrender. His hand stroked a rhythm till she whimpered with need, and then he undid his fall and with one thrust broke her defense, delighting in her undoing. He freed her lips to gaze down at her face, her eyes wide with surprise as he eased himself in, her mouth parting in shock and something akin to . . . fear?

He tensed, waiting, then said softly, “It hurts but once, Fox, and I promise to be gentle. Move with me, Charles. Let Eve’s body feel.”

And she relaxed—he could feel her body give as he opened her to him, taking great care, though he wished only to plunder her depths with abandon. He steeled himself to ease her in slowly, his hand returning to work her core, rewarded by another gasp as he felt her open more. Eyes locked on her face, he increased his pace, checking again for more pain, but her fear had now vanished, replaced by wonder as he finally let go his restraint. He took her less gently as she took him now eagerly, open to the experience. When she shuddered under and around him, his own response was near to desperate as he pulled out in haste to spend across her belly, collapsing atop her in a heap.

Wells lay there breathing shallowly, his mistress’s chest rising and falling beneath his weight. When her hand crept up to fondle the curls at his nape, he moaned, content to suckle at her breast.

“My lord,” she whispered, “I did not know it would be like this.”

He shifted his weight, then rolled off her, slaked. “I did not hurt you?” His hand plied the stickiness at her belly, kneading his seed into her skin.

“No.” Her hand joined his in play. “You did not hurt me.”

They lay there a moment more in silence, until she ventured at what felt like forgiveness.

“Thank you for waiting, my lord. I do not think . . .” She struggled for words. “I do not think I should have been so willing had you . . .” She swallowed. “I am grateful you did not force me sooner, Lord Wellesley,” she said more formally. “It is no small thing for a woman to give herself to a man and I?—”

His lips took hers in a searing kiss. “I know it is no small thing, Charles, but it is no terrible thing either I hope you now see. It is a joy between man and woman—the knowledge Eve longed to gain.” He looked her in the eye. “There is no shame in such knowledge, Charles. I hope you will no longer feel shame in being my mistress.”

She smiled then, timidly curling herself into his body. “I shall try, my lord. And I shall try to like you more too, now that I may enjoy you.” Her eyes sparked up at him, filling him with delight.

He drew her closer. “That pleases me greatly, Fox, and the more you please, my dear, the greater my wish to please you in return.” His lips suckled a tender place at her neck until he felt her melt deeper into his arms. Until her hands moved to undress him, eager to press her flesh to his own, as if his mistress relished his naked self, just as much.