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

Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

C harles awoke again to the familiar male prod of morning virility, tensing a moment before a hand gripped her hip.

“I swore I’d not abuse you, Fox,” his lordship’s voice rumbled, “and I meant it.”

She relaxed as she rolled over to face him in the bed. “You were most gentle last night, my lord.” She kissed him timidly. “I enjoyed your attentions.”

“Did you?” He grinned back, kissing her nose in return. “I enjoyed you too, Charles.” He moved to taste her lips. “You make a fine mistress, Miss Merrinan.” His hand stroked the dip at her waist. “I look forward to teaching your lovely body more ways it might enjoy my own.”

She tried hard not to smile in return, but failed, his grin infectious.

“Ah, she laughs. See, she is no stone after all.” His eyes crinkled. “You are beautiful when you smile, Charles.” His hand stroked her cheek, making her blush.

“Please do not say that, sir.” She looked away. “We are not lovers; I am but your servant in bed.”

“And that precludes tenderness?” He frowned, turning her chin to look at him. “Surely kind words between master and mistress are allowed, Charles. One needn’t be in love to show affection.”

“I wouldn’t know sir.”

***

Wells was bedeviled by her response. “Charles,” he pressed, “explain your hesitation, woman.”

“I cannot, sir. I know only that it pains me when you speak too tenderly.”

He was confounded by her manner, though perhaps Cuthbert was right. Perhaps she was overly clever.

“Well I’ll not apologize for that,” he said a little gruffly.

“Oh I didn’t . . .” She looked visibly upset. “I didn’t mean it, sir. I am abysmal at this.” She hid her face in his chest.

His frown deepened though he held her to him. “Charles you are far from abysmal at this.” He stroked her hair. “In fact you’re quite good. Very good I should say.” He shifted himself away from her body out of sheer necessity.

“It is not the act I am referring to, my lord,” she mumbled into his chest. “It is the . . .” The words rushed out. “It is the fact that emotion appears attached to this act which I neither anticipated nor wanted, and so I would beg you, sir, to refrain from tenderness lest I?—”

At last he understood. “Lest you develop feelings you would rather not have, I see.” He peeled her face from his chest to notice she’d blushed pink; she was more innocent than he thought.

“Charles, it is natural to feel something in return, especially for a woman as, well, passionate as yourself.” He’d indulge her this much. “Words of endearment are normal between lovers, and you may in good faith call us lovers. A mistress is not a whore, I’ve told you this before. You are allowed to feel and enjoy yourself. But neither is a mistress more; no position is, after all, permanent.” He chose his next words carefully. “Nor am I inclined to attach myself to the fairer sex, though I will no doubt be forced to attach myself in marriage one day.” He grimaced. “Which is not to say a married man might not keep a mistress too,” he amended, “or even his wife take a lover, should she be discreet.” His hands began to rove about her body.

***

Charles mulled over his words. “I see, my lord. You will marry one day but not for love, and you will take a mistress again after marriage, but also not for love.” She met his eyes. “It is surely as much burden as gift, to be born a peer, in service to both crown and family title. You are duty bound in ways we common folk might only dream of, yet duty commands you just as surely as you command us.”

He simply looked at her, seeming stunned.

“You are not free, my lord, to live life as you wish.” Charles felt as if she saw him for the first time. “You appear to have great freedom, and in most ways you do, yet all this time I thought myself the one imprisoned here, but you, too, are chained.” She furrowed her brow. “More gilded chains by far, but chains no less.” Charles lowered her eyes. “I mean no disrespect, my lord, I only just remark.” She’d noticed his expression turn, realizing she’d perhaps said too much. “I shall keep my thoughts to myself, in future, please forget all I just said.”

He tipped her chin up to look at him. “We are none of us free, Fox. We only pretend to be.” He kissed her harder this time, urgent enough to prick in her a similar need. His eyes searched her face for recognition, demanding, “Will you run from me still, woman? Or have I tamed you at last? Answer me honestly now: Do you still long for escape?”

Her breath caught, for his eyes pooled like storm-tossed oceans, depths she felt herself pulled into, drowning. “No, my lord.” Charles surprised herself, her voice a bare whisper. “I’ll not run now, but I will leave you one day, as surely as you will leave me.”

His face shifted almost imperceptibly. “Yes, it is the way of things, though some days, Fox, I’d give anything to take a different path.” He buried his face at her neck, inhaling her before he kissed her madly almost, making her gasp with real feeling, until she’d loudly cried, “ My lord! ”

His head snapped back. “I’ve a name, you know.” He let that sink in. “It’s time you learned to use it.”

She was stunned again by his change of mood yet wagered it safe enough to be bold. “Then tell me your name, Lord Wellesley.” She looked him straight on. “Your name and age. A lover ought to know such things.”

His eyes flashed. “Yes, a lover ought, Charles Merrinan, five and twenty. I am nine and twenty, and my name is Roland Rutherford Wellesley.”

She laughed; she couldn’t help it.

“And might I ask what is so funny, miss?”

“Nothing, sir, nothing at all, Roland Rutherford .” She bit her lip. “It is only you have finally become real, you see.” She continued to inwardly laugh. “Until this moment you have been but a nameless lord and master, and now, sir, you are flesh and blood.”

“I daresay I’ve been flesh and blood, girl.” He arched an eyebrow.

“Yes.” She kissed him softly. “Yes but now there is a name for that flesh and blood, a name I might invoke and taste”—she licked the bob of his Adam’s apple with a flick of her tongue—“and ponder and swallow and think on and?—”

“Swallow, eh?” His grin was almost impish. “I like it when you swallow, miss.”

“I like how you taste, sir,” she answered, coy.

He laughed outright. “You’re a minx, not a fox, woman! And I will taste you now, this very minute, before I take you again. If you will have me, mistress. Say you will, Charles. Do but say it.”

She watched his eyes for the first time waver.

“Aye, Roland Rutherford.” His name was honey on her tongue. “I’ll have you, sir, if you’ll have me.”

Wells felt lighter somehow, his feet less heavy upon the flagstone corridor as he went in search of his steward. His head was filled with fewer details and detritus. He’d left his bed content this morning, his new mistress at last more balm than adversary. She was quite delicious, really—perfectly suited to frigging and to keeping house. He nearly laughed, for isn’t that what a man wanted in a wife? Yet he hadn’t had to marry her to get it, he’d simply taken her—better yet! He pictured his mistress as he’d just left her: tousled and tangled in the sheets, so thoroughly fucked she’d looked wanton and spent and . . . God, he wished to go back and have her again.

And why not? he thought to himself. He’d find her later today, and again have his way. Wells whistled a little tune under his breath.

Charles wondered if she weren’t in for a reckoning with Lord Wellesley, because he’d suddenly become altogether too tempting; she didn’t know quite how to handle or resist him anymore. How she’d gone from hating the man to now wanting the man in little under a fortnight worried her. Much.

He was becoming all too human. She wished almost he’d not told her his name. She wished almost he’d remained cruel. He might yet , a voice inside her warned. He might hurt her again. He likely would. Only she wished to enjoy him too, now that he’d ignited her senses. She felt so blissfully aware of not only the pleasures of sex but of everything around her, as if the world had grown colors once more. She felt renewed purpose in her job, even in being his mistress. Or was it not joy but relief she felt? No, it was joy—joy in such pleasures as she had discovered.

Charles’s thoughts shifted. She must write again to let Eleanor know she was well. She’d not tell her sister the particulars—she could never reveal the truth of her position here—but she could share her newfound sense of joy. And perhaps now that he might trust her more, Lord Wellesley would let her visit her family again. Perhaps he might even let her run errands in town without Cuthbert traipsing behind.

She would broach it with him carefully, for she would no longer flee, she knew this now with certainty. She would undertake to please Lord Wells, so long as he continued to please her. Charles smiled, thinking Roland Rutherford such a ridiculous, formal-sounding name, so ill-suited to him. She laughed, then promptly frowned. She ought to rein in her joy a little. It would not do for Almsdale’s housekeeper to appear flushed and flustered. She had a job to do—her other job a private matter between his lordship and her. Those thoughts she’d keep to herself, locked up.

Charles made her way towards the sea room to spend her first hour there, in another place where she found joy. It had been so long since she’d felt joy that she suddenly overflowed with it, feeling it bubble up inside her.

Her step upon the flagstone now felt as surefooted as it felt light.

“Yer Grace.” John caught up with his lordship just as he was leaving the Abbey. “I’m headed to the Merrinans if y’ wish t’ join me, sir.”

“Right.” Lord Wells stopped short. “The father and sister. It shall have to wait, Cuthbert; I’m late enough in speaking with Adams. But give them my regards. No.” He paused. “Invite them here next week, once our new cook has settled in. It will give her a dinner to plan, that I might see how well she serves guests.”

John swallowed. “Sir, y’ can’t mean to . . . That is, I don’t think the Merrinans would accept the invitation. Tea at most, but t’ dine with Yer Grace, well, it weren’t seemly.”

“And why?” Wells frowned. “Are they not people too, John? You said yourself Miss Merrinan’s sister is quite the proper lady. It is not as if I am formally entertaining either. The Abbey could not accommodate guests even if I so wished. I thought merely to allow Charles’s family to see that she is cared for here.”

John’s mouth formed a line. “I’m sorry, Yer Grace, but it were better y’ visited them instead. Her old man’s not right in the head. He’s muddled with age and confuses things outright. Who knows how he’d react t’ bein’ in a strange house, far from home.”

Wellesley’s frown deepened. “The Abbey is not far from the man’s home, John, not if the fellow grew up here.” His lordship searched John’s face before capitulating. “Fine then, I shall pay them a visit instead. Now off with you. And I’ll need you later at stonework. We are still short men.”

John left his lordship heading to the south wall, thinking Wells was a might more interested in his mistress’s family than he ought to be.

Then again, he was a might more interested in Miss Eleanor himself.

“He wishes to . . . You mean he . . . ?” Eleanor Merrinan sat down, distraught, leaving John to fear the lady might faint.

“Just t’ stop by, miss, sometime next week perhaps. No need t’ worry yerself about it.” He tried to reassure her.

“But he’s the Duke’s heir, Mr. Cuthbert, and we live in a hovel ,” she cried, her distress only mounting. “He can’t see how we live. Charles would never allow it. Does she know of his intent?”

“Well, I don’t right know, miss,” John replied. “I spoke with Lord Wells only this morn ’bout it.”

“I shall pen her a note forthwith. Have you a minute to spare, sir? Come, seat yourself and eat. I’ll fetch you what is left.” And she made off for a plate before he’d even the chance to reply.

Once she’d placed food before him, John watched her scribble a note to her sister, one lock of hair curling across her face which she pushed back in irritation, only to have it fall forward again. With a snort she finally removed a hairpin and stuck the curl harshly back into place.

God how he wanted to touch her. She was so lovely it made him ache just to look at her.

“There,” she announced, folding the note into quarters. “If you would give this to my sister, sir, I should be most grateful.” She handed him the letter and then threw him a quick smile that was like sunbeams on a cloudy day.

“Happy to, miss.” He smiled back, shyly.

“Mr. Cuthbert do you think . . . ?” She hesitated. “Rather, would you say my sister is happily employed at the Abbey?” She looked at him most keenly.

“Well now”—he chewed his moustache a moment while worrying his hair with his hand—“I should think she’s settled in now. Looks quite smart in her new uniform, she does. And his lordship seems pleased with her, if that’s what y’ mean, miss.”

“Yes, yes.” Eleanor seemed flustered. “But is she happy , Mr. Cuthbert?” Her large brown eyes pooled up at him till he thought he’d puddle right there into the floor.

“Oi, gel,” he got out gruffly, “are any of us really happy?” He abruptly stood to leave. “I thank you for the breakfast, Miss Eleanor, and will deliver yer sister yer note.”

Only she surprised him by saying, “Oh don’t go yet, sir, please.” She blushed. “That is, I have only father to talk to anymore and he is, well, he is rather poor conversation now that Charles is gone.”

John froze. He’d a chance here but wasn’t sure he ought to take it. However, nerves soon gave way as he ventured a shot. “Would y’ like t’ step out with me a ways then, walk me partway back, miss?”

She beamed in response, making him more relieved than she knew. “I should like that very much, Mr. Cuthbert. Just let me fetch my shawl.”

John swallowed, his heart beating fast to think he’d have this gel all to himself a ways longer, to walk beside.

She was back in a flash and followed him out the door. Then, to his amazement and delight, she took his arm. Miss Eleanor walked him halfway back to Almsdale, chatting on about everything and nothing.

His soul soaked up each word she uttered, her voice better than butter.

Charles was busy at Mrs. Jenkins’s room, nearly done scrubbing both floor and walls. Having spied some passable pieces in other rooms, she would consult with Cuthbert next about filling the space with furnishings. He could help her haul them over. She stopped to survey her work, wiping her brow, when she felt a familiar prick of awareness.

Charles turned to find Lord Wells leaning crookedly against the door frame.

“’Twill be a fine chamber for a cook.” He cocked his head at her before he strode across the still damp floor. “And you know well how to scrub a room, housekeeper. Only put down your rag, girl, and come greet your master properly.”

She flinched at his tone, but did as she was told, dropping rag to pail only to have him pull her in for a swift, dark kiss.

“Better,” he murmured at her lips, “though I like you on your knees.”

“My lord, I should finish the room before dinner, sir.”

“I’ll not interrupt you long.” He took her lips again, shoving his tongue down her throat as reminder that she obey.

Charles felt her insides burn.

“I’d have you again right here, woman.” He dove in for another kiss.

“My lord, I’ve work to finish . . .” Her protest sounded feeble.

“Mmm, I know, Charles, but all work and no play makes for a frustrating day.”

She laughed, pulling from him. “I daresay you ought to be kept frustrated some, sir.” Her eyes met his. “It wouldn’t do for me to give in too readily to your desires, lest you tire of me too fast.”

His eyes twinkled. “Know me that well already, do you?” He pulled her taut against his body, his hands cupping her bottom to knead both cheeks through her thick wool skirt. “Very well, Charles. I’ll remember your words when next you need frustrating.”

“You frustrate me enough, Lord Wellesley,” she replied, even as his hands began to roam more boldly. She again pulled away, creating space, and for once he relented, though he kept one of her hands prisoner in his own.

“My lord.” She hesitated.“There is a woman in town I think it wise I go see.”

“And what woman is this, Charles?” He began to play with her fingers.

She blushed. “She is . . . experienced in matters and might counsel me discreetly on how best to . . . That is, if we are to engage more often in coupling, sir, I should like to be better informed.” Her face was likely scarlet it burned so hot.

“I see.” He lapsed into silence. “Quite right, Charles, and spoken like a true mistress.” He kissed the inside of her wrist, flustering her only more. “I shall accompany you when you visit this woman.”

“No!” She was upset. “No, my lord, I will see her alone.”

He frowned. “And why, pray?”

“Why?” She was appalled. “Because if you accompany me she will know at once that you are . . . That I am . . .”

“Still ashamed of your position here, Charles?” He arched his brow.

“No, sir, not with your lordship, but in the eyes of others I cannot . . .” She swallowed. “I must safeguard my sister’s reputation, sir, as well as my father’s. Out of respect to them I would beg you give me leave to visit this woman on my own, in secret. I have given you my word I will not flee, but will return to you, to my position here at Almsdale.”

He pulled her to him once more, fingers lazily this time unhooking her dress. “So you say, yes.” He exposed her stays, his hand fast caressing her bosom. “Only I am not entirely sure I can trust you yet, Charles.” He dipped his head to kiss her décolletage. “Cuthbert will go with you.”

“Cuthbert,” she huffed his name. “Why must Cuthbert shadow my every move, my lord?”

“Because I wish it.” His tongue now probed the valley of her breasts. “And if he tells me you behaved yourself I might even let you accompany him on a visit to your family next.”

“You would?” Charles could barely contain her delight. “Thank you, my lord. I should like to see them again, perhaps on my day off.”

“There are no days off, Charles.” He pushed her to her knees. “And if you wish me to grant you favors you must grant me ones in return.”

She was shocked and aroused, a bundle of conflict. He angled her face to look up at him, and the storm in his eyes met her own with lust.

Charles knew what he wanted, and was shocked to discover she wanted it too. It was less a chore, and more a pleasure, now, to please him. She began to unbutton his fall.

“My mistress learns quickly.” Wellesley’s hands gripped her hair as he inhaled a breath.

Charles bent her head and readily acquiesced.