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

Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

W ells awoke early, sore but refreshed, and eager to return to the stone. It had felt bloody good to work his body yesterday, and he meant to do more. Just as he’d worked alongside his crew at sea, he’d work here, too, on the Abbey. He was able-bodied enough, and hell and devil if it wasn’t better to tire oneself with physical labor and in so doing, tire one’s infernal mind. Besides, Adams’s men had warmed to him some by day’s end; they’d see today he meant to pull his weight. His pitching in would also see the job finished that much faster.

He’d grabbed a slice of cold meat pie from yesterday’s dinner before heading out, passing Jenkins in the hall, who told him he should come back in an hour for proper breakfast for my, but don’t his lordship rise early! He’d merely winked at her, mouth full, to indicate he would. Wells thanked his lucky stars Charles had found him such a fine cook—and good riddance to Tom’s sodding stews.

Only then he thought of his housekeeper, wondering how she’d slept on her hard little bed last night, in that drafty closet room of hers. Cold, no doubt, without hearth for heat. He felt a twinge of guilt before he quashed it, imagining she’d learn to curb her tongue now that she knew his bed at least was warm. In fact, he would insist she come to him with an apology that included a good fuck, which he’d deny her out of hand, making her regret her words to him that much more. She must learn her words bore consequences not even her body could repair—and just see how long she held out. He gave her another day at most before she came begging him to bed her, for his mistress was a hoyden, through and through.

“Milord,” exclaimed Adams in surprise. “Joinin’ us again, sir?”

“I am,” said Wells. “The sooner we finish the better, and if that means I put my back into it, so be it.”

Adams looked him over. “Glad t’ have you. ’T’ain’t often a workin’ man finds a blueblood willin’ t’ break a sweat.”

“I spent some years at sea,” Wells offered, “and I can tell you she cares not a whit what blood you’re made of. She’ll swallow a man on a whim only to spit his bones to shore.”

“That where your London fellas come from?”

“Indeed,” said Wells, smiling. “A rough but loyal crew. I swore I’d give them work in the off season, but they’ll set sail again come spring with a new captain; my days at sea are over.”

“Glad t’ hear it, sir.” Adams grinned at him. “For you ain’t half bad here on land.” He tipped his hat to Wells before hollering to his men, “Lord Wellesley’s back, lads, so make sure he gives as good as he gets!”

A few stoneworkers looked up to nod at Wells, who’d already rolled up his sleeves, preparing to prove his worth again today, even if a certain housekeeper didn’t see it in him.

Charles had a few girls in mind for laundry and housemaid but had needed to confer with Jenkins as to scullery and kitchen help. With names in hand she next sought Cuthbert, only to be told he was working the south wall. So out she went, greeting Mr. Adams for the second day in a row.

“Mornin’, Miss Merrinan,” he called down to her. “Fancy seein’ you again, lass.”

“Yes, Mr. Adams, duty calls.” She made a face. “Is Mr. Cuthbert here? I need a word with him, if I may.”

“You may, and he is.” Adams hollered over his shoulder, “Cuthbert! You’re wanted!”

The steward looked up from his work, even as Lord Wells did too, his eyes meeting Charles’s for no more than a second before he turned his back to her.

She felt her cheeks pink and hoped Adams hadn’t noticed.

Cuthbert climbed down. “What’s it now?” he grumbled.

“I need to go into town.”

He merely glared at her.

She glared back. “Will you take me?”

“No.” He scowled. “I’m in the middle o’ somethin’.”

Her own frown deepened. “Then I shall go myself,” Charles announced, spinning on her heel to march off towards the stables, thinking she’d show the steward she’d manage just fine without him.

“Now wait just a—!” he yelled after her, his footsteps fast following.

***

A few minutes later and John was back at the wall.

“Yer Grace?” he called up to his lordship, who expelled an oath before swinging himself down from the scaffolding.

“Speak, man.”

“Yer housekeeper insists she needs t’ go to town, sir.” John kept his voice low, nodding towards the stables. “T’ see about the new help, hirin’ the staff you agreed to. Only I can’t take her now meself and?—”

“Blasted woman,” Wells huffed. “Let her go, John, but have her tailed. Put Fergus or Pinky on her. I don’t think she’ll bolt, but nor do I trust her entirely either.”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded. “Pinky ’tis.”

“And John . . .”

“Sir?”

“Have Pinky see me after. I’ll want a report.”

John nicked his head in answer before he took off for the stables again, thinking that if Adams had overheard their conversation he’d wonder why his lordship took such interest in his housekeeper—and why his steward addressed his lordship as ‘his grace.’ Though if the man were smart, he’d forget whatever he’d just heard.

Charles felt glorious in the saddle, on the road, alone. She hadn’t ridden in years, and the mount she’d been grudgingly given was a sweet old mare that barely needed handling. The horse plodded along at an easy pace while Charles took in the fresh fall air and raucous birdsong. She relished the fact she was at last outside the Abbey’s walls—without Cuthbert stuck at her side like an ornery burr.

That she was being followed did not surprise her; she’d expected as much. But even this did not irk Charles. She had no need to flee if Lord Wells had lost interest in bedding her, because now she might be wholly and truly housekeeper of Almsdale, a respectable position with respectable pay. She could save her earnings till she had dowry enough for Eleanor and a bit left over for herself. And she’d have help about the Abbey soon too. She’d not be the only one scrubbing furniture, walls, and floors. Eventually, she’d do no scrubbing at all but simply manage her staff. That, after all, was what a real housekeeper did.

She urged her steed on, nudging the old mare into a trot, then a canter, and finally, feeling reckless, pushed her into a gallop. Only after a minute or two her mount balked at the exertion. Charles let her fall back into her steady amble. She’d not tax the poor creature more on such a glorious day as this. She could enjoy a slow ride too. After all, who knew when she’d be allowed out again on her own. Or perhaps she might steal a better horse next time to go joyriding on a day when Lord Wells was absent. Though when that might be . . .

No , she chastised herself. She’d not steal a horse, she’d simply borrow one. She would not add horse thief to her list of crimes.

Her thoughts reverted to Lord Wellesley at the south wall this morning, working alongside Adams’s men. Who the devil did he think he was, laboring like a commoner? He did not behave like a duke’s son, and she felt further stymied by his actions. Why he’d left London in the first place was a mystery still, not to mention why he’d brought such a rough crew of men with him. As to why he’d roll up his sleeves like a field hand, lifting stone . . . She could not fathom the man.

Yet the vision of his bare forearms resurfaced in her mind. She felt a small ache in her middle, realizing she’d missed his touch last night. Not his anger, not his prodding, and certainly not his pompous behavior—just his touch.

Charles sighed, irritated with herself for thinking of Lord Wellesley at all.

Wells heard the clatter of hooves in the courtyard and looked up, surprised to see both Charles and Pinky ride in on their respective mounts. He grimaced to imagine why the devil Pinky now accompanied her back, but he willed himself not to react. He’d find out later.

Still, his mistress looked good on a horse, confident even. Cuthbert had done right to give her an old nag, but she sat the beast well. And she’d donned his old breeches again, making her shape that much more . . . He shook off the thought. Where the deuce had she learned to ride? Did all Cumberland women know their way around a horse? He found that hard to believe, especially given Cuthbert’s description of her family. Wells clenched his fists as he heard whistles and catcalls from Adams’s men. Charles had just dismounted and damn but if those breeches didn’t hug her arse tight.

Adams barked his disgust. “Leave off,” he shouted, glowering at his men, “or I’ll box ears myself.” Then he called down to Charles, “Beg pardon, miss. They’re not used t’ seein’ a lass dressed as a lad.”

“No offense taken, Mr. Adams.” She smiled up at him, bold as could be. “Were a side saddle in sight I’d have kept my skirts, but as it were, I’d no choice but to straddle my mount.”

Wells heard the men around him suck in their breaths while his face burned. She’d meant those words for him, he knew.

He ushered a swift rebuke. “You’ll don skirts if you want to keep your position here, woman.” His voice thundered across the courtyard. “No servant of mine parades her wares about my Abbey like a common strumpet.”

Charles blushed crimson at his dress down, bobbed a meek, skirtless curtsy, and scurried inside the Abbey.

Adams caught his eye as Wells muttered, “She’s a mouth on her, that one.”

“Aye,” the mason said with a smirk, “that she do.”

And they all returned to work, Wells seething inside while still aroused by her figure—along with half the men beside him no doubt too.