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

Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“ A nd the table linens, what few of them are usable, are stored here.” Charles opened another cabinet to show her new staff. “Cutlery below. In time, there will be more of everything, but for now we must make do with what is here. I am sure we shall discover more as we begin to unlock the secrets of this house.” She smiled at Ginny and Ruby, who stared back wide-eyed. She knew the two girls had never stepped foot in a place so grand as the Abbey, for despite its disrepair it had once been magnificent. No doubt in their eyes, it still was.

“Now,” she continued, “you shall have a Sunday off every two weeks, though we will stagger those weeks to ensure there are always enough hands here to?—”

“Miss Merrinan!” Fergus’s voice bellowed from below the staircase. “Quick now, there’s been an accident at the wall!”

Charles’s pulse raced as she turned to the girls. “Stay here, explore at will. If you hear calls for help, do whatever is asked of you.”

And then she ran.

The scene that greeted her was sheer chaos. A section of scaffolding had collapsed at the south wall, and men were pinned beneath it. Charles could see limbs only, the able-bodied grabbing beams and planks, anything with which to brace and lift the weight of rock off those still trapped. She hadn’t time to despair, she simply rushed to find Cuthbert, telling him, “I’ll have the girls prepare the main hall to receive injuries.” And she was off, again.

Charles issued commands to whomever she found, telling Fergus to ride as fast as he could for the village doctor. Her new staff made off for linens and water. She bid them find liquor, too. Her mind spun with the magnitude of the disaster as she prayed to God no one had been killed. Broken limbs were a surety. They would need splints, so she ordered Tom to break an old chair. She was so focused on what must be done that with a gasp she realized she’d not seen Lord Wells. Her heart leapt in her throat as she again made for the south wall, assuming he’d been at work there, too.

“John!” She found Cuthbert again. “John,” she repeated, “where is Wells?”

He stared at her a moment. “He’s fine. Where’s the bloody doctor, woman?”

“Fergus rode for him, and my girls are readying supplies to set bones. Bring the injured into the main hall. Tom’s hauling in beds and cutting splints.”

He nodded, as if relieved she knew what she was about. And then he nodded in the direction of his lordship, whom she could see was bloodied but standing, working alongside others to frantically pull rubble off planks.

Her relief was palpable. “What can I do, John?” She turned back to Cuthbert, resolute.

“Ready yer girls for blood, Charles.” He looked grim. “Tell ’em not to faint. And fetch liquor t’ ease the pain.”

Not a one of her girls had fainted, and not a one had failed her either. They’d had trial by fire their first day here, her new staff, and proved themselves more than capable—they were Cumberland hale and hearty. Charles took a moment to catch her breath and survey the room, soft moans punctuating the quiet that had fallen after the last man had been treated. There’d been but one casualty and only two limbs lost. The rest were breaks, cuts, and bruises. No worse injuries, when it could have been far, far worse, she knew.

She walked the room once more, checking that each man was calm, resting. Those that would eat had been fed, and she’d ordered the girls to sleep in shifts to make sure someone was with them at all times. Dressings would have to be changed, especially for the hand and leg that had been lost. The smell of burnt flesh from cauterizing stumps still filled her nostrils as she shuddered, trying to bury the lurid visions and the haunting sounds of screams.

Instead, she made her way to the parlor—the sole room in the house acceptable for guests—where she found Cuthbert, the doctor, and Lord Wellesley, deep in conversation. When she entered, all three looked up at her, his lordship motioning her in.

“How are they, Miss Merrinan?” Dr. Ambrose asked.

“Resting, sir, all. I’ve put Ginny on first watch. She’ll see that bandages are changed as you directed. They’ve been given food and drink.”

“Your girls did well today, Charles,” the doctor told her, “as did you. Your father would be proud.”

“’Tis no less than what any would do, sir.”

“Aye,” he smiled kindly, having known her his whole life, “but it were a wise man as hired you t’ be housekeeper here.” Ambrose turned to Wells. “I’ll be leaving now, Lord Wellesley, but will return come mornin’ t’ check on our patients. There’s naught else can be done for them tonight.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Wells stood from his chair. “Cuthbert will see you out.”

As the steward led the doctor away, Charles finally looked at his lordship. It hurt her to see him still bloodied and bruised. Without a word, she took his hand and pulled him behind her.

“Where are you taking me, woman?” He sounded exhausted.

“To your room, my lord. You need tending.”

Lord Wells let her guide him by hand to his room where she made him sit upon his bed before going immediately to the washstand.

Slowly and gently she cleaned his cuts and scrapes. He had a deep gash above his right eye and winced as she dabbed at it, wincing even more as she worked to rid it of stone dust.

But when she unbuttoned his shirt and saw the bruising along his chest, noting how tender his left ribs were, she inhaled sharply. “Did you let the doctor examine you, Roland?”

His eyes met hers at the sound of his name.

“No need,” he mumbled, obviously in pain.

Charles bit back her anger. “He will see you first thing tomorrow, my lord.”

***

“Charles—” Wells tried to speak but she stopped him short, his mistress stubborn as ever.

“Do not argue with me, Lord Wellesley.” She remained firm. “You are no good to anyone hurt, sick, or dead.” She let out a huff. “And this likely needs stitching, damn you.” She cleaned the gash at his abdomen with her cloth. “Why did you not seek the doctor’s help?”

“Because he’d worse injuries to treat, woman, now stop fussing.” He didn’t like feeling vulnerable before her. He didn’t like when she had the upper hand.

She met his gaze with a look like flint. “It is my job to tend to you, my lord, and I will do my duty by you, whether you want me to or not.”

“And what of your other duty to me, woman? Your other job which you have neglected entirely of late?” He could no longer hide the hurt he felt at her rejection.

“I am available any time you desire me, my lord. It is you who have not sought my company.”

“Liar!” He hissed at the same moment she dug deeper into his gash. “Damn it, Charles, that stings!”

“Forgive me, my lord.” She again made him wince. “I need to clean it.”

“You wish to hurt me,” he grumbled.

“No, Roland, you are hurting yourself.”

She’d said it so softly Wells almost hadn’t heard her, and then he moaned, for she’d turned the cloth to his face, one hand palming his cheek as the other gently wiped blood and dirt from his neck. He wanted so badly to kiss her he ached.

She continued her gentle ministrations as he closed his eyes in pleasure and pain, relishing the touch of her hands on his skin again. And when she carefully removed his shirt altogether, checking his ribs all the way round, he found her touch almost excruciating, searing. It felt like ages since she’d touched him thus, and he longed for so much more.

***

Charles knew she ought to leave—ought to simply bandage his ribs, tuck him into bed, and then check on the men downstairs. But she couldn’t bring herself to go, not yet, not after touching him again after so many days of distance. She wanted to bury her face into the crook of his arm and inhale his musky scent. She wanted to pepper his body with kisses, as he’d attacked her that morning, ages ago. She wanted to hold him to her breast, stroking his unruly mop of hair while curled beside him in his bed. She wanted .

And this want, it seemed, had a will of its own, for without her bidding Charles’s lips graced his lordship’s forehead, his eyelids, nose, and cheeks. Her lips landed at his own as he gripped her fiercely to him for a far deeper, darker kiss.

“Charles, I am not . . .” His eyes met hers. “I am no good at this, lass, but I want you, need you tonight.”

“Roland.” She spoke his name as her hand stole back to his cheek, stroking.

“A man is dead because of me, Charles, and two others have lost their limbs. And now I . . .” Lord Wellesley’s face said it all.

“Of course I will stay, my lord. I will always stay if you ask me.” Her lips brushed his again, eliciting another low groan from his chest, before her hands reached down to help him from his trousers. She backed off the bed to lower herself between his thighs, not once taking her eyes from his face, until she bent her head to gently kiss his sex, tenderly taking him into her mouth.

She watched a tear roll down his cheek, surprising her greatly, even as he swelled beneath her tongue. She took him sweetly, lovingly almost, until he spilled himself into her, his release too fast, uncontrolled. And then Charles simply slipped out of her dress to crawl into bed beside him, bringing Lord Wells to her bosom, to cradle him to her. She held him there all night, knowing he needed comfort more than anything else.

She needed him too.

Charles awoke with a start and sat bolt upright. What if she’d been sought in the night and not found in her room, nor found this morning either?

An arm reached to steady her. “It is early yet, Charles. No one missed you.”

“My lord, I must return to my room. If something happened to one of the men . . .”

“I checked on them already. All is well.”

“You did?” She was stunned.

“Around midnight, after you fell asleep. Whatever girl you had on watch was up and tending to them. You did right to hire more hands when you did, woman.”

She flushed at his praise. “Thank you, my lord.”

“What happened to Roland ?” He tipped her face to look at him, and she flinched to see his bruises in the daylight.

Charles carefully traced the gash above his eye. “Promise you will let the doctor look at this, and your ribs, Roland.” She ventured his name again.

“Does this mean you care for me after all, Fox?”

“Of course I care for you.” She frowned. “Do you think me heartless, sir?”

***

“Do you think me heartless, miss?” Their eyes locked and then Wells cupped her breasts, whispering, “I’ve missed you, Fox.” And he had, terribly.

“I’ve missed you too, sir.”

“No more sir , not in bed.” He nipped her ear, then suckled the lobe, drawing another gasp from her lips. “I like it when you are sweet, Charles, and you were ever so sweet to me last night, lass.”

Only she gently pushed him onto his back. “Shall I show you how else I can be sweet, my lord?”

His mistress’s eyes flashed as she straddled his waist.

“Charles.” He flinched, his ribs still tender.

“Yes, Roland?” His name was a caress as she notched herself above him.

“Go easy on me, Fox, I am sore yet.”

“I’ll be ever so gentle, sir .” She slowly slid herself down his length, placing barely any weight upon his lap.

“Christ, woman.” He sucked in his breath.

“Slow and steady, Captain.”

“How the devil . . . ?”

“Cuthbert your first mate, eh?” She grinned. “He spilled the beans about your seafaring ways.” Her smile deepened. “I knew that crew of yours were pirates, Wells, making you the prince of thieves.”

He gasped again to feel the slow burn of her, achingly hot and sweet. “Aye, lass.” He smirked. “And you my bounty, Charles, a most fine treasure to keep.”