by Sahara Kelly
“Thank you, love,” he whispered. Then lowered his face to hers.
Their lips met in a light kiss that wasn’t enough for either of them.
In moments Royce had her mouth open and his tongue inside, devouring her breaths, clamping her to his chest with arms that banded her into his heat.
She moaned, duelling with his tongue, pressing her breasts to his waistcoat in a vain effort to quell the ache rising in them. She rubbed against him shamelessly, parting her legs, yearning for his body to fit itself to hers in the all the right places.
His hands slid downward, grabbing her buttocks and lifting her off her feet, thrusting his growing arousal between her parted thighs.
She hung on to him, her arms entwined around his neck as he clutched her to him and rubbed himself against the very spot that had begun to weep tears of need.
He backed them both to the wall, his mouth still fierce and wanting, holding her now with only one hand while the other seized her skirts and pulled them away from her leg. Pressing against her, his cool fingers travelled upward, sliding beneath her thigh as he raised that leg, opening her.
“Jesus, Gwyneth,” he tore his mouth free.
“Royce,” she sobbed, lost without the touch of his lips. “Oh Royce…”
His hand delved between them, finding her wet, ready, aching…
“You’re hot. So hot…” his fingers plunged inside her, rough, ready and exactly what she wanted.
“God,” she breathed, eyes closing as he worked her, skillfully finding the right spots with his thumb.
She pushed into his hand, eager for everything he could give her and wishing it was his cock instead.
“I want…” She moaned, the wall hard at her back as he held her where he wanted her and drove her toward her peak.
“I know. I want too,” he muttered, his breath hot on her face.
She opened her eyes, and saw his, fierce, burning deep within. “Do it,” she commanded. “Do it now…”
He did, his thumb rubbing over her slick flesh, pressing and teasing until she knew she was lost.
She broke, a cry of ecstasy on her lips, her body shuddering as she spasmed. His gaze never wavered as he thrust three fingers into her, stretching her as she came and making her lose her breath completely.
Scarce had one climax finished than he drove her up again, higher, pushing her beyond what she was used to.
His gaze never wavered, and he watched her as she came again, shocking herself to the core.
“Ahhh…” she fought for breath as she finally relaxed around him and he eased away, letting her slide gently downward until her feet hit the floor.
He stood back, allowing her skirts to fall into place. “Gwyneth, ah Gwyneth.” He shook his head and lifted his hand to his mouth, licking away her juices.
Mesmerised, she stared. “Royce…” she whispered.
He gazed at her. “You taste so damn good. Too good.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her unsure of whether her knees would hold up long enough to carry her to the nearest chair.
*~~*~~*
Some miles away, the woman who had been in the carriage with Gylbart, turned to him and frowned.
“I didn’t see him.”
“He was there,” he shrugged off the comment. “I told you I would help, and I will. You must be patient.”
“But…”
He looked at her, his features calm. “Be quiet.”
“But I thought…you said it would be today…you promised…” Her expression turned ugly with anger.
With a casual movement, Gylbart raised his hand and slapped the woman across the face. “My mistresses do not question me. You overstep yourself. Don’t do it again.”
She whimpered, holding her cheek and nodding. “I apologise, sir,” she whispered.
“Better.” He leaned back in the carriage as the wheels bumped along the untended drive. “We will accomplish our goals, my dear. As long as you obey me.”
Chapter Nineteen
The absence of her other gentlemen was somewhat of a relief, thought Gwyneth as she managed to subside into a chair by the fire. It gave her chance to explore her emotions in privacy.
Royce had ignited a similar blaze inside her, and the hands she extended toward the hearth still shook a little.
Why was it that she desired him so much? She had four other men, all of whom pleased her without reservation. She loved them with an overpowering and all-encompassing devotion. They were a part of her heart, her life, her very existence.
Just as Royce was.
But she shrugged to herself as she accepted the truth of the old saying…one always wants what one cannot have. It seemed that Royce himself was suffering from the same malady. However, this morning’s foray into the realms of forbidden passion had answered one question. She knew now that she could love yet another man and yearn for his touch.
Five men.
What have I become?
Restless, she rose and prowled the room, afraid to answer that pointed question. It should have been quite clear; she was a loose and wanton harlot. That was certainly how she would have been viewed by just about everyone in London.
And yet Mrs B had not shied away from the subtle suggestion that Gwyneth try more than one of her men at once.
Was it only the traditionalists of the Ton who would be shocked and horrified at such a thing? And did they have the right to do so, since the Ton itself was notorious for scandalous affairs, broken marriages and illegitimate children by the hundreds? Even the Duke of Clarence had many bastards by his mistress and openly acknowledged them.
She didn’t even want to consider the licentious behavior of the Prince Regent himself.
Was loving more than one man such a very bad thing? Was it a sin? Would she be sent to hell for the feelings she had? She hoped not, because the deep and lasting passions growing for all her gentlemen warmed her, sustained her and gave her great pleasure. How could those things be wrong?
The ancient Bible they had rescued from Fivetrees still rested on the side table. Perhaps the answers might be located in there. She sat next to it and gently pulled it closer, opening it with care since it looked as if many of the pages were fragile.
To her surprise, inside the cover she found—instead of a traditional first page—several loose leaves which had been cut to the exact size and stitched carefully into the binding with the finest of threads.
These pages bore names and dates, and when read together, the family tree was quite clear.
Gwyneth was spellbound, losing herself in the information written there, and raising her eyebrows as she followed the lineage.
But her moments of discovery were interrupted as her errant gentlemen returned from their morning’s expedition.
Harry bore a large pie, given to him by one of the worker’s wives in gratitude for the earnings her husband was bringing home, and the thought that their children would be able to read.
Evan and Gabriel had fresh vegetables and other supplies, so with the pie heating in the oven and a soup in the pot on the stove, they all adjourned to the dining room.
She and Royce rapidly informed the others of Gylbart’s visit, sending Gabriel into a seething fury. He bore the scars, carried the memories of Gylbart’s savagery, and it took some time to calm him down.
“You will not encounter him, Gabriel. Not if I can help it.” Harry looked him in the eye. “That is a bad man. We won’t tolerate his presence.”
“And I don’t believe for a minute that Giles will let the Withersbys sell Fivetrees to him.” Gwyneth shook her head. “He’s probably found a legal loophole or something that allows him—as a potential buyer—to visit, but that’s all.”
“Well, he’s nosing around all right,” sighed Evan. “Someone mentioned him in Ditchley this morning. Said he’d been in the village a month or so ago, visiting friends.”
Gwyneth nodded. “He claimed he would be on his way to stay with them after s
eeing Fivetrees,” she confirmed. “So we know where he is. Just not what he’s up to.”
Royce turned the conversation. “Did any of you find out anything pertaining to our search for information about Susanna?”
Jeremy shook his head. “Harry and I both asked around, in a very general fashion, but other than one or two people remembering her from church, we learned nothing.”
“We did finish several of the trusses for the extension roof, however.” Harry stretched his arms. “And I learned I’m getting a little older than I thought I was.”
After the laughter that greeted that statement faded, Evan stood. “Let me bring our meal. Gabriel and I had a bit of luck…”
He left and everyone moved to the dining room, helping Jeremy lay the table.
Royce disappeared to give Evan a supporting hand, and within minutes they were all seated and eagerly spooning the thick vegetable soup.
“Mmm.” Gwyneth sent Evan a smile. “Perfect for a winter’s day.”
“I thought so.” He smiled back, his hazel eyes twinkling wickedly at her.
She was just a quivering lump of jelly where these men were concerned. She should probably be ashamed of herself, but she wasn’t. Not in the least.
“So tell us about your findings.” Harry looked at Gabriel and then Evan.
“Well,” Gabriel put his spoon down and leaned back. “Little Maddington wasn’t a huge help. Like your workers, we met one or two people who thought they might have seen her with another woman in church, but weren’t sure and hadn’t spoken to her.” He looked at Evan. “Your turn.”
Evan nodded. “I had more luck. One of the farmers’ wives, the one I always buy some vegetables from, was in a chatty mood. So I asked about Miss Brockford and described her. To my surprise, Mrs Wiggins thought she recognised my description. She asked me if the lass had a sister. When I said yes, she nodded and suggested I should ask Mrs Phillips, the dressmaker. It seems the two young women had purchased dresses there. The seamstress had had to send to London for something they wanted. And in Ditchley, that is news. Hence it had travelled amongst the ladies and they all spoke of it for a while.”
“Did you get a name?” Royce leaned forward, his expression intent.
Evan nodded. “I did. I actually talked to Mrs Phillips. She was saddened to learn about Susanna and told me that she’d liked her.” He paused. “I got the impression she was not so fond of her sister, though. Older, apparently, and brusque. However, yes, she gave me a name. Henrietta Burke.”
“Jeremy, does that sound at all familiar?” All eyes swiveled to his end of the table.
He frowned. “Not immediately, no. I don’t ever recall Susanna mentioning her sister much at all—only once or twice in passing. And not as someone she lived with. Family didn’t seem to matter to her and I had a feeling, when we were together, that she had deliberately distanced herself from them. As if she didn’t really like them very much.”
“Well, all things considered,” said Gwyneth, touching her napkin to her lips, “I believe this morning was not wasted at all. Now we have a name to pursue, and that is a lot more than we had when we breakfasted.”
The soup had been devoured, along with the fresh bread Evan had bought at the Ditchley market, so he stood and looked at the others. “I think we might save the pie for dinner. I have some biscuits made by one of my dear friends in Little Maddington, and they would serve well with a cup of tea?”
Nods and murmurs of agreement endorsed the plan.
“I discovered something interesting this morning, as well, although not related to the matter of Susanna.” Gwyneth spoke quietly as they all stood.
Eyebrows rose.
“Come into the parlour and I’ll show you.”
*~~*~~*
Royce stared at the pages sewn into the ancient Bible, reaching out and touching them gently.
“Astounding,” he muttered, turning to the next one. “It’s the entire history of this family, and their land, and children…”
“And I believe it will give us some answers, and raise more questions,” added Gwyneth.
They were all gathered around the table, eager to see the words written by some long-ago scribe.
“Right then.” Harry rose and found paper and pen. “We need to put it all in order. If we keep turning those pages, we might lose them or damage them in some way, and I don’t think any of us want that to happen.”
“Good idea.” Gabriel nodded. “Gwyneth, why don’t you read the entries and we can list them.” He took a piece of paper and another pen. “Harry will take the people, and I’ll take the properties. We can both list the dates?”
“Excellent notion.”
Everyone agreed to the suggestion and Royce watched Gwyneth settle herself with the Bible carefully resting on her lap atop a small pillow.
He could sense the eagerness in her, the enthusiasm lighting her eyes, the way she ignored the few chestnut curls that had loosened from her upswept hair.
A bolt of desire shook him, but he discounted it as best he could. This entire business of not being permitted to enjoy the Lady of Wolfbridge was becoming a burden. And he was very afraid that soon it would be one he would set down, regardless of the cost.
She cleared her throat.
“The first name, at the top of the page, is Nicholas Arthur Pinebridge, Lord and Bishop of the…” she paused, “I’m having trouble making out the next word. It has been smudged a bit. But it looks like the Diocese of Pinebridge?” She looked up. “Is that possible?”
Jeremy looked puzzled. “I suppose anything is possible. As I understand it, a diocese is simply the area over which some church official has jurisdiction. If this Nicholas Pinebridge was a Bishop, then clearly he was living in the middle of his own diocese. Is there a date there?”
Gwyneth nodded. “Yes. Yes, there is. After the entry, someone has put 1562.”
“Ah,” said Jeremy. “That would make sense.”
The questions on the other faces were clear. He answered them. “The first Bible to be distributed to ordinary people was the King James Bible. And that wasn’t produced until 1611.”
“Wait, so this Bible here predates the King James Version?”
Jeremy shook his head. “I’m pretty sure that what we are reading has been entered well after 1572.” He glanced around. “It was a common habit to retain a record of the family history. But not every family had access to the means to do so. After 1611, however, the trusty family Bible became available, and I’ll wager that these entries have been added to this version. Word of mouth and memories would have easily covered the fifty-odd years prior to this…”
“That makes perfect sense,” endorsed Harry. “I’ve seen a few bibles that have similar notes in them.”
“All right then,” Royce chimed in. “So we have this Bishop of Pinebridge, Lord Nicholas, living…where?”
“It has to be here, I would assume,” Gabriel frowned. “If not, why would his name be in the Bible?”
“Maybe I should continue,” Gwyneth suggested. “There is more information to come.”
“Please do,” said Evan wryly. “Otherwise this will take all afternoon.”
“Right then.” She smiled at him. “There is a note here that puzzles me. It refers to a Wilhelmina Crane. Something like met at R E. Does that make sense to anyone?”
Silence fell.
“You’d better go on,” encouraged Royce. “We’ll write it all down and try to make sense of it later.”
“Very well.” She nodded. “Next we have a birth. Johnathan Pinebridge Markeley. 1565.” She turned a page with care. “This is followed by a marriage in 1590, Jonathan to Jane Beacon, and a birth—their son, I would assume—Alfred, also born in 1590. Then we have a date, 1601, and a death. Bishop Pinebridge has left this earth, apparently. No idea why, but the entry says something about…er…Mortmain, whatever that is. And that the ‘Pinebridge Mortmain’ has been left to Alfred Markeley and wife Henrietta Trowbridge, who wed�
��sorry I missed that note…in 1609. Clearly the Bishop died without heirs.”
“Jonathan’s son, most likely.” Harry muttered as he stared at his growing list.
“Mortmain. I know I’ve run across that word,” Jeremy rubbed his hand through his hair.
Harry nodded. “I have, as well, but damned if I can place it.”
“We’ll look it up later. Go on, my Lady,” encouraged Royce.
Gwyneth smiled at him. “Yes, sir.”
Royce’s loins were about to misbehave. He crossed his legs and smiled back.
“Things must have been quite quiet, although I see that Alfred and Henrietta lost several children before the birth of a son who survived.” Her voice was gentle as she related the news. “Their surviving son, Douglas, was born in 1614.”
“How sad.” Evan murmured, as fascinated as everyone else by the family history slowly unfolding.
“Indeed yes,” Gwyneth agreed. “And here is where we lose Jonathan. 1635. He leaves the estate to Alfred and Henrietta, of course. It’s theirs until Alfred passes…” she turned yet another page, “in 1660. Douglas inherits. He must have been unmarried at the time, since the next entry is a marriage between him and Elizabeth Charter—wait, no—Chester, which took place in 1662.”
“Must have desperately wanted an heir,” said Harry, his voice dry.
“Most likely.” Royce agreed. That was a very long time for an heir to remain unwed.
“He may have waited, but he certainly didn’t lack for enthusiasm.” Gwyneth chuckled. “The birth of his twin sons, Michael and Montgomery Markeley, is noted as occurring in 1663.”
Her face changed from laughter to something akin to sadness.
“What is it, my Lady?” Royce leaned to her.
“Just…” she waved her hand briefly, as if brushing away a sad thought. “This brings us to 1678, the date of the next entry. Both Douglas and his son Montgomery died. And someone has noted the word ‘ague’ next to the entry.” She looked up. “How tragic”
“So the other twin, Michael, inherits Pinebridge?” asked Gabriel.
