by Sahara Kelly
“That was an excellent variety,” said Colly, his face as excited as a child’s on the eve before his birthday.
“In that case,” said Ivy, “I think we should all try it.” She looked at Colly. “Shall we ladies enjoy it, do you think?”
“You’d have to be dead not to,” Ronan answered for him. “I’ve not met a woman yet who hasn’t turned up her nose at ale only to ask for a second mug when it’s Chillendale ale.”
“Well then. Let’s see about tapping those casks after dinner.” Ivy walked toward the door. “I, for one, am looking forward to an evening of drunken merriment.” She paused. “Er, does it make one sick?”
The men looked at each other, their faces betraying a certain amount of amusement at Ivy’s question.
Colly filled the breach. “Only if you drink vast amounts of it, love. We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“I shall remember those words, your Grace.” Woodleigh appeared, his face offering an expression of wry disbelief. He turned to Ivy. “Lord and Lady Sydenham’s rooms are prepared, Ma’am. And the maids are even now bringing up hot water.”
“Then let’s to it,” said Sir Laurie. “I’m with Ivy. Bring on the ale.”
*~~*~~*
Mowbray wasn’t really expecting an evening of drunken merriment. A tankard or two of ale wouldn’t render anyone too tipsy, and after all, everyone in the room had grown up alongside wines and sherries. It was part of life for anyone in Society.
But this particular beverage had achieved a well-deserved reputation for excellence. He watched the ladies, all wearing pretty shamrock brooches given to them by Lady Maud. They were chattering, staring at the kegs, and claiming their tankards, ready to try this new drink.
He settled down in a comfortable armchair and took a breath before his first sip of Chillendale ale.
The ladies and the gentlemen were together—no leaving the men alone after the meal on this particular night—and after having broached the cask perfectly, Colly grinned as he filled the tankards and Sir Laurence did the honours, passing them around to everyone.
That first sip, that magnificent melding of flavours brought to life with a slight tickle of bubbles on his tongue, and Mowbray’s world settled into a state of relaxed pleasure.
He glanced around, wondering if anyone else was in his world, and how those not familiar with this ale would react.
As expected, the gentlemen were all sharing looks of delight. There were mumbles and murmurs, brief comments about the excellence of the beverage, but overall they were content to just relish the brew.
The ladies, on the other hand, were much more entertaining.
Maud obviously enjoyed it. “As good as last time, Laurie,” she smiled, licking her lips. “What do you think, Ivy?”
Thus addressed, Ivy also licked her lips. “I like it,” she pronounced. “It’s not too—too ale-y, if that makes sense.”
Rose agreed. “Yes, you’re right. I’m not fond of ale in the normal course of things, but this one is different. And the touch of peach is perfect. I can barely taste it, but you know it’s there…”
“Nice assessment,” chuckled Lydia. “It’s delicious, Sir Laurence.” She grinned at him. “Absolutely delicious.”
“Happy you find it to your taste, my dear,” he smiled back paternally. “And now, Miss Prudence. You must reveal your thoughts, dear girl. It’s important to hear everyone’s opinions on something this important.”
“Well,” Prudence lifted the tankard and took another healthy swallow. She paused afterward, closed her eyes for a moment or two, then opened them again. “I am definitely in favour of having another tankard. I haven’t cared much for ale before; I’m in agreement with Rose on that. But this? It is delicious.” She lifted her hand, put the tankard to her lips, and drained it. “May I have another, please?”
Mowbray blinked as stunned laughter broke out.
“God, lass, you’ll be bosky before the end of a second.” Ronan grinned at her.
“No I won’t. We Hartsmere-Drakes can hold our liquor. Right, Uncle Colly?”
“Er…” Colly blinked and looked at Ivy.
But before she could speak, Ronan tapped Prudence on the shoulder. “A wager, then, lass?”
Prudence lifted an eyebrow, and Mowbray could almost see the wheels turning. “A wager? On whether I’ll be drunk or not?”
“Um…” Ivy frowned. “This sounds improper.”
“Not at all, Ivy, not at all,” soothed Ronan. “We’ll all be part of the wager.” He looked around, and with a quick aha walked to a wall and unfastened the bell pull hanging there. He glanced at Ivy. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s put back.”
“You’d better,” she replied dryly. “Or Woodleigh will have both our heads.”
Ronan chuckled as he moved near to the door where the floor was bare and laid out the length of cord.
“There now. At a certain time we all decide upon, each of us will walk along that line. How far off it we deviate will demonstrate how tipsy…” he glanced at Prudence… “or not we are.”
That set off a noisy discussion, in which Mowbray felt it his duty to point out the variations in body mass between the gentlemen and the ladies and how such numbers would affect the outcome if they were to assign numbers of tankards and so on.
More ale was consumed as the arguments were presented, debunked, dismissed or approved. The first cask was almost empty as the suggestions became more entertaining.
Miles suggested that the gentlemen should be made to carry a large book on their head as they “walked the cord”. Thus giving the tinier ladies an advantage and also acknowledging their deportment skills.
Rose rolled her eyes at her husband and said she’d never walked with a book on her head in her life, so that put an end to that suggestion.
The evening wore on, the ale flowed freely and the laughter flew through the air in the Maiden Shore parlour.
Colly had his booted feet up on an ottoman and Ivy curled next to him, both grinning hugely. Rose and Miles were in almost the same state, although Miles’s feet were on the floor. Ronan sat on the floor, near Miles and Rose, and close to Prudence, who had tucked one leg up beneath her and let the other dangle.
Sir Laurence and Maud sat next to each other in two smaller chairs, with a tiny table between them holding their tankards.
Mowbray and Lydia were in the two chairs by the fireplace, acting as adjudicators and occasional referees.
Stories were told and tall tales scorned with levity, everyone had something to say and the ale loosened any inhibitions any of the group might have. Ivy told a funny story, and Mowbray followed it up with one of his own from his college days.
That opened the door for Miles and Ronan, the latter bringing them all to painful wheezing at some of his outrageous Irish tales.
When the really terrible jokes began, Mowbray knew the ale had worked its magic.
The second cask was half empty when Sir Laurence finally rose. “Maud, my darling wife, if I don’t retire now, someone will have to carry me.”
“And it won’t be me,” she laughed, rising with him.
It was the signal, and as they untangled themselves, Ronan moved to the cord. “Right then. Everyone must walk along the cord before leaving. It’s the rules.”
“Even you?” asked Prudence cheekily.
“Aye, lass. Even me.” He grinned down at her. “Will ye hold ma hand then?”
“Stop talking Irish and let me see if I pass muster.” She scolded him and turned to the cord.
Mowbray watched with interest, but damned if she didn’t walk it straight as an arrow. Applause greeted her accomplishment.
“Good heavens, you’ve a hard head, Miss Prudence. And congratulations. Although I doubt you’ll be quite so chipper come morning.”
“Hah,” she snorted. “Little you know. I don’t believe in hangovers.”
“Lucky you then. And good night to you.” Ronan watched her say goodnight to e
veryone.
Mowbray watched Ronan. Yes, he could see it. Right there in his eyes.
He wondered if he was guilty of watching Lydia that way, but in the confusion of walking the cord and saying goodnight, he got swept up in the business of keeping track of who did what.
At last, after Ivy had wobbled her way to the door, almost managing not to fall over the cord, and Colly had followed her, stepping on the wrong side of the cord twice, Mowbray and Lydia were left, holding the notes.
“Results over breakfast,” called Mowbray as Colly staggered out.
He waved a hand in response, leaving the two of them alone.
Mowbray picked up the cord and crossed the room, ready to reattach it to the hook on the bell.
“Not a wobbly step, Mowbray. I’d declare you the winner,” grinned Lydia, leaning on the back of the sofa and watching him.
“You may share the honour, Lydia. You’re not a bit unsteady either.” He fiddled with the cord and set it in place. “There. Woodleigh will never know.”
She turned away, looking out of the windows at the night and the ocean beyond. The candles had dimmed and she could see the stars in the sky.
“Mowbray, your telescope. Where is it?”
“In the empty room at the end of the corridor upstairs. We moved it out of the way a little while ago. Why?”
She reached out and took his hand. “Take me there. Show me the stars?”
Chapter Fifteen
It wasn’t the ale, Lydia told herself. It was her inner need to push Mowbray forward to where she wanted him. Beside her in bed.
The magic of Chillendale had simply eased some of her inhibitions, although she was well aware that she was far too forward for many people’s liking.
‘Many people’ weren’t there. She was, and so was Mowbray.
The empty room was smaller than many of the guest chambers, but attractive all the same. Since it occupied a corner, a thoughtful architect had added a tiny balcony on each side, with tall windows opening out onto both of them.
This way a visitor could watch the ocean or the hills as they chose.
“What a lovely idea,” she said quietly as she opened one of the windows and let the cool breeze blow into the room.
“It seemed perfect for the telescope too,” answered Mowbray.
“And the skies are so clear.” She turned to him. “What can we see d’you think?”
“What would you like to see?”
She bit back her immediate response. You, naked. “I don’t know…what might be visible tonight?”
“Let me take a look.” He slid past her, onto the little balcony, and checked the compass attached to his telescope.
She felt him pass, his warmth as much of a caress as his hands would have been. She sighed as need welled up inside her and moisture dampened her thighs.
“Aha.” He bent to the eyepiece and moved things, turning knobs and rotating other bits and pieces. “I have an idea of what might be visible…”
Lydia had ideas too, but they had nothing to do with the universe. Just a tiny part of it. The simple bed tucked away in the back corner of the room behind them.
“Would you like me to hold your coat?” Or your breeches?
“Thank you, yes.”
Her heart almost stopped before she realised he hadn’t removed anything but his jacket. She took it as he passed it back to her and bent once more to the damned telescope.
Stepping back into the room, she folded his coat carefully, laying it on the back of one of the chairs near the window. It was her own fault, she scolded herself. She’d asked him to show her the stars. Always literal, Mowbray was going to do just that.
“Lydia. Come see…”
Still bent and looking through the telescope, he waved a hand behind him. She took it, enjoying his firm clasp.
“Here. Stand here. Try not to touch anything because I think I have it in perfect focus.” He moved her to where he had been standing, putting her in front of him and staying right behind. “If it looks fuzzy, tell me, and I can make an adjustment.”
Her head in a whirl thanks to his nearness, and his hand resting gently in the middle of her back, Lydia tried hard to focus her mind, let alone her eyes. But after blinking several times, she finally saw what lay beyond the telescope.
“Ohhhh….” It was half a gasp and half a sigh. “This is—wait, don’t tell me—the planet Saturn, isn’t it? I can just make out the rings around it. I’ve read about them.” She blinked again, stunned at how amazing it was to see so far out into the unknown.
“Well done,” he praised her. “I had a feeling you’d know what it was and also find it as attractive as I do.”
She simply stared for a little while, as silence fell and the night blanketed them with the light from the stars. The moon had set and the only candle they’d lit was a bare flicker behind them. The mystical shades of the rings drifting around the planet fascinated her. So clear through this telescope…so astoundingly awe-inspiring.
At last she stood and turned. Mowbray stayed where he was, closer than close, looking down at her. “So what do you think?”
“I think it’s amazing. And I think you’re amazing for allowing me to see such a beautiful miracle of science and nature.”
“I could say the same,” he answered softly, running his hand down her cheek. “A beautiful miracle of science and nature.”
“Mowbray,” she whispered, leaning against him. “You stir something in me, something I’m not quite sure what to do with…” For a brief moment she simply looked at him. Then she leaned in close to his face. “But I would like to do this…”
He groaned softly as she raised her lips to his. His arms banded her tightly and he willingly took what she offered, this time with the new familiarity that was growing between them. He knew her lips, her mouth, and he seemed to understand her need to be close to him, since he didn’t hesitate to crush her into his body.
The kiss turned heated, erotic, tongues met and clashed in a battle of sensual desires.
Lydia sighed as his fingers rose to her neck and into her hair, pulling her head backward so he could feast on the skin covering that throbbing pulse.
She sobbed in a breath. “Let me touch you, Mowbray, please let me touch you.” She freed her hands and struggled with his waistcoat buttons, finally getting it open and pulling it down off his shoulders.
He shrugged it away, his eyes on her face, his cheeks flushing and his eyelids heavy. It was, she realised, passion. True passion. He felt every bit as much as she.
“Fair is fair,” he muttered, his clever fingers undoing the buttons between her shoulder blades and loosening her gown.
“Oh yes,” she nodded, her own fingers pulling his simple cravat away and unfastening his shirt. It quickly opened and her hands plunged within, eager to touch him, to feel the man beneath the linen and damask.
He gasped a little as she laid her palms on his bare skin. Warm, solid, his chest was a surprise to her, educated and sophisticated though she believed she was. But this, the real thing, with its touches of hair, the flat disks of his nipples, the ridges and smooth lines—it was the chest of a hunter or a warrior. It was the body she’d seen plunging into the ocean. It was Mowbray.
Her fingers traced a line of soft hair downward and his hand caught hers before she started on his breeches.
“We can only go so far, Lydia. No further. Do you understand?”
“No,” she shook her head, obeying an urge and licking one of his nipples. “No, I don’t. I just know I want this. I want you.” She looked at him. “I want…everything.”
“Come inside,” he moved her into the gloom of the chamber, and let his hands push the garment off her shoulders. “I know you think you want everything, Lydia, but you also know that isn’t possible. But…”
“But what?” She trembled as he pushed her gown down even further and exposed her breasts beneath the thin chemise.
“But there are things we can do that mig
ht help us both,” he answered, his eyes devouring her as he reached for her, cupping a breast in his warm hand.
She whimpered as his thumb circled her nipple, a dart of agonizing sweetness arrowing through her body to her loins. “Mowbray,” she whispered. “Please Mowbray, do that again.”
She felt his chest expand as he took a breath, reached down and picked her up like a child. Within seconds, he was in one of the chairs near the window with her on his lap.
She arched over his arm as he pushed the chemise aside, lowered his head—and kissed her breast.
Oh God. She was going to scream, or die, or explode, or…or…
*~~*~~*
Her scent made him dizzy.
Mowbray was as experienced as any man his age, but he was not a man to flit from bed to bed on a whim. He’d never had a mistress, nor had he desired one. Science and knowledge were the rulers of his life.
And at this moment, he blessed them both. His researches had naturally included some time spent on sexuality and the human female. He’d learned many things and tried many things. All of which had earned him smiles, compliments and the occasional yearning sigh.
Now, with Lydia bared in his arms, he would try to assuage her need with all the skill he possessed, and not kill himself with lust in the process.
Emboldened by her responses, he leaned to her and dropped more hot kisses on her soft flesh, licking his way carefully around her nipple and feeling it tighten as he did so.
She wriggled and he clamped down on her, holding one hip firmly. She had no idea how uncomfortable he was already, and an armful of sensual woman wasn’t helping the situation. “Stay still, Lydia. Let me pleasure you.”
“I…”
Her lips gleamed in the low light as she licked them, stopping his heart for an instant. Kissing her again, he tasted the moisture, honey sweet and all Lydia. Their mouths parted on a mutual sigh and Mowbray returned to those delicious breasts, employing his tongue to tease them, nibbling on the nipple and finally using his hand to mound them and gently bite.
She moaned, long and low, her back arching even more in silent invitation.
