Hugh and Judge Nicholson finished speaking, and Julius rushed over. “Have you seen Mary and Lily?” He looked at them both.
Taygete shook her head as she pressed her hand more firmly into Hugh’s arm. “There are many children present. Perhaps they’re playing with some of them.”
Julius frowned. “I doubt it. Those girls are never doing what anyone expects.”
“They need a governess,” Hugh said.
Julius placed her hands on his hips. “Aaron has tried a few, but he doesn’t think anyone good enough for them.”
“I might know someone who can help,” Alice said as she and Calvin made her way across the grass to the group. She smiled at Taygete secretly. The two had formed a bond over the last few weeks and Taygete adored her.
“Great, tell Aaron,” Julius said before walking away.
Taygete turned to her. “Is there anyone in this city you don’t know?”
Alice smiled and leaned over before she whispered, “When you meet my friend, you’ll understand why I wish her to help Aaron.”
Taygete had no clue what Alice was implying, but she hoped it meant good things for Aaron. He could be quite brash at times, but Taygete loved how soft his features became when he looked at the girls.
Hugh leaned over and whispered loudly to Alice, “I hope you’re not plotting against my friend.”
“Against?” Alice asked. “Never.”
“It’s the Spinsters, Hugh,” Calvin said. “It’s their way.” Then he took Alice’s hand and said, “Come along. I believe I saw someone we know go around that dark corner.”
Alice laughed and said, “You saw no such thing.” But she allowed him to lead her away.
Hugh turned Taygete to him and said, “Whatever the Society has planned for Aaron, tell them to let it go. They don’t know him.”
Taygete was sure Hugh was right. Still… “He’s good to his girls. He deserves happiness.”
Hugh stared at her and shook his head. “So, it begins.”
“What does?” she asked.
“You, choosing the Spinsters over me,” he said with accusation.
“I’m not!” She touched his shoulder. “I’ll always choose you.”
His eyes warmed and he leaned over and whispered, “I demand that you prove it. I like to watch.”
Taygete felt heat crawl up her body.
Hugh had watched her touch herself a few times since finding out she did. He taught her how to do it so well he sometimes found her doing it without being prompted, but he always finished for her.
“Anything you want,” she whispered.
“I like it when you’re sweet,” he growled.
“I’m always sweet.”
He smiled darkly. “That you are, my love.” Then he said dramatically, “I believe I saw someone that you may have to meet go into a bedchamber upstairs.”
Taygete laughed but took Hugh’s hand and allowed him to take her away.
* * *
THANK YOU
for reading my book and
i hope you have enjoyed the story.
Miss Taygete’s Sweet Sister’s Society is Book 06 in the series.
If you have enjoyed reading Miss Taygete’s Sweet Sister’s Society, I believe you will be interested in the next book.
I have enclosed a sneak preview of the next book.
Check it out below . . .
It is currently priced at $0.99 (around 230 pages)
CHAPTER ONE
Christin Potter pulled in a breath and held it as Lord Jeanshire leaned forward, reached out across the table between them, and wrapped long fingers around his china tea cup. Then slowly, as if not to startle her, he receded back into his chair, the only sound in the room being the seat giving way for his comfort. She watched in fascination as he extended the cup to his lips, then jerked her gaze up to meet his eyes.
His startling blue eyes had remained on her through the entire process, and Christin was sure she’d never experienced a more intense moment in her life. Lungs burning, she released her breath and licked suddenly dry lips. She’d become aware of him the moment she’d walked into her sitting room. The elegantly furnished blue space was used for all Potter Agency’s interviews with potential employees and patrons of both the middle and upper class. She’d met both titled and untitled gentlemen, yet had never seen a man fill and command the very air in the room like the Earl of Jeanshire.
Potter Agency was known in London for the talent and discipline of its servants. Men and women were trained for positions in wealthy homes. The business had been started by her mother-in-law and on the death of both Mary Potter and Christin’s husband, she’d taken on the responsibilities, seeing to every part of the business from hiring the teachers, accepting apprenticeships, and seeing that her employees were placed in the best homes throughout the empire.
She’d wondered why Patsy, one of her housekeepers-in-training, had looked slightly unsettled after showing her latest patron to the sitting room and retreating.
But the man she’d found in her sitting room had not been what she’d expressed at all.
Where did one start when they wished to describe the Earl of Jeanshire?
Christin closed her eyes as she sipped her own tea.
There was no need to look at the man further. He’d become engraved in her mind the moment she’d walked through the door.
When one thought of a lord, Jeanshire was not what came to mind. While he was extremely handsome, his hard features were not aristocratic. His bone structure was more primitive than genteel. And so, instead of comparing him to the statues of gods, her mind envisioned ancient warriors, men who gained their power though strength and not birthright.
His hair was like fine gold but cut unfashionably short, leaving only a hint of a wave that made his face all the more impressive.
She couldn’t picture this lord as an idle god or even a lazy peer. Had she seen him on the road dressed any other way, she’d have thought him a builder, capable of lifting and breaking both stone and man. A leader who’d shed blood on his climb to the top, giving nothing for free yet taking whatever he wished, no matter the consequences.
In a word, he was far too manly to be a god.
He looked more like a god killer, as though he were the reason the deities no longer roamed the earth, fearful of what this man could do, hiding in the heavens while the rest of the world was forced to yield to Jeanshire’s every command. The bones in his cheeks and wide jaw were resilient… as was the rest of his body.
He was large, his shoulders exceeding the width of the wingback chair he’d been shown to. He'd been forced to sit with his legs wide for fear of them running into the table between them.
A matter that had never risen before with anyone else.
The muscles in the thighs that lay under his dark silk breeches flexed with his every move, and her body became inflamed whenever she caught sight of it.
Dear God.
Christin had never experienced anything like this in her life, and at seven and twenty, she thought herself well past the years of senseless infatuations and the wiles of attractive men.
She’d not even been this way when she was sixteen.
Not even with her departed husband.
Though why she would compare a simple, yet lovely man like John Potter to this… beastly robust man, she didn’t know. The only thing her husband and Lord Jeanshire had in common was their sex.
“What do you think?” The deep rumble of his voice gave her a start.
“Hmm?” What was wrong with her?
She pulled in another breath and dared to settle her gaze on his.
Unsurprisingly, her thoughts fled her once again, but she was aware she made a sound of some sort. She only hoped it had been appropriate as her eyes moved over him again.
His arms, which rested on the chair, looked like twin columns of solid stone. One hand held her china cup. How it didn’t crumble to dust in his grasp she didn’t know. A single gloved fi
nger rubbed leisurely against the porcelain edge, and Christin struggled to keep her mind from imagining those fingers on her person, undoing the buttons at the front of her dress and idly stroking an exposed nipple until it bloomed.
Heat shot through her core with such strength that her vision blurred.
“Mrs. Potter?” He had the sort of voice one would pay great money to listen to, a baritone so low that anything he said sounded far too arousing. The sound of it was like being wrapped in a warm blanket or held against skin.
His would be warm, she readily decided.
She jumped when she heard the tea cup hit the table. “Oh, I…” Her voice trailed off as his eyes caught hers again and then his gaze moved lower, his irises becoming warmer before his nostrils flared. He clenched his fist, and Christin clenched the muscles between her thighs.
The pleasure of it nearly knocked her over and the truth flew through her mind.
She wanted him.
It had been so long since she’d wanted a man and even longer since she’d allowed one to touch her.
Five years. Five lonely and pleasureless years.
She gripped her skirts as their stares collided. Once more, Christin was lost.
He moved, and she jumped to her feet at the same time, but instead of moving toward him, she circled the chair and placed it between them. She almost screamed when she found him on the other side. He’d moved so quickly. She stared up at him, the chair poor protection against whatever was happening between them.
“Uh… I…” She swallowed and looked down at the red paisley design of the chair, fixating on it until she could right her mind and the world stopped shifting underneath her feet.
“Forgive me. I—”
His hand cupped her shoulder, and she sucked in a breath to find him beside her. His expression was one of confusion that drew his dark brows in and formed creases on his otherwise flawless tan skin.
But then that wasn’t true. On closer inspection, she noticed a flat pale line that went across the width of his nose. It had been broken before. She wondered how.
She didn’t know why every detail about him struck her so greatly, but it did.
His mouth was full and wide, and she was stuck dumb when the blacks of his eyes widened, engulfing much of the blue, even though the confusion hadn’t left their depths.
His confusion called to her as well.
This man didn’t seem the sort to be confused often. He seemed certain, willing, and able to take on any test he came across with ease. She didn’t know him, they’d barely spoken since she’d walked into the room, but if she had only three words to describe him, she’d have said hard, masculine, and certain.
She released the breath she’d been holding and became enchanted as an expression she thought suited him far better cleared his brows.
Certainty.
It took her another moment to realize that that look might be associated with her.
Finally, her brain turned back on. “My lord—”
He leaned forward, and Christin gasped as he turned and settled his nose at the side of her neck. He inhaled, and she shivered at its release. His breath was warm and sank into her skin. Only the hands that held her shoulders kept her from tumbling to the ground.
“This can’t be happening,” he moaned deeply against her, and a sound she didn’t think could come from human lips left Jeanshire as though it were ripped from his chest. Then he lifted her head, and Christin froze as the feeling of standing on the edge of something great took hold of her. Behind her was everything she knew and was familiar with, and before her was the plunge into the unknown.
“You,” he whispered as a soft smile touched his lips.
“Me?” she asked in answer to a question she wasn’t entirely sure she wished to know.
With his response came an expression she couldn’t recognize. “Yes.”
She had a fear of heights, yet she held Jeanshire’s eyes and allowed herself to fall.
She thought his kiss would be hard but discovered it was something far more dangerous. He was slow and thorough and seemed to leave no part of her mouth untouched.
He tasted delicious, like coffee and sugar. She licked his lips, and he groaned before pulling her closer. Her thoughts became more lucid as he intoxicated her with the most stunning kiss she’d ever received.
“You,” he whispered again, the sound made with great breath, working as an irresistible lull. Did he not know he already had her? She had no idea who he thought her to be, but in that second, she didn’t want to be anyone else. She wanted to be his ‘you,’ no matter what it cost.
“Yes,” she replied.
His hands moved down to her waist and dragged her the final inches that separated them, and still, it wasn’t close enough to satisfy her. Her hands went around his neck, and she opened her mouth just before his tongue swept in.
Another shot of raging heat hit her, and her body shuddered violently at the brush of the first strands of pleasure. “Oh!”
Never had it come from just a kiss.
A dark urgency compelled her to capture his tongue and suck it lightly.
It was all the encouragement he needed.
His hold tightened at her waist, and she jumped into his arms, locking her legs around his narrowed hips. Hunger blinded her, nearly muting the sounds of something crashing to the floor before her bottom settled on a hard and cold surface.
His hands bunched up her skirts, and she slipped a hand down his shoulder, over his chest, and further down until she cupped his manhood. She found it hard and thick and felt him gasp against her mouth.
“Fuck,” he groaned.
She bit his lip. “Yes.” Could she say anything else?
He growled. “I plan to have you.”
“Yes, yes.” He could have anything he wanted so long as he took it now.
Their eager gazes locked as air hit her inner thighs. She thought she might die if he wasn’t inside her in the next minute. She fumbled to release him.
A louder crash slapped across her mind and stilled her senses. She blinked and looked over to find Patsy at the sitting room entrance. Her hands covered her mouth, and a tray with small cakes was scattered across the floor.
Christin also realized that she herself was sitting on her sideboard. Her candelabra, tray, and other decorative pieces that usually sat where she did had been flung everywhere in her and Jeanshire’s beastly haste.
She fumbled to right her dress but couldn’t seem to make the hem go down. She looked down and realized that Jeanshire still held it in his tight fist.
Their gazes locked again.
Patsy ran from the room without a word, her feet clattering down the hall.
“I need to fix my dress,” Christin finally managed.
Since this was the first full sentence to leave her mouth since they’d met, it seemed such a silly thing to say, but there it was. She wasn’t sure what had come over her. She’d nearly had sex with a man she knew nothing about and, lord or not, this was highly out of character for her. She’d only ever been with one man, her husband.
But instead of feeling shame for acting like one of the doxies who lived next door, she felt guilt at nearly taking advantage of this man. With her lustfulness, she’d all but climbed into his lap. What he must think of her…
The urge to apologize struck her. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Don’t.” Jeanshire didn’t move his hands from her skirts nor his eyes from hers. “Don’t regret this. I don’t.”
* * *
CHAPTER TWO
Aaron Welsh regretted many moments in his life, but a taste of the sweetness that flowed from Mrs. Christin Potter’s lips would never be one of them. His only regret was that he’d not closed the door before he’d proceeded to ravage her mouth. He hadn’t turned to look at whoever had come into the room and interrupted their tryst.
He hadn’t cared.
All that mattered was the woman on the sideboard before him.
; The enchantress.
From the moment she’d walked into the room, everything Aaron had been sure of came into question, the first being that there was no such thing as love at first sight.
Women were captivating creatures as a whole, and he’d always enjoyed their offerings, but unlike many of his friends, he had always been selective with his taste. He liked his women tall and busting with curves.
Mrs. Potter hit those marks with ease.
But it had been more than just her body that had called to him. It was the way she’d walked into the room. One could have easily believed her to be the daughter of a lord. She had regal grace. But it had been her alluring face that sealed it for him. Heart-shaped with dark tilted eyes, a small nose, and pleasure-promising pink lips. Her hair was black, as were her thick lashes.
He’d taken one look at her, and his every intention had vanished, his mind forcibly remapping itself with one goal in mind. Her. Any objectives he’d walked into the room with had vanished in a blink and all that was left of the limited function that remained of his mind had chanted things like take, consume.
Mine.
How he’d managed to get a single word out since the moment she’d taken her seat, he wasn’t sure.
He’d suspected from the beginning that this was a setup.
He’d come to Potter Agency after failing to find a suitable governess for his charges. The suggestion had come from Alice Lockwood, the wife of one of Aaron’s many friends. Calvin Lockwood’s wife had made it known that Christin Potter could deliver whatever he needed, yet after raising two little girls for the last year, he’d come to understand female expressions quite easily and had not missed the mischief that had set Alice’s blue eyes ablaze.
She’d wanted Aaron to find Christin, and damn if he wasn’t thankful.
In the last year, out of the ten men who formed the Men of Nashwood, a brotherhood that had begun when they were but lads at Eton, six of the men had wed and each of them were blissfully happy. Last Season, the wives, who could also be now counted as friends of Aaron’s, made it very clear that they had every intention of seeing the final four bachelors married as well, but as the months had passed, his doubt had grown.
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