by Debra Glass
But he had not broken her will.
Not yet, anyway.
He glanced back at her just in time to see her fastening the last of the buttons at her throat. Here was his opportunity to tell her he knew her ruse, to send her back from whence she came. Instead, he could not believe the words he uttered. “Go find Mrs. Bush. She will instruct you as to your duties.”
Kitty started to drop into a curtsey and Bram could have kicked himself for what he said next. “Tell her to assign you to my private suite.”
Bram watched her eyes widen dramatically before he turned away from her again.
“Yes…Master,” she said, and then he heard the door close behind her.
* * * * *
Once she was outside Bram Barclay’s study, Kitty leaned against the wall and struggled to catch her breath. Her entire body quivered with what had just happened. She had been practically naked in front of a man who held the worst reputation in all of England and for the first time in her life, she had felt alive.
It was as if something inside her had taken over her body, had come to life, awakening her to sensations she could never have imagined.
Now she understood those faces the duchess had made. Those rounded lips and closed eyes were expressions of ecstasy. Bram had not been blackmailing her. Quite the contrary.
He had been pleasuring her.
An odd pang of envy rattled Kitty that Bram Barclay had bestowed his affections on another but still, Kitty’s channel spasmed at the thought of having inside her that steely flesh she had felt against her thigh…
Sudden shame flooded her cheeks. What was she thinking? Had she, in the span of half an hour, become a fallen woman given to coarse pleasures of the flesh?
She inhaled.
This was ridiculous. She was too intelligent and far too modern a woman to fall under the spell of Bram Barclay. She was here to collect information, not play his parlor games.
But then, she reminded herself, she hadn’t exactly been given a choice. Somehow that lessened her part in it and left her with pride intact.
Even modern novelists wrote about the taboos behind closed doors, and besides, Kitty knew she had to experience firsthand what Bram Barclay was all about so she could be thorough in her article.
She stood and straightened her clothes and hair and went to find the housekeeper, Mrs. Bush.
Bram was the son of a living duke and thus had not yet inherited his title, however, he was known as the Earl of Wiltshire, one of his father’s lesser titles. Rumors abounded that the duke had little, if nothing, to do with his son and would have cut him from his will were he not the only heir to the title.
Despite the duke’s opinion of his son, Bram lived in opulent surroundings. Kitty’s gaze traveled up the polished walls replete with portraits of grim-looking ancestors. Intricately woven tapestries hung here and there. An occasional vase or sculpture was displayed on an ornate pedestal.
Not even the Duke and Duchess of Blakemore lived on such a luxurious estate.
Kitty feared she would get lost or turned around in Bram’s manor but she managed to find her way to the servants’ area at the back of the house.
Mrs. Bush seemed surprised to see her again. “So, he took you on, did he?”
The way the old woman’s eyes narrowed as she perused her gave Kitty the distinct impression Mrs. Bush knew exactly what had transpired in the study. Had more than one potential servant opted not to remain in the earl’s service after that initial interview?
Kitty shifted from one foot to the other, reminded of the creamy wetness dampening her drawers. She swallowed. “Yes ma’am.”
“Hmph,” Mrs. Bush snorted. “You seem a bit impertinent to me but perhaps the master likes that in a servant. Did he say where he wanted you assigned?”
“His private chamber.” Kitty’s face flushed hot and she knew Mrs. Bush noticed.
“I shall speak with him about that,” she said. “For now, I am assigning you to the kitchen.”
Kitty’s lips parted but she did not dare say a word. Although kitchen placement was less prestigious, kitchen servants tended to be free to talk amongst themselves more. She would certainly be able to learn more about Bram there than picking up after him in the chamber.
Still, the idea of toiling in the kitchen instead of seeing the bed in which Bram Barclay slept sent a tendril of disappointment spiraling through Kitty.
“Come,” Mrs. Bush said tersely. And as she began a brisk walk toward the kitchen, she laid down the household rules. “When the master speaks to you, look at him. Keep your hands still and at your sides.”
Kitty’s insides tangled at the reference to “the master”.
“Never engage in idle chatter with other servants around the master. We are to be seen and not heard. Never engage in discourse with the master. If he drops an item, you are to return it on a silver salver—or however he instructs you.”
“Yes ma’am.” The unspoken meaning of Mrs. Bush’s last statement was not lost on Kitty.
“I take it he has informed you how you are to address him?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“If you forget it, you will be duly reprimanded.”
Kitty grew taut at the thought of being reprimanded by the master. Heat swelled in her bottom.
“The master is not interested in your opinions. Do not offer them. If he passes you in the hallway or anywhere else in the house, make yourself as indiscernible as possible. Avert your eyes. Do not speak to the master unless he speaks to you first. If you are required to carry something for him, walk a few paces behind him.”
Kitty struggled to match Mrs. Bush’s frantic pace.
“Punctuality is a must. While here, you will receive no visitors. There are few male employees here but fraternizing with them is strictly forbidden on charges of dismissal. Damages to household items will be deducted from your wages. Do you understand, Miss Hartley?”
“Yes ma’am,” Kitty said breathlessly.
Mrs. Bush suddenly stopped and turned to her. “And Miss Hartley, no matter what the master tells you or requires of you, know this—he is your better. Do not take on any childish hopes he will take you as his wife, or even as his mistress for that matter.”
Of course that was the furthest thing from Kitty’s mind but, oddly, Mrs. Bush’s statement angered her. She was not a maid. She was a member of the ton, albeit a lowly daughter of a baron. Still.
“Do you understand?” Mrs. Bush asked.
“Yes ma’am.” Kitty understood all too well. That was why she was here. Had Mrs. Bush’s warning lent truth to the rumor Bram had indeed used and left the Earl of Rochford’s daughter in a predicament?
“Good. I feel certain there will be no need for this conversation again then,” Mrs. Bush said before she descended the stairs into the bustling kitchen.
Kitty followed, at once surrounded by the aroma of meat roasting and the pungent fragrances of exotic spices. Heat radiated from the brick ovens and steam rose from a bubbling pot on the hearth.
The kitchen was one of Kitty’s favorite places at her uncle’s house. There, they only had two servants, Holt and Laura, whom Kitty loved like they were her own family. Here at the Earl of Wiltshire’s, Kitty counted at least twenty in the kitchen alone.
And she quickly saw why Mrs. Bush had placed her in the kitchen instead of in Bram’s private chamber. All but one of the kitchen staff were older, unattractive types. For some reason, Mrs. Bush sought to keep Kitty out of Bram’s clutches.
Kitty should have been grateful. Instead, she was irritated. She told herself it was because she would not be able to watch Bram Barclay herself, but the shadow side of her knew it was because her body longed for that all-encompassing feeling only he had ever tapped. In the short time he had known her, Bram had been able to strip her defenses until she was a mewling ninny bent naked over his desk.
After a brief introduction to the head cook, Mrs. Bush left.
“Alice will show you the ropes,
” the cook said, gesturing with her knife toward a bright-faced girl who was chopping carrots.
Kitty nodded.
Alice wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m Alice. There’s a knife for you there,” she said, pushing half the carrots on the chopping block toward Kitty.
Kitty took her time, watching how Alice held and chopped the carrots. She had no experience in a kitchen and hoped she could pull this off. She doubted being reprimanded by the robust head cook would be as gratifying as the reprimand she had received from Bram.
Kitty knew Alice was watching her as she struggled to hold and chop the first carrot but, thankfully, by the time she picked up a third, she had grown adept enough not to draw too much attention to herself.
“So the master hired you on himself, did he?” Alice whispered.
Kitty nodded.
Alice wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “That’s why you’re in the kitchen.”
Kitty quickly saw her opportunity to learn more. “The master wanted me on staff in his private suite.”
“All the more reason for Mrs. Bush to cast you into the kitchen,” Alice said. “She’s hoping he’ll forget about you.”
“But why?”
“She doesn’t care for anyone the master takes to.”
Heat flamed in the back of Kitty’s neck. The master had taken to her? Some part of her was thrilled. Another part tried to reason that a man like Bram Barclay was only taken with her the same way a cat was taken with a mouse.
“Does that include women like the Earl of Rochford’s daughter?” Kitty asked conspiratorially.
“Silence!” the head cook yelled.
Kitty jumped but did as she was told, disappointed that her first real source had been quashed.
Maybe the kitchen was not going to prove the fount of information she had originally thought. Somehow, she would have to get herself noticed by Bram again.
* * * * *
Bram stared blankly at the estate’s account books. Normally he had the figures ciphered and everything balanced in a matter of minutes. Now the day had waned as he’d agonized over the same column of numbers for hours—and still could not concentrate on anything but those thin cotton drawers concealing Katrina Hartford’s luscious behind.
The defiant look in her midnight eyes had aroused him beyond sanity. And her breasts…
He inhaled.
Her breasts were perfection. Small with large, dusky nipples, ripe for the touch. It had taken all his self-control not to cup them in his hands, tweak her nipples between his forefingers and thumbs and tug each one until he learned her threshold.
He had sought only to frighten her away but she’d stood her ground and, when she had openly challenged him, he had not been able to resist moving to the next step.
What spell had this bespectacled virgin cast over him?
Bram banged his fist down on his desk and slammed his account book shut. Damn, damn and damn again!
He should have called her ruse. He should have exposed her on the spot and declared she leave immediately. This was no place for a virtuous girl of her age.
Still, he could not drive her from his thoughts.
Her willing submission…
The fragrance of her cream…
He had felt her heat through those drawers and knowing he was the one who affected her, who had driven her to the edge of desire, made his cock swell painfully.
Bram leaned back and stretched one long leg out straight in a futile attempt to assuage the pressure. His gaze fell on the tiny stain on the crotch of his breeches. Damn it all to hell. He was already oozing for her.
Debating, he considered taking this matter into his own hand. Right here. Right now. But it had been years since he had been humbled to the behavior of a boy in the throes of puberty.
Perhaps he should go straight to his rooms and show her the beast that raged between his legs. Maybe then she would be frightened enough to tuck her tail and run.
He shot to his feet and strode with purpose toward his rooms. “You there!” he snapped at a shocked servant.
When she turned though, he saw that it was not Katrina. “Where is she?”
“Who, Master?”
“The new girl.”
The maid gulped, staring.
“The new girl. Kitty Hartley,” Bram said.
“I am not familiar with a Kitty Hart—”
But Bram was already headed toward the housekeeper’s office. Perhaps Katrina had come to her senses and made good her escape. Common sense told Bram that would be the best thing. He should not be entertaining ideas about virgins when there was a plethora of other women willing and able to do his bidding.
The long walk to Mrs. Bush’s office did little, however, to calm his rampant lust. He pushed the door open without knocking and eyed a stunned Mrs. Bush. “Where is Miss Hartley?” he demanded.
Instead of dropping into a curtsey, Mrs. Bush stiffened, her resolve incongruous with her thin, birdlike body. “I sent her to the kitchens.”
Bram stared. “The kitchens?”
“I thought her impertinent and cheeky. A day in the kitchens will do her no harm.”
Bram inhaled. “Woman, how dare you defy me?”
“You sent no note with her. No letter of recommendation. How was I to know she wasn’t merely being deceitful? It wouldn’t be the first time—”
Bram cut her off. “It is your business to know. And if it happens again, I shall send you packing.”
At that, Mrs. Bush lowered her gaze. “I will transfer the girl at once, Master.”
Bram started to turn to leave but then he stopped. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll get her myself.”
* * * * *
Kitty had come to the conclusion that Mrs. Bush hated her. There was some reason the woman had secreted her away in the kitchen, openly defying the earl’s orders. Cook had kept such an eye on Kitty and Alice that neither of them had the opportunity to talk.
After stirring the venison stew, Kitty set the heavy wooden ladle aside and then wiped the perspiration from her brow. She peeled her sweat-drenched bodice off her chest. The kitchen was doubtless as hot as the fires of hell.
One of the male servants opened the door and brought in a bushel basket of potatoes. Upon seeing the basket, Kitty resisted the urge to groan. No doubt it would be her job to prepare the potatoes.
Her gaze drifted past the basket to the open door and the late-afternoon light spilling in. She could leave right now if she wanted to. She could slip out that door and disappear and no one would ever know…
Was any story worth this?
Perhaps she could just write what she already knew and investigate Bram through some other avenue of information.
A quick glance around the kitchen told her no one was paying her any attention. It was now or never.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she moved toward the door. Toward freedom.
“Kitty Hartley!”
The booming voice nearly made her jump out of her skin.
Kitty whirled, stunned when her gaze fell on Bram Barclay.
Her breath caught.
Unable to conceal their shock, every other person in the kitchen bowed at the sight of their master. Kitty openly gaped.
Bram’s massive frame dominated the doorway, almost completely blotting out the light from the other side. His face was hard and set, his eyes riveted only on her, and when her gaze met his, something possessive sparkled there that shook Kitty to the core. It was almost as if he seemed relieved to find her. Glad.
His gaze traveled down the length of her body and then lifted once more, making Kitty burn with the awareness that he had not only seen her practically naked, he had spanked her bottom and then demanded she pleasure herself while he watched.
Everything inside her grew so impossibly tight she thought if she moved, she would literally snap in half.
“Am I going to have to leash you like a dog, Kitty?” Bram asked.
She swallowed. Hard.
“No…Master.” Something about referring to him as her master made Kitty’s insides turn to molten liquid that pooled in her abdomen.
“I assigned placement for you in my private chamber, did I not?”
Kitty’s face flamed. “Yes, Master.”
“Then what are you doing in the kitchen?”
Kitty knew better than to snitch on Mrs. Bush. Any answer she gave him would result in being…reprimanded. “I cannot say, Master.”
He appraised her for a heart-stopping moment. “Come with me.”
Kitty’s pulse pounded in her throat as she readily followed Bram, almost having to run to keep up with his wide strides.
Why had she not left when she’d had the chance? This was insanity. How could she be chasing so willingly after this blackguard when she knew what he was capable of?
He pushed open a door and Kitty found herself standing in a suite of sumptuous rooms.
“All others, out! Now!” he commanded and the servants scurried to do his bidding.
Awareness washed over Kitty. He was indeed going to punish her for her infraction. Now that they were alone, he could do anything he pleased to her. No one would heed her screams. No one would come to her rescue.
This was beyond mad.
It was dangerous.
And already, she felt her cream gathering in anticipation.
The door finally closed behind the last of the servants. Kitty’s heart hammered so hard, she could hear it pounding in her own ears.
Bram circled her and it was all she could do to force herself to remain still, to keep her eyes fixed on a decanter of liquor on a table across the room. She knew her breasts were heaving with her quick breaths but she could do little to lessen her rising panic.
Just tell him! Confess! Put a stop to this!
Finally he stopped in front of her. One of his long fingers caught her under the chin and he lifted her face so that she was forced to look into his eyes. “Have we met before?” he asked, his voice dropping into that sultry, black velvet drawl.
“No,” she said truthfully. While she had attended the same party, she had not been formally introduced to him.
