My Fair Groom (The Sons of the Aristocracy)

by Linda Rae Sande

  Alistair could feel the impact through the floor boards and found himself impressed that her dance slipper could cause such a thunderous thump. He even wondered for a moment if she’d broken her foot in the process, but he quickly found his voice. “And that, my lady, is your problem,” he retorted with a hint of menace, the volume of his comment deliberately kept low so it couldn’t be overheard by the dance master.

  Julia reeled at his response. How dare he? How dare he speak to her as if … as if she were some recalcitrant child? And just what did he mean with the comment? I never … never what? she wondered. Even before she had considered the obvious meaning, she found herself curtsying, for the rake had suddenly stepped back and was bowing to her. Before she could give him a response to his impertinent statement, Alistair had turned on his heel and was making his way out of the ballroom and, presumedly, back to the stables.

  Well! Good riddance, she thought as she realized she’d been holding her breath and suddenly gasped for air. She dared a glance at the dance master. Monsieur Girard stood at his usual spot, one hand rubbing the side of his face while his eyes seemed to be studying the ballroom ceiling.

  Julia wondered if the man had overheard their exchange, and decided the emptiness of the room had made their words quite audible to anyone who was therein.

  Damnation!

  Lowering her eyes to the floor where Alistair’s feet had been only a moment ago, Julia took another steadying breath before returning her attention to Monsieur Girard. “Thank you for your time today, Monsieur,” she said with a forced smile. “Same time tomorrow?”

  The dance master quickly hid his look of shock. “As you wish, my lady,” he said with a nod. “If you’re sure Mr. Comber is of a mind to continue the lessons,” he added, the tone of his voice suggesting he didn’t think the young gentleman-to-be would return for a another lesson.

  Julia gave the man a brilliant smile. “Oh, Mr. Comber will be of a mind, I assure you,” she replied sweetly before giving Monsieur Girard a deep curtsy. “Potter will see you out,” she added as she spied the butler standing at the ballroom door. She hurried to make her own escape from the ballroom, nodding to Potter as she passed him.

  At first she thought to go to her bedchamber, the thought of being able to punch her mattress in lieu of Mr. Comber giving her a feeling of satisfaction. But when she noticed how bright the day seemed as she walked past the open door to her mother’s salon, she decided instead to head for the back garden. A bit of fresh air would do her good, she thought, and the sun would help to raise her spirits. At some point, she would have to face the groom and beg forgiveness.

  Although, for the life of her, Julia couldn’t think of what she had done wrong.

  Chapter 19

  Sarah Wakes Up

  Sarah awoke so suddenly, her heart hammering in her chest, that she nearly flew out of bed. But the weight of an arm that wasn’t her own kept her anchored to the mattress. A moment to allow the remnants of her odd dream to clear, and she remembered why she was in an unfamiliar room and tucked against the front of a warm, hard body that smelled of sandalwood and sex.

  She took a deep breath, her skin tingling as she recalled her night with Gabriel Trenton. Not a bit like her first encounter with the earl, when they had spent only a couple of hours in her small room at the other end of the hall, last night had been filled with soft touches, quiet murmurings, quick couplings, long, exciting encounters and more pleasure than she could ever hope to experience again.

  The last thought had her remembering their first time together, the night when he’d found her in the taproom filling a tray with glasses of ale. He’d been in the public room – she had served him a glass of hard cider upon his arrival – and he seemed anxious about something.

  “Do you have time to spend with me this evening?” he asked in a quiet voice, his manner suggesting he knew her.

  Sarah smiled as she recalled how she gave the earl a thorough look over, as if a man’s manner of dress was enough to determine if he had the blunt for a tumble. Back then, she would only agree to a liaison if the man was a gentleman. She knew better than to accept offers from locals or those who looked like they might be highwaymen. “I can spare an hour or so at nine,” she offered, impressed by his good looks and blond curls. The man looked as if he was Cupid full-grown!

  And then she noticed the barkeep, a man who was no longer employed at the Spread Eagle, give her a nod before he leaned over the bar and used a bent finger to summon her.

  Surprised, she had moved closer to the man and listened to his instructions. “Do not make the man wait for your favors, love. I’ve got this,” he said, pulling the tray to his side of the bar.

  Her eyebrows arching in surprise, Sarah turned to regard the blond man. “Or I can spare an hour or so right now,” she amended, wondering as to the identity of a stranger that would get such consideration from the barkeep. “Which room is yours?”

  The blond man licked his bottom lip and did a quick shake of his head. “I won’t be spending the night,” he answered, his nervousness suddenly more evident.

  Intrigued, Sarah gave the barkeep a glance and then led the visitor to her room on the second floor. They were barely through the door when he had turned her around, cupped her cheek in one hand and kissed her – an open-mouthed kiss that had to be the worst kiss she had ever experienced.

  Sarah had only ever been kissed three times before, but none of them had been like the earl’s. Even now, she could remember there was entirely too much moisture, probably because his tongue had plunged into her mouth within a second of their lips locking together.

  But the man’s enthusiasm had been infectious.

  He behaved like a starving man who was suddenly provided sustenance. Although his movements had been jerky, perhaps even a bit unsure, he had managed to remove her blouse and skirts, along with the multiple layers of petticoats, before untying her corset and removing it and the chemise while she took her time undoing his coat and waistcoat buttons.

  And so she stood before him, naked and trying to appear as if she was not the least bit shy about it when she could feel her body shivering – in anticipation or in fear she wasn’t quite sure. She’d only been intimate with a few men, but she remembered Genevieve’s comment. It’s easy to please a man. Just remove your clothes and his, and he’ll do everything else.

  Sarah took her time undoing the earl’s cravat as she tried to calm her nervousness.

  “If you’re trying to kill me, you’re doing a damn fine job of it,” the man said in a hoarse whisper. “I’ve a mind to take you with my clothes still on.”

  Fighting an urge to run from the room, Sarah gave him a sultry grin. “If you insist … but do you suppose you could introduce yourself before we ..?”

  The man’s hands had moved to her bottom, and he suddenly lifted her. Forced to hold on, she quickly gave up her attempt at undoing the top of his linen shirt and hung onto his shoulders, her legs wrapping around his hips.

  “Trenton,” he managed to get out before he dumped her onto the small bed stand. Although the mattress was better than most in the inn, it still didn’t provide the kind of bounce the man was expecting. “My apologies,” he offered, his face clearing as if he had been possessed and was suddenly free of the demon. “I thought …” He shook his head as if to further clear it.

  Sarah regarded the man who was hovering over her, hovering as if he didn’t quite know what to do next. “Apology accepted, of course,” she said, staring into eyes that were so blue, she thought she might drown in them. “I am Sarah,” she continued, about to offer her hand when she realized just then who the man had to be.

  Trenton, as in, the Earl of Trenton. “My lord,” she added, suddenly feeling a bit too exposed. She’d heard about this man, about his having inherited the earldom seated near Wolverhampton when his father unexpectedly died the year before.

  “You’re not Genevieve.” It wasn’t a question, making Sarah wonder if he had actually met
the woman and had just realized Sarah wasn’t the chit, or if he’d only been given her name as someone he could seek out for this kind of company. Sarah thought it best to put the earl at ease.

  “She married last month. Her husband took her to his home in Derbyshire,” Sarah explained as she gathered the folds of his shirt and pulled it over his head. She moved her hands down to the fall of his breeches and undid the fastenings as the man stared down at her.

  “She married?” he repeated, not bothering to hide his surprise.

  Sarah regarded the man who still hovered above her, wondering at his reaction. Did he feel affection for the former barmaid? Had Genevieve bedded him on a moment’s notice, much like Sarah was about to do?

  Sarah slid her fingers between the man’s skin and the fabric of his smalls and breeches and pushed the garments down his thighs as far as she could reach. She knew his manhood had sprung free when it was suddenly buried in her belly. Reaching down, she wrapped a hand around the hardened shaft and rubbed her thumb over the wet tip. The action seemed to bring the man out of his reverie. “She did,” Sarah replied with a nod. “I take it … she did not ask your permission?” she queried, thinking that if the earl had some kind of arrangement with Genevieve, then the former barmaid had some explaining to do.

  Trenton seemed to give her question a good deal of thought. “No, but…” He paused before heaving a sigh. “I had no claim to the chit. Besides, you’re … prettier,” he managed to get out before jerking a bit when Sarah’s hold on him tightened.

  Prettier? she wondered. She’d been told Genevieve was similar in appearance, but never had someone said she was prettier than someone else. “Thank you, my lord,” Sarah responded, wondering at the man’s hesitancy. Perhaps he was afraid she might inform his wife about their liaison, and was nearly convinced that was the reason when he suddenly straightened and then sat on the edge of the bed. But he removed his boots and divested himself of his breeches and stockings, leaving him as naked as Sarah.

  Sarah sat up and joined him on the edge of the bed, wrapping an arm around the back of his waist so that her fingers could skim the skin along his ribs. She turned her face to his shoulder and placed a kiss there. “Tell me what troubles you, my lord,” she murmured, realizing the man may not have come for a tumble but for a shoulder to cry on, or a sympathetic ear in which to voice his displeasure with the world.

  Trenton sighed then, his shoulders slumping. “I rode from Stafford today,” he said finally. “I am on my way to London. My father died recently, and I must meet with his solicitor and see to other estate matters,” he murmured as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

  Sarah used her free hand to rake fingers through his blond curls. “And to take your seat in Parliament?” she whispered, scraping her fingernails against his scalp in a move that seemed to bring the earl as much pleasure as it did annoyance.

  “That, too,” he agreed, not hiding his surprise that she would know of one of the responsibilities of an earl.

  Sarah moved her eyes to indicate they should be lying down on the bed. Trenton followed where she indicated and let go his hold on her. Laying down on the bed, he repositioned himself as Sarah followed him down, resting her head in the small of his shoulder and sliding a leg in between his. Her hand once again found his manhood, stroking the velvet covered rod until his hand stilled hers.

  “I don’t have a French letter,” he whispered, his words coming between breaths that sounded ragged.

  Sarah considered his admission, thinking he would know enough to pull out of her when he knew his climax was imminent. Reaching up with her tongue, she licked and then nibbled his earlobe. A few seconds later, she squeaked in surprise as she was suddenly flat on her back and the earl was once again atop her. “You minx,” he murmured happily.

  Wrapping her legs around his back, Sarah arched her back as she felt his manhood impale her in a single thrust, the steel rod filling her and his sac crashing against her quim. She might have shrieked in surprise – she knew nothing but the rhythm he set with his movements as he thrust himself into her and slowly pulled himself out. His own groans and grunts filled the small room until he suddenly stilled himself and straightened above her. Sarah’s eyes followed Trenton’s torso as it separated from hers, wondered at the perfect, hard body that seemed to hang suspended as his head was thrown back and his neck was exposed and one of his hands moved to where their bodies met and he pressed his thumb there. Inhaling sharply at the sensation of his touch against the delicate, sensitive bud in her wet folds, Sarah allowed the pleasant sensation of waves to take over her body, the waves crashing and rocking her body from one side to the other as the earl’s warm seed filled her. She felt his body jerk and recoil in a spasm before it collapsed onto hers, felt his arms press against her sides and his head fall onto the pillow next to her head.

  From his slowing breaths, Sarah knew Trenton was probably asleep. And probably completely unaware that he had spilled his seed inside of her instead of pulling out of her as he should have done.

  At least for their night together this time, Sarah was glad she was still nursing her young son in the mornings. By doing so, her monthly courses had not yet returned, and she probably wouldn’t conceive another bastard child by Gabriel Wellingham.

  On that thought, she realized it was time she fed the earl’s son. Carefully removing his arm from around her body, she slipped from the bed, pulled on her dressing gown and sneaked out of the room.

  The sound of slurping brought Gabriel out of his slumber, a most satisfying state where he’d spent the dark hours holding a soft body against his own. His own body was so replete from lovemaking, he couldn’t remember another night he’d been so pleasured and been so satisfied with having pleasured a woman. None of his evenings with his mistresses had left him feeling like this, although, to be fair, he hadn’t spent an entire night in any of their beds. He supposed he could have insisted he be allowed that privilege since he paid for their townhouses and their wardrobes, but he never had the impression he was welcome to do so.

  In this room, though, the situation had been entirely different. He rather doubted he would have been allowed to leave the bed, and since he had paid for the room in which he slept, that was only to be expected. But the woman who he had pleasured and who had so thoroughly and passionately pleasured him had held him after their last bout of lovemaking as if her life had depended on him holding her. And so he had, deciding he wouldn’t let go of her until sometime after the sun had come up – he thought perhaps only a half-hour or so ago – when she gently removed herself from his hold.

  She was back next to him now, though. The scent of her filled his nostrils as he wondered at that odd noise. A sound that he used to make when he kissed one of his mistresses (the only one who would allow such an intimacy) and the one time when he’d kissed Lady Elizabeth Carlington. Thanks to Sarah’s tutelage, he no longer kissed like that, which had him wondering who did.

  And who was doing it right now?

  Cracking one eye open, he quickly closed it, suddenly wondering at not only the slurping, sucking sound, but at what he was quite sure were two feet. Tiny feet. Rather plump feet, with tiny toes.

  Lifting himself on one elbow, Gabriel opened both eyes and found himself in a staring contest with eyes that matched his own. Blue eyes, centered in the face of a baby adorned with tight blond curls. A baby that could have been Cupid had he held a bow and arrow.

  The baby suddenly let go of the nipple he’d been suckling and waved a fist in Gabriel’s direction. “Dada!” he announced happily before reclaiming the nipple he had given up only a few seconds before.

  Stunned, Gabriel stared at the happy baby, feeling a stab of jealousy. After all, the babe had hold of one of the breasts he had happily suckled only a few hours ago.

  “Ssh,” Sarah whispered, her amusement apparent in the grin on her face.

  At some point, presumedly when she got out of bed and retrieved the baby she now held, she had don
ned a dressing gown. One side was open to allow the baby to have his way with her. Gabriel had half a mind to open the other side so that he might kiss her other breast, just to show the baby there was a competitor for the woman’s affections.

  Sarah turned her attention to Gabriel. “I apologize. I do hope he didn’t wake you,” she whispered. In the brief moment her attention was on the earl, the baby began pounding his fist on the top of her breast.

  Alarmed, Gabriel reached over and intercepted the tight fist with his hand, surprised at the strength and warmth of the small hand he now held. “Hey now, no hitting your nurse like that,” he scolded, having a hard time keeping a straight face as he spoke the words. The babe, dimples in both cheeks, regarded him with a look of mischief that was so like his own, he thought he was peering into a looking glass twenty-eight years in the past.

  Sarah giggled. “He does that if I’m not giving him all of my attention,” she whispered. “He’s spoiled, just like his father.”

  Sitting up straighter, Gabriel continued to hold onto the baby’s fist as he regarded Sarah. “When did you become a nurse?” he wondered. Leaning over, he gave her a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

  Returning the kiss, Sarah felt disappointment that Gabriel would ask her such a question. “I … I didn’t,” she finally answered. “He is my son,” she whispered, taking a deep breath after making the admission.

  Not bothering to hide his surprise, Gabriel furrowed his brows. “When?” He paused a moment, his mouth poised to say something before he seemed to think better of it. “How … how old is he?” he wondered instead.

  “Six months,” she replied, watching Gabriel’s reaction, wondering if he would make the connection. How could he not? The babe was a miniature version of the man who remained leaning on one arm while he held onto the baby’s hand.