The Caress of a Commander

by Linda Rae Sande

  “My whole life,” Donald replied, a bit of broth dribbling down his chin.

  “Donald. You’re not to speak until you’re spoken to,” Barbara admonished him again.

  “But I thought he was speaking to me,” the boy replied with a shake of his head, his voice nearly a whisper. He turned his attention back to Will. “I apologize, Mister...?”

  “Slater. Commander Will Slater.” He reached out his right hand to shake the boy’s hand. “Late of his Majesty’s navy,” he added when he noticed how wide the boy’s eyes had opened with his introduction. His handshake was firm, however, and not the least bit hesitant.

  “You were the master and commander of a ship?”

  Will had to suppress the huge grin he nearly displayed at how awed the boy seemed by his introduction. “I was. HMS Greenwich these past few years.” Although Donald seemed genuinely impressed, he couldn’t help but notice that Barbara merely stared into her soup.

  “How long have you been here, Barbara?”

  She sighed and angled her head. “As I said before, over seven years,” she answered, her gaze turning to one of the meat pies.

  Will shoved it onto her plate. Seven years? That was almost as long as he had been away! “Why here?” he countered, one hand waving to indicate the cottage.

  Barbara regarded him with the wariness of a caged animal. “The choices were here or with my aunt in Staffordshire.” She didn’t elaborate, leaving Will to understand that life with her aunt would have been far worse, although, at the moment, he couldn’t begin to reason how.

  “Do you... own this cottage?” he asked then, not sure he wanted to know the answer. He was sure he heard her attempt to stifle a snort.

  “It is my understanding the property is unentailed. It is part of the Greenley earldom,” she explained as she sliced the meat pie. “Since everything around and south of here belongs to a barony, I have often wondered if Greenley won it in a card game.”

  The ‘Greenley earldom’. Not ‘my father’s earldom’.

  “Does your father’s current man of business know that it’s in dire need of repairs?”

  Barbara sighed. “I’m quite sure it’s the reason it was offered to me,” she replied before taking a bite of the pie. From the way she seemed to savor the filling, Will realized she probably hadn’t eaten anything so substantial in a very long time.

  “I’ll see what I can do in the morning,” Will said before he tucked into his own meat pie and tried the soup. Although there wasn’t much more than a few pieces of onion and the slight flavor of chicken, it was hot and rather satisfying just then. “Perhaps we can talk later?” he half-asked, giving a slight nod in Donald’s direction when Barbara displayed a look of surprise.

  “I suppose,” she agreed, returning her attention to her meal. “When did you get back to London?”

  William took heart at the query, thinking perhaps a good meal would restore her to the woman she had been when he left her. That had been just after Easter in 1810, he remembered. George III was still the king, although it had become apparent he wouldn’t be for long. They had been in the gardens behind Lord Weatherstone’s mansion in Park Lane, kissing one another by the fountain and saying the words they would say again the following night, the night he had professed his love for her and she had given him her virtue.

  His eyes suddenly widening, Will glanced over at Donald. Is he my son? he wondered, remembering her earlier comment. But why hadn’t she written to tell him? “Just a few days ago,” he finally answered.

  Barbara blinked. And blinked again. “Not long, then,” she replied, obviously surprised by the news.

  He shook his head. “No, but it took a couple of days to figure out where to look for you. When I confirmed with the Pendleton House butler that you were no longer in London, I consulted with your father’s former solicitor. He gave me this address.” He paused a moment. “My letters to you... I sent them all to Pendleton House.”

  Barbara’s eyes widened at his simple statement. She had received a few of them, but then she had been forced to leave her father’s house. Her correspondence couldn’t have been forwarded if no one at Pendleton House knew where to send it. Shaking her head, Barbara’s shoulders slumped. “I didn’t get them,” she said simply. “I rather imagine my father burned them and any others that might have come for me.”

  Will frowned, realizing just then that the Earl of Greenley and his daughter were definitely estranged. What else could explain why he would send her to this God forsaken hovel? His correspondence hadn’t been forwarded. And although he had received a few letters from her during his first year at sea—a delightful surprise when his ship pulled into port cities, even if some of the letters were more than a month old—no others found their way to him.

  “Jesus,” he breathed, his attention returning to the young boy whose eyelids were growing heavy given his suddenly full belly. Had the earl disowned his own daughter because she...?

  He didn’t have a chance to finish the thought when Barbara noticed his attention on Donald.

  “Off to bed with you,” she said, giving the boy’s arm a shake. “We’ve work to do tomorrow, and your lessons, too.”

  Donald’s eyes popped open, and he nodded. “May I be excused?” he whispered sleepily.

  “Yes, of course. I’ll be there in a few minutes to tuck you in,” she said, pulling his plate and utensils towards her and stacking them with the others on the table.

  The boy took his leave of the settle and disappeared into a room off the kitchen.

  Will watched the boy as he took his leave, surprised at how familiar his gait seemed, at how his features mirrored his own at that age. “Did your father disown you? Because of... because of him?” Will finally asked in a whisper as he stood up and joined her at the makeshift sink. A pot of water was steaming on the back of the stove, and Barbara slid the dishes into it before turning to regard Will.

  “He did,” she said with a nod.

  Will’s arms were around her in an instant, pulling her hard against him. “Jesus, Barbara,” he whispered. “If only I’d known...”

  “What?” she responded curtly. “What would you have done?” She spat out the question, obviously annoyed with him.

  The question had Will loosening his hold on her.

  What would I have done?

  Realizing she was testing him, he answered quickly. “I would have written to my father, of course. Requested he make arrangements for you to live in one of the Devonshire properties. With servants. Arranged for an allowance, a nurse for the boy, a tutor...”

  Barbara’s eyes widened in surprise at how quickly he responded, but they soon narrowed. “You would have sent me away to live in the country, just as my father did, to avoid the shame,” she accused.

  Will winced, his head jerking back as if he had been slapped. “Barbara, no,” he whispered. After a pause, he added, “He is my son, isn’t he?” It wasn’t a question so much as an affirmation of what she had said earlier. He knew if he asked it, she would take offense. But at that moment, he needed to know she hadn’t been with another man. Hadn’t shared her body with another suitor.

  What had Susan said back at The Five Bells?

  She don’t do tumbles, so don’t be thinkin’ ya’ can bed her.

  Christ! The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel any worse than her father had managed to do by sending her to live in a ramshackle cottage.

  “He looks like I did when my first tutor arrived,” Will said then. He felt her stiffen before she finally relaxed and allowed him to pull her hard against his body. After a moment, he moved them to the threadbare settee, lowering her to the cushions before he took a seat next to her and once again wrapped an arm about one of her shoulders. “Tell me what happened, I beg you,” he whispered.

  Barbara sighed. How many times had she imagined this conversation? How many times had she imagined the telling? Imagined the possible reactions? Did Will truly believe her claim that Donald was, ind
eed, his son? “I didn’t know I was with child until you had been gone for nearly four months,” she finally whispered. “I know it sounds naive of me, but I didn’t—”

  “What finally gave it away?” he wondered suddenly, remembering his crewmen describing their wives’ pregnancies. One complained about how his wife ate too much and at all times of the day and night but seemed to give off an ethereal glow while another claimed his wife knew she was with child within a month of their marriage because she craved foods she had never liked before.

  Barbara gave him a quelling glance. “I developed a...” she pulled away and used a hand to sweep over her abdomen. “A bump,” she finished. “And my maid told me she had known for some time I was enceinte, but she figured she had best not say anything lest she lose her position.”

  Since there weren’t any servants in the cottage, Will realized the maid probably hadn’t left with Barbara when she was sent away, so she had lost her position at Pendleton House.

  “How old is he?” he asked then, deciding the dishes could wait until later. Or the morning. He would no doubt wake up before her and see to them. It wouldn’t be the first time he did something domestic. Being a ship’s commander required he be able to perform any of the duties required to keep the thing afloat.

  “A bit over seven years, I suppose,” she replied, one brow furrowed as she considered his question. “Truth be told, I don’t keep track of the time.”

  Seven years?

  “So, your father sent you away just as soon as he found out?” Will asked, his angry expression displaying his opinion of the Earl of Greenley.

  Barbara nodded. “We were all at Pendleton House for Christmas. I had hidden my condition from everyone but my lady’s maid, but my aunt noticed at dinner one night. She was so shocked, she couldn’t keep it a secret. She told my father right after dinner.” She ignored Will’s wince at the comment and added, “I was on my way here two days later.”

  Will gave a start. “Your father didn’t speak with mine?” he asked in surprise.

  She frowned at his question and then shook her head. “I didn’t tell anyone about us,” she replied, her manner almost defensive. “Despite his threats of death and dismemberment and to... to disown me, I figured it was my secret to keep,” she explained. “So, he disowned me.”

  Will shook his head. “Jesus, Barb,” he whispered. “They had to have known it was me... right?”

  Barbara gave a one-shoulder shrug. “How would they? I told no one about us.”

  Will frowned. How could they not? Didn’t everyone know he intended to ask her for her hand in marriage when he returned from his service in the British Navy?

  Apparently not.

  He hadn’t exactly made his intentions known. And apparently, she hadn’t either.

  Perhaps what was so obvious to him wasn’t to others. He and Barbara had been discreet at balls and soirées—they’d had to be—and he had only called on her when he was in the company of others. At balls, they never danced more than twice together. And the only time they left a ballroom together was that night at Lord Weatherstone’s ball, two nights before he was due to report to duty. The night when he had declared his undying love and had kissed her by the fountain and promised a life with her.

  They had done much more than that the following night, though. When she had shown up at the back door of his Bruton Street townhouse wearing a mantle that hid her from nosy neighbors. When she told him she intended to spend his last night in London with him.

  His plans to spend the night carousing—he thought to go to White’s and perhaps visit a brothel—were suddenly all about her. All about seeing to making her his own.

  After her declaration of love, they hadn’t said another word. He had merely led her to his room, undressed her while she did her best to undress him, and fallen onto his bed.

  Had she ever protested what he was doing—had she ever hesitated—he would have stopped in an instant, for he had spent that entire night expecting her to come to her senses and tell him to stop.

  Once he had her stripped of clothing—he hadn’t even allowed her to keep her stockings on her legs—he had gone about pleasuring her in every way he knew from his time with one particular courtesan at Lord Norwick’s brothel, The Elegant Courtesan.

  Marlena, he remembered.

  Although the prostitute wasn’t particularly beautiful, she was knowledgeable. Enthusiastic. And quite free with her favors, instructing him on how his pleasure might be more enhanced if he did certain things to her first.

  Of course, he followed her instructions, marveling at how erotic a woman in ecstasy could look beneath him. Marveling at how much more excited he could be when he knew she welcomed his hardened cock within her honeyed folds. How exciting and satisfying giving pleasure could be, even if he did not always take it in return. How intense pleasure could be if he denied himself once or twice during an intimate encounter.

  Just thinking of those nights with Marlena had served him well when Barbara showed up for his final night in London.

  Despite finally taking her virtue—she had begged him to do so—he knew she felt no pain when he did so. For when he finally buried himself in her warm, wet cocoon of comfort, she was in the throes of the ecstasy he had set off with his tongue and lips.

  A moment after her soft cries of his name penetrated the dark, he had taken his release and marveled at the sensations he felt at her expense. Never had he experienced such satisfaction with Marlena. Never had he felt so replete, so complete in his life.

  He had ruined Barbara, completely and thoroughly. There would be no advantageous marriage for her unless she married him. He had seen to that.

  Deliberately.

  “Marry me,” Will whispered as he buried his nose in her messy bun. She no longer smelled of honeysuckle and lemon soap, but it mattered not. She would again once they returned to London.

  When Barbara didn’t respond right away, it felt as if his heart had suddenly stopped. Another moment, and he was forced to pull her body away from his, his intention to grill her as to why she wouldn’t immediately agree to his marriage proposal. She had to know it was coming. He had promised her as much that last night they had been together.

  It was then he realized she was sound asleep.

  Although he had given some thought to pleasuring her before she slept that night, he found he couldn’t be too disappointed.

  He had found her, after all. Found her unmarried. Found her still willing to be held in his arms.

  And found her with his son.

  My son.

  Before the thought faded, he stood and lifted her into his arms. He carried her to the only empty room behind the kitchen. Guided by the dim light from a single candle, he managed to pull down the worn counterpane and bed linens before standing her next the small bed.

  Having unfastened the buttons of her gown down her back, he made quick work of removing her gown and petticoats, both garments so threadbare he worried they might tear as he pulled them down. Despite her apparent state of exhaustion, Barbara helped in divesting her body of her corset, a task made easier when Will completely unlaced the ties. She wore no stockings, which had Will wondering if she even owned a pair. The soles of her slippers were nearly worn through.

  Will thought to merely leave her there and find a place to sleep somewhere else in the cottage. But the thought of leaving her was one he found he couldn’t abide. He considered the floor, but the desire to stay close to Barbara had him deciding to simply wrap himself around her once he had her placed on the bed.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Barbara whispered, suddenly struggling against Will’s hold.

  “Shh. I’m trying to help you undress for bed.”

  When Barbara elbowed him in the ribs, Will hissed and took a step back, essentially removing the support he had been providing in keeping her erect. Barbara fell backwards, and might have fallen to the floor, but Will was quick to capture her against the front of his body. �
�Be still,” he whispered, his hands grasping her waist. He winced as he felt how thin she was. The last time he had held her, she’d had more meat on her bones. In fact, he couldn’t remember feeling—or seeing—any bones behind her pale skin back then.

  When the fight seemed to leave her body, Will moved a hand up her arm and leaned his head over her shoulder. “What is it, my lady?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. Will felt her body seem to slump, as if all the fight had gone from her.

  “How did you find me?” she asked, her head turning slightly so he could hear her quiet voice.

  Will sighed. “I paid a visit to Pendleton House and then to Mr. Barton,” he replied, realizing she had already forgotten what he had told her earlier.

  Barbara suddenly turned in his arms, a look of shock on her face. “Did you speak with Father?”

  Although the single candle barely lit her face, Will could swear he saw fear in her eyes when she asked the question. “No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I only spoke with the butler,” he added when she didn’t respond. “He mentioned the solicitor. Jesus, Barbara, why didn’t you write to tell me what was happening with your father? My father claims he might be in debtor’s prison...”

  Barbara pushed herself away from his body and stared at Will. “So, it’s true then? He’s gambled away everything?”

  Will straightened, wondering how she already knew. “My father isn’t one to listen to gossips, so he only guessed it,” he answered quickly. He watched as Barbara’s gaze seemed focused on something not there. “What have you heard?”

  The woman finally returned her attention to Will. “There’s a public house in the village—”

  “The Five Bells.”

  Barbara gave a start. “Were you there?”

  Will frowned, sure he had mentioned it when he arrived. “I was. It’s how I learned which cottage was yours,” he replied quietly, hoping the boy in the adjoining room was still asleep. “It’s where I bought the meat pies.”