Lord Whitsnow and the Seven Orphans

by Em Taylor

  “Y-y-you are?”

  “I am.” He slid around, and her body became plastered to his front. “And you are decidedly not.”

  “No, I am not.”

  “Shame. But you are not wearing stays.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.

  “How can you tell?”

  “Your nipples are practically cutting holes in my chest.”

  “I apologise.”

  He grinned. “Oh, no apology necessary. Why the hell are you rushing into the water fully clothed attempting to rescue me?”

  “I thought you were drowning. Your arms were flailing.”

  “Flailing? I was stretching.”

  “You were flailing. And now my gown is ruined, and I must go back into the house soaking wet. This is your fault. What were you thinking, swimming on your own?”

  “I always swim on my own.” he answered patiently. God, she was beautiful when her dander was up. He caught her by the thighs and wrapped her legs around his waist.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Keeping you safe. I am on solid ground. You cannot stand.”

  “I can tread water.”

  “Why bother when I can stand? Come, my darling, why so shy now? You had your hand all over my erection last evening.”

  “You are naked, and I am all wet.”

  “Yes, you are. You definitely are.” He leaned forward and nuzzled her neck, settling her deliciously against his now hard cock.

  “Robert, this is…”

  “Wonderful,” he murmured as he trailed kisses down her throat, moving over to slightly shallower water and adjusting her so she rose higher.

  “What…” She gasped, grasping him by the shoulders, but he gave her no time, he licked the large dark areola of her nipple though muslin and cotton and gently nipped the nub of it. Lucy gasped, as much in surprise as in desire. His tongue circled languidly, causing his cock to harden even more. When he used his lips to suck on the bud, she moaned and rocked against him. He used one hand to knead the ample flesh and the other to hold her hard against him. He could do this for hours. The fabric did not hinder him, and her moans of pleasure told him that her gown and shift were not impeding her experience. As he moved from one breast to the other she lowered her head and kissed his crown, whispering, “Oh that is so much better than…”

  He had found his quarry and to some extent, he cared not what the end of her sentence was. But something niggled at him that he should. Lucy was keeping something from him. Had she been this intimate with a man before? Not that he cared. He did not believe all that poppycock about a woman having to be pure on her wedding night. Reid, his best friend seemed more than happy with his widow. And he had a suspicion that Beattie had deflowered his sister long before they had made it to Gretna Green, despite their protests to the contrary. It was one of the reasons Robert had only put on a show of indignation at their behaviour. The man had been willing to do the right thing and that was fine with Robert.

  Besides, he didn’t care. Her breasts were amazing. He suckled and licked at them and Lucy wrapped her arms around his head and ran the nails of one hand through his hair as she rocked her hips against his stomach. He would savour these breasts for years. He had to get her to marry him now.

  He lowered her back to his hips, brushing his lips up her chest and throat before plunging his tongue into her mouth. He gave her no quarter, no chance to think twice. He needed her. And he knew she wanted him.

  She angled her head, deepening the kiss, plunging her own tongue into the fray, mimicking what she wanted his cock to do. Good God, she was an amazing kisser. He had been with courtesans who were amateurs compared to this. Her natural ability and passion were just crashing over them. He needed to get out of the water—to be on top of her and rut against her. He needed more friction, more of her. Just more.

  He moved his hand down to her bottom to steady her and started to move towards shore. His fingers grazed her opening. Even still in the water, he could tell she was aroused. He could feel her moisture, different to that of the water.

  “Robert?” She pulled away and at last he could see where he was going.

  “Yes, my love?”

  “Your hand. It’s…”

  “Stopping you from falling. I have no intention of moving my fingers in farther.”

  “Oh. Right. Um…. Good.”

  “I think I should say that it is only honour that is stopping me at this moment.”

  “It is? Why?”

  “Good God, must you ask so many questions?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re so wet.”

  “I have been in the lake. So, have you.”

  “Not that sort of wet. Here.” He tapped his fingers against her opening and chuckled when her lips made a delightful little ‘o’ shape. They were at shore. He started to move towards his own clothes and the linens he had brought down to dry himself.

  “What does that mean. That I am so wet?”

  Robert considered throwing himself back in the lake. Perhaps he would drown this time. He had no time for innocent ladies and their questions. He just wanted to sink into this one and make love to her until they both came off hard and satisfyingly.

  But he could not. He would not.

  “It means that your body is ready for me.”

  “Oh! I…”

  “Shh!” He nuzzled her neck, holding her closer to him as he neared the tree under which his clothes lay. Slumping to his knees, he laid her on a large linen then removed his hand from under her. “Your body may be ready for me, Lucy, but you are not. I am not a brute. I would never force you.”

  She lifted a shaking hand to him. “I know.”

  “Then why do you look so terrified.”

  “It is not terror. I am j-j-j-ust a little chilled.”

  Dammit. He was used to swimming in the cold.

  “Let us get you out of those wet things and into my dry shirt.”

  She clutched her wet gown around her.

  “No. You cannot see me naked.”

  He chucked and pressed a kiss to her lips, wrapping her in his embrace. “Firstly, I am naked, and you are seeing me, and secondly, your clothing is so wet, so see-through, you may as well be naked, my darling. It was not just my mouth feasting on your breasts. My eyes had quite a banquet.”

  “Robert!” She gasped before he captured her lips in a kiss, burrowing his hands under her and loosening the laces of her gown. When she parted her thighs and allowed him to insinuate his hips between them and rub against her sex, he could not decide if he was in heaven or hell. He would not take her. Not here. Not like this.

  He helped her remove her arms from the unyielding wet fabric, but as he covered her nipple with his lips her body wracked with a shiver. She was as cold as she was aroused. He lifted his head.

  “I apologise. I must get you dry and back to the house. He sat back on his heels and pulled her into a seated position, wrapping the linen around her and rubbing vigorously. He dried her hair as best he could then grabbed his shirt and pulled it over her head.

  “What will you wear?”

  “My breeches and boots. Where are your stockings and shoes?”

  “Over by that rock. My petticoats are beside the water’s edge. I pulled them off so they would not pull me under.”

  “I shall get them.” He stood and turned, walking away from her. He was aware of her gaze on him, or rather, on his arse, as he walked to the water’s edge. Other lovers had said he had a fine arse. He hoped so. He hoped she liked it. It was an arse she would see for the rest of their lives if he had his way.

  He scooped up her petticoats, glancing behind him surreptitiously. Her gaze had never left his naked form. God, she made it hard to be a gentleman. Hard in more ways than one. He could not resist giving himself a quick stroke to ease some of the ache. As he returned, his cock slapping against his stomach, her boots and stockings in hand, she pulled her gaze away from his and began to dry her legs and intimate area under
his shirt. Damn, how he wanted to help her with that.

  He was back beside her in seconds and he picked up another linen, giving himself a quick once over to get the worst of the water off.

  “We can go back by the underground tunnel.”

  “What is the tunnel for?”

  “Well in the past, the earls of Whitsnow owned a castle on the site of the manor house. In the early eighteenth century, it was raised to the ground by fire—accidentally, I understand. My great-grandfather built the manor house on the site. The underground tunnel is almost all that remains of the castle. It was used for smuggling.”

  “Smuggling?”

  “Yes. In much earlier times. When the castle was naught more than a fortress. We are but 12 miles from the sea here. The lake is large, then there is a wide river out to sea at the other side. Perfect for smuggling large hauls.”

  “Your family are pirates?” she asked, breathlessly as she paused in the middle of raising her petticoats to her waist.

  He chuckled. “I doubt they were the pirates but probably some of our wealth came from the proceeds of the trade. But that goes back to the time of Henry Eighth and Queen Elizabeth. There has been nothing to smuggle from this part of these islands for a long time. Smuggling all comes from France—brandy, French lace etcetera. I would be surprised if your brother does not imbibe in a few smuggled products himself.”

  “Do you?” Her voice was almost a whisper. The illicitness seemed to excite her. She was an interesting mixture of coy lady-like perfection and naughtiness.

  He closed the gap and caught her around the waist. “Why would you tell the Bow Street Runners next time you are in London?”

  She giggled. Actually giggled. And his cock jerked. He took it in hand and gave it a squeeze. The damned thing seemed to have a mind of its own. He had to get it under control. It wasn’t getting what it wanted today—what he wanted.

  “I doubt the Bow Street Runners would care about French Brandy, My Lord.”

  “Perhaps not. Though the exciseman may. That said, everyone thinks me such a dull dog that no one would ever think that I would be partial to a sip of brandy now and then.”

  “I do not think you a dull dog. Anything but.”

  “My sister says I am terribly dull. Even my best friend thinks I am far too buttoned up.”

  “I see no buttons at present, My Lord.”

  “I think you may be the only person who sees the real me. And I do not mean just because I am nude. Now, move away from me before I remove what few clothes you have on and do something we shall both regret.”

  She did as he asked but once seated on the ground and pulling one of her stockings over her knee, she spoke.

  “I doubt I would regret it, Robert, whatever happens between us.” He had just been buttoning the fall of his breeches across his throbbing erection. He gave it another squeeze and groaned.

  “You really are not helping matters, Lucy. I am trying to be a gentleman and you rush into the lake turning your gown translucent, while wrapping yourself around me, making it impossible for me not to kiss you. You make outrageous statements, you’re so beautiful it hurts, and you kiss like a cross between an angel and a courtesan.”

  She pursed her lips as she shoved her foot into her half-boots. He tied the garter of his stocking.

  “I do not think I like being compared to a courtesan.”

  “I compared you to an angel too.” She cocked her head to the side as she considered this.

  “As an earl, ladies must just fall at your feet, therefore you must seldom have to concern yourself with social niceties.”

  “Not with young ladies who are wearing my shirt over their bare breasts, no.” He was struggling not to see the humour in this and he knew he was poking her as one would poke an injured animal with a stick, but she was such easy prey.

  She harrumphed and crossed her arms over said breasts. He finished dressing then picked up their things and offered her his arm. She gave him a mutinous look. “You do look adorable in my shirt and not at all like a courtesan. Like a celestial body sent to tempt me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. He was not convincing her.

  He knelt in front of her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I apologise for the courtesan remark. I thought it was funny, Clearly it was not. You tempt me more than any woman has before. Your kiss sets me afire. I cannot imagine what you shall do to me in bed. I was a dull dog before I met you. Of course, I like a little brandy, but I never wanted to drink a glass of it from a lady’s décolletage until I met you. I cared so much about being caught in compromising positions. Now I only care that you are not caught in them until you agree to be my wife. After that, I care little because you shall be under my protection. Once you are mine, we can be compromised together. I have never sat at dinner and watched a lady eat just so I can wish I was the food in her mouth. Now please stop being vexed with me and let me take you back into the warmth. You shall catch a fever out here.”

  She caught his face between her hands and kissed him gently. “I cannot stay vexed with you for long, My Lord.”

  “Come, before I have your ill-health on my conscience.”

  He led her to the trap door a hundred or so yards away and pulled it up bidding her to wait until he had lit a candle. He then helped her down the steps and they walked through the long corridor. It was damp and musty smelling, but having her small hand in his, with her fingers tightly laced through his own sent a thrill of awareness through him. He had given her the candle to hold so that she could see better. He had their clothes and he knew this passageway like the back of his hand.

  “Do you think that many love affairs have started in this passage?” she asked.

  He stifled a chuckle. Oh, her sweet romantic heart. More likely many men had lost their lives fighting over stolen good and women had been forced to perform lewd acts against their will.

  “Mayhap,” he replied without conviction.

  “Mayhap a feudal King and his love escaped from the castle and pledged their undying love to one another, finding a kindly priest who would marry them.”

  “From what I understand, in the time of feudal kings, there was no real need for marriage ceremonies. One just did the deed and had the woman agree to be one’s wife.”

  “Oh. Well that does not make for a particularly satisfying story.”

  “No, but the truth seldom does. Imagine if our story was told in a book. It would be rather uninteresting. Sick children, irritating siblings and toe curling kisses.”

  She stopped, and he bumped into her.

  “You find my kisses toe-curling?”

  He half-rolled his eyes but managed to glance up at the ceiling before she noticed. Honestly, did she not understand why he continued to kiss her?

  “Obviously. They’re rather… prick-hardening too.”

  “Hmm!” And she turned and walked on. That was it? That was the sum total of her reaction to that confession? Damn, she was driving him to Bedlam as surely as if she had tied him in the carriage and was steering a team of horses along the road to the asylum herself.

  “Well?” he asked, aware that his male pride had just taken a bit of a pounding.

  “Well, what?”

  “How do you find my kisses?”

  She sighed and stopped, and he almost fell over her again. “You are an earl and I am sure you have had many lovers. Please tell me you have some understanding of your prowess in that department.”

  That did not answer his question.

  “You seem to be under the impression I am a rakehell,” he protested weakly.

  “I suggested no such thing. I suggested you were fishing for compliments.”

  “Would it kill you?” he answered churlishly.

  Her smile in the dim tunnel lit up the narrow space and warmed him from the inside. “I believe it would, Robert. The confidence with which you kiss me tells me you have no concerns about your talents in that area. So, no more of this.” She t
urned and marched on. When she arrived at a fork in the tunnel he shouted the word left at her.

  Realising he was being an arse, he sighed.

  “Even strong, confident gentlemen like to know they please their women in the art of courting and in bed sports.”

  “You please me greatly, but I am not and never shall be your woman.”

  “That is a shame. I have made enquiries into a special tutor for Eleanor. There is a governess in Derbyshire who is currently looking for a position. She knows the sign language they use at the deaf school in Edinburgh, she knows how to teach Eleanor how to read lips and understand every time, including understanding dialects, and she can teach the child reading, writing, music etc. Everything she needs to be a member of the ton or the demi-monde.”

  “My Lord, I am not a member of the ton, a bastard child can hardly expect to move in those circles.”

  “Do not call any of those children that.”

  “Why? Some of them are exactly that and it is how society views them. Just because you played cricket with them, do not begin to think society will start to think of them as anything more than foundlings and the bye-blows of men who abandoned the women they got with child, whether they meant to abandon them or not.”

  Bitterness was palpable in the air. But Lucy Butterworth had the right to some bitterness. She did clean up the mess of arrogant men and society at large.

  “Watch your step. There are stairs ahead,” was all he could manage. He had no arguments. She was correct. These children always would be classed as bastards and orphans. But he could at least ensure they were prepared for life, could he not? It was better than many in their situation.

  Lucy started to climb the stairs. Despite the low light, Robert had a good view of her pert backside. He felt his body responding to the sensual sight.

  Where does this door lead?” she asked.

  “Open it and see.”

  She opened it and stopped. “It is a bedchamber.”

  He climbed up the last couple of stairs behind her. “Correction. It is my bedchamber.”

  “Good lord, Robert. You are going to cause a scandal.”

  “No more than you allowing me to kiss you on your bed.”