A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle

by Catherine Gayle

  “Good,” he said, then lay her back with her legs open before him.

  Peter leaned down and she gasped. He couldn’t do that, could he?

  But he did. He kissed her and used his tongue like he had used his fingers before. It was sinful and wanton and the most wonderful thing she’d ever known. Her hips rose up to meet him, almost of their own volition.

  Jane gripped the sheets in her hands—she needed something to anchor herself against.

  When his teeth scraped across her core, she felt like she split in two.

  Peter left her momentarily, then was between her thighs. The tip of his erection pressed where his lips had just been and she felt herself open to him. Slowly, he drew closer, deeper. He slid in and out, creating a wonderful friction. Leaning over her, he kissed her, mimicking the movement with his tongue.

  And then he stopped, still inside her. Did he not realize she would die if he didn’t finish? Not that she knew what he needed to finish—but something felt very incomplete. She shifted her hips and moaned at the lovely sensation that caused.

  Peter gripped her hips and forced her to hold still. “I don’t want to hurt you, Jane. But I have to.” His face was strained. “It will only last a moment.”

  With a nod, she raised her knees, which moved him deeper inside her. He groaned and she wondered if she’d hurt him.

  But then he rose off of her and came back down, much deeper than before, pushing until their bodies touched in the most intimate way. And then he froze. “Tell me when the pain is gone.”

  She supposed it did hurt, at least a bit. But more than pain, she felt fully alive. Aware. Powerful.

  An instinctual need to move her hips took over, and she moved them against him.

  “Are you all right? Tell me you’re all right.” He bit his lip in concentration and fought to hold her still, despite her constant motion.

  “I’m fine,” she panted. Wonderful would be more apt. Or splendid. Perhaps euphoric. But each of those took far too much concentration to vocalize.

  Finally, he began to move in her again, setting a slow but steady pace. He buried his face in her neck while they rocked. Jane drew her knees up and wrapped her legs around his waist. Amazing. That drew him deeper. She had no idea he could be deeper within her womb.

  She never wanted the feeling to end—being connected so intimately to the man she loved, to her husband. With languorous hands, she explored his shoulders, back, buttocks. Softness and curves met hard planes and tight muscle.

  The languid pace of their lovemaking gathered momentum. Slow, steady thrusts built to rapid need. With each breath, a myriad of sensations warred for her attention—tingling breasts, intense fullness, friction.

  Perhaps more intense than any of the other sensations coursing through her body was the feeling—even if only for that moment—that Peter loved her as much as she loved him.

  Of course, that was mere fantasy, but she would entertain it for now.

  His strokes increased to a near frantic pace. She met him measure for measure, on a quest for release.

  Her inner walls tightened and released around him, triggering his own release within her. He shouted out as waves of his seed spread to fill her womb with delicious warmth.

  Peter collapsed atop her. They lay together as a tangled mass of limbs, desperate for breath. Finally, he rolled to the side, pulling her along with him and drawing the bedclothes up over them both.

  “Stay with me tonight,” he said. He pushed the tangled mess of her hair from her face and situated her in his arms.

  It wasn’t an order. More a request. She could choose to return to her own chamber if she wanted—he would allow her to go. Jane knew this.

  But she felt loved in the cocoon of his arms.

  So she stayed, to hold on to the fantasy for just a bit longer. Within minutes, she was asleep in the arms of the man she loved.

  ~ * ~

  Peter was startled awake while it was still dark. His wife was still nestled in his embrace, her head tucked under his chin.

  Jane wasn’t the reason he woke. It was her cat.

  The silly animal had leapt upon the bed and shoved its way between them, crawling beneath the blankets to a position surrounded by both of their bodies—Mr. Cuddlesworth must be seeking their warmth.

  Peter sighed. Jane hadn’t moved a muscle when the cat joined them. Most likely, Mr. Cuddlesworth had slept with her for its entire life, other than those nights it stayed with Sarah. It was extremely doubtful that her cat would stay down from the bed if he tossed it. Instead, Peter shifted so they were all more comfortable and tried to sleep again.

  Jane had better appreciate the sacrifices he was continuing to make for her.

  ~ * ~

  “You’re sure of this?” Utley narrowed his eyes on the drowned rat sitting across from him. “Somerton is leaving for Wales tomorrow?”

  “Sure as poss’ble. Me brother wouldn’ have no reason ta lie ta me, guv.”

  Utley took deep breaths to slow his pulse. There was still much planning to do. These things took time.

  Somerton may have run him off that night, but he would not ultimately win.

  “Good work,” he said. He took a sack of Somerton’s coins from the inside pocket of his coat and tossed it across the table. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  “Ya need me ‘gain, just send for me, guv.” The rat pushed away from the table, put the sack in his pocket, and moved past Utley toward the door—assaulting him with unclean odor strong enough he gagged.

  “Pay for a bath with some of that.”

  Once the air cleared, Utley pushed away from the table as well and went outside to hail a hack. There was no time to waste.

  Chapter Twenty

  The only thing worse than traveling to Wales with his wife, two children, a cat, and numerous servants, was the dread Peter felt about what he would encounter when they arrived. From the accounts he’d received, both from his planted spy and from Neil, the staff at Carreg Mawr was dwindling and the estate was virtually in shambles.

  Changes would have to be made. The sooner they were in place, the better.

  Mr. Cuddlesworth’s health continued to decline over the four days’ journey. The cat rarely left Jane’s side, and the stomach upset it had suffered on the move from Whitstable to London had only intensified on this journey. It slept far more than Peter thought healthy, even for a cat.

  The likelihood of Mr. Cuddlesworth making a return to Hardwicke House grew slimmer by the day.

  That eventuality would devastate his entire family—particularly Jane. But Sarah and even Joshua loved the animal as well. Like it or not, the cat was now an important member of his family.

  Peter couldn’t stand to allow anything to hurt his family. There was no possible way to prevent this hurt, though. Death had ever been and would always be an inevitable, inescapable component of life.

  Still, Peter resented the fact that he couldn’t protect the people he loved the most from this pain. At times like these, he had to remind himself that he was only a man. A duke, true. But still just a man.

  A man falling deeper in love with his wife every day.

  Since that first night that she had come to him before they set out for Carreg Mawr, he’d requested that she share his bed. Jane might not love him, at least not yet. But she freely gave of herself each night, growing not only in confidence, but in eagerness.

  Even if she only came to his bed out of a feeling of obligation, the fact remained that she came. Every night. And she stayed with him instead of returning to her own bed, in her private chamber. She allowed him the opportunity to pour out his love to her, even if she didn’t return it.

  He had to believe she was softening toward him, that she would someday love him.

  In return, Peter made an even greater effort to ensure her a life of ease. As they talked more, he was fascinated by how much work had been expected of her as a child. Jane hadn’t just sewed gowns for the ladies who lived nearby
in order to pay for her education, but she’d also assisted her father with the gardening and her mother with the upkeep of the house.

  Peter vowed she would never have to work again.

  Instead, Jane could content herself with being a mother to his children. A role for which, he was pleased to note, she was impeccably equipped. Joshua and Sarah clamored for her attention, which she eagerly gave anytime they required it.

  By the time they reached his Welsh estate, he knew without a doubt: he couldn’t have found a better woman to be his duchess if he’d searched every ballroom in England.

  Still, she was unhappy.

  Jane tried not to let him see her distress. Any time she knew he was watching, she pasted a fake smile upon her lips. But he watched her more than she knew. If she thought him asleep in the carriage, she would let down her guard and cry.

  Twice, he awoke in the night to the feel of her hot tears coursing down his chest. He stayed still so she wouldn’t suspect he knew. Once she finally cried herself to sleep, he wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  He wished desperately to know how to make her happy.

  They were drawing near Kidwelly, finally. Cottages and stables started to pop up along the landscape outside the carriage window, and the fresh scent of the sea filled the air. It had been years since Peter had been to Wales, but it appeared as though nothing had changed.

  The carriage drew through the town, filled with pubs and the newer factories and the sounds of horses’ hooves against the lilting voices of Welsh singers. Then they moved on toward the outskirts of town, through the woods and up over the large hill, rolling ever closer to the crags and cliffs by the sea.

  Halfway up the hill, the battlements atop the turrets of his estate finally came into view. The castle, built in the twelfth century, looked much the same as it ever had. Moss and ivy trailed up the outer walls of the bailey and up the portcullis gates, showcasing their verdant greens against the drab gray stone walls.

  Peter had always enjoyed his time at Carreg Mawr. Yes, the castle was dark and dank and draughty, but the relaxed attitude of the people here had always suited him. If not for his concerns for the rest of his family, he might have enjoyed spending more of his holidays here.

  But his sisters required the more modern comforts of London, or the spacious grandeur of Somerton Court, where Alex and Grace had been living for the last two years. So Carreg Mawr sat alone far more than he would like, with only his servants and tenants to enjoy its history.

  Jane’s sharp indrawn breath as the carriage pulled into the outer bailey took him by surprise. “Carreg Mawr is a castle? I had no idea.” She stared out the windows with a slack jaw. “Are any of your other properties as impressive as this?”

  Peter chuckled. “This is the only castle I own, if that’s what you are asking. My other properties are more like what you would be used to...country manor houses. Built much more recently than this.”

  “I’ve never been inside a castle before,” she murmured. “Well, not one as old and grand as this, that is. Being presented to the Queen was something else entirely.”

  “Indeed,” he said, stifling a grin. His wife was truly fascinating. She was more impressed by a building of stone than she had been with meeting her Queen.

  She clasped her hands together tightly and turned to him, eyes wide. “Will voices echo in the halls, do you imagine?”

  “I needn’t imagine it, since I remember quite plainly how Richard and Alex and I would call out to each other as boys, trying to see who could make his echo last the longest.”

  “How lovely,” she said on a sigh. “I’ll have to spend some time playing in the halls with Joshua and Sarah. If that’s all right, of course.”

  “Of course.” He wished she would stop seeking his approval for every little thing involving Joshua and Sarah. Hadn’t he given her the responsibility of seeing to the welfare of his children?

  As the carriages came to a stop, a line of servants formed outside the castle walls to greet them. Peter recognized a few familiar faces, even though it had been years since he’d last been there. The most worrisome thing he noticed, however, was the small number of servants gathering.

  Turnpenny had not only done a disservice to Peter—he’d hurt the entire town by ridding the estate of so many workers. Outside of the steel and brick industries, there were not many employers in Kidwelly.

  Devil take it. It appeared he had quite the job laid out before him, and he could only hope that the people in town wouldn’t hold Turnpenny’s offenses against him. It was, after all, Peter’s property and his money paying the wages.

  Still, there was no time like the present to start.

  ~ * ~

  After two weeks at Carreg Mawr, Jane felt the best she’d felt in months. For the first time in her marriage, she actually believed she was needed—even useful.

  She spent a good amount of time with Joshua and Sarah, taking them for promenades through the castle grounds and exploring the kitchens and chapel with them. Through trial and error, the three of them had discovered that the turret overlooking the courtyard was the best place for echoes.

  But beyond her time with the children, Jane was working and loving every moment of it.

  So many of the servants required to care for an estate so large had been run off by the previous steward, that things inside the castle simply weren’t operating as they ought. Frankly, there was far too much work to be done in the hiring of new staff for Peter to handle on his own, especially since he had yet to find someone to oversee the estate.

  The cook, Mrs. Dunstan, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Prichard, took great delight in having Jane sit in with them as they interviewed ladies to help fill in as scullery maids, downstairs maids, and upstairs maids, while Peter handled the responsibility of finding new footmen, grooms, gardeners—and of course, a new steward.

  Even during those times when she wasn’t busy assisting these two lovely ladies, Jane kept herself quite busy. She made certain no one, including Peter, was around to see her doing so, particularly since Mrs. Prichard and her staff would highly disapprove of Her Grace’s washing windows and scrubbing floors. Peter might be more accepting of her interference in the household chores than the housekeeper would be, which was saying something, indeed.

  On this particular day, the lovely summer weather they’d been experiencing had turned sour. Heavy clouds rolled in from the sea and brought torrents of rain with them, meaning the children were stuck indoors to play.

  Jane had played a round of Scotch-Hoppers with them in the inner bailey. But then she had left them in the care of Mrs. Pratt so she could sneak in a bit of dusting in the main keep before anyone caught her.

  Mr. Cuddlesworth had been doing rather more poorly than before they’d left London—he had hardly eaten anything for three days, and he never left his basket anymore. Yet if Jane moved out of his sight for too long, he cried out to her in loud bellows. Because of that, she simply carried his basket around with her from room to room, making certain he could always lift up his head and find her whenever he awoke.

  She placed his basket on the grand table in the center of the keep and covered him with a warm, woolen blanket. Without a fire blazing in the hearth, every room in the castle had a tendency to be a bit cold and draughty, even in the summer. Mr. Cuddlesworth purred and shoved his head up into her hand, so she gave his ears a good scratch before beginning her work.

  The amount of dust that gathered in this castle never ceased to astound her. Only a week ago, she’d gone through this entire room, but already a thin coating of grime covered nearly everything in sight.

  Digging through another basket she’d brought with her, Jane pulled out several rags. She dipped them into her bucket of water. Then she set to work. Because of the size of the room, it would likely take her an hour to finish her task.

  Halfway through, at a point when Jane was perched atop one of the high-backed chairs in order to reach beat against the tapestries decorating the h
all, the children came screeching in and interrupted her work, with Mrs. Pratt following close behind.

  “Lady Sarah,” the nursemaid called out, “Mr. Cuddlesworth is taking his nap. As well you ought to be, I might add.”

  “But I only want to see him, just for a moment,” Sarah said.

  Jane smiled down at the children from her vantage point. “It’s quite all right, Mrs. Pratt. He loves them dearly. He won’t mind a bit of company while I finish my work in here.”

  “Very well, Your Grace. But mind you, children, we’ll go up for a nap before long.”

  They let out delighted squeals, scurried over to climb upon the table, and started to pet him.

  “Ma’am, are you sure you ought to be doing all of this labor? His Grace will be most displeased if he learns of all that you’ve been doing.”

  Before she could answer the older woman, Jane was distracted by the children.

  “Wake up, Mr. Cuddlesworth,” Joshua said. He reached into the basket and stroked the cat. “You can’t be that sleepy.”

  Sarah took matters into her own hands—literally. She picked the cat up and held him like a sleeping baby in her arms. “Come on, now. Purr for me, silly kitty.” She scratched behind his ears and beneath his chin with no response.

  Jane nearly fell from the chair she stood upon. Mr. Cuddlesworth hadn’t moved, not to open his eyes, not to shove his head eagerly into the little hands that were ready and willing to scratch him. Not at all.

  “Help me down, Mrs. Pratt,” she said, trying her best to keep her voice calm. “Immediately.”

  The sense of urgency in her voice propelled the children’s nurse into action. She rushed over and assisted Jane to the floor, and then they both hurried to the children at the table.

  “Sarah, I need to see Mr. Cuddlesworth, sweetheart.” Tears stung at Jane’s eyes, but now was not the time to cry. She needed to be strong for the children.