by Aston, Alexa
“Very good, sir.” Parker took the sweat-soaked clothing with him and left the room.
Gray made his way downstairs and to the small dining room. He passed a footman who told him the coach had returned from Canterbury with Mrs. Cassidy and Mr. Linfield and that Miss Nott was showing the pair their quarters.
He entered the dining room and seated himself. His weariness had fled and he felt exhilarated now from the exercise.
The door opened and none other than Masters appeared. The butler wore a sling that supported his plaster but no tailcoat.
“Mr. Grayson, I wanted you to know that I’m back on full duty. My head cold is gone and my broken arm won’t prevent me from seeing to my responsibilities. I do apologize for not wearing a coat. Miss Nott let out a few shirts for me so that there’s room for the plaster. She’s doing the same with a couple of coats.”
“Where does she find time for it, Masters? She teaches the children. Runs the household. Makes decisions about the estate. Supervises the staff. And now sews for you?”
The butler chuckled. “I wish there were more Miss Notts in the world, sir. It would be a better place.”
“She should run the bloody English army.”
With a straight face, Masters said, “I don’t believe she’s been given that opportunity yet.”
Gray burst out laughing. “It’s good to have you back, Masters.”
“I heard that you’ve finally accepted Parker as your valet. He’s most pleased.”
“I have. For now. I’ll be leaving for London to live most of the year. I’m not sure if I’ll take him with me or not.”
Masters frowned slightly. “I see. I would suggest you make good use of Parker, sir. If you must go, he would be a steady servant. There’s not much else for him to do here.” He hesitated. “Will you leave soon?”
“I want to make sure the new hires are acceptable before I venture to town. I’ll also need to visit Seymour’s other property. The house near the coast. Are there any others I’m not aware of?”
“No, sir. Only the London townhouse and the place near Dover.”
Miss Nott appeared. “Good evening, Mr. Masters. I hope you’re feeling well. How is the sling I fashioned working out?”
“Quite well, Miss Nott. Thank you again for all of your help.” Masters left.
Gray looked at her. He could stare at her face for hours but it wasn’t only her outer beauty that attracted him. It was the goodness that resided within her. She was the most unselfish person he’d ever met.
“Good evening, Mr. Grayson,” she said, and her smile stopped him in his tracks.
“Good evening, Miss Nott. Did our two get settled?”
“I showed Mr. Linfield his cottage and gave him the option to prepare his own meals there or join the servants for theirs in the main house. Mrs. Cassidy took the former housekeeper’s quarters, which consisted of a room that serves as both an office and parlor, along with a bedroom. She was most pleased.”
“That’s good to hear.”
The door opened and a footman ushered in the pair. He greeted them and had them all seat themselves. Two footmen appeared tonight to wait on them. Gray and Miss Nott spent the entire time discussing duties and expectations for both positions. Miss Nott agreed to give Mrs. Cassidy a tour of the entire house tomorrow morning, while he agreed to ride the entire property with Mr. Linfield.
As the meal concluded, he thanked them for dining with him so that they were clear regarding their responsibilities. Both newcomers expressed their gratitude. They left and Miss Nott stayed behind.
“Now that these positions are filled, Mr. Grayson, I will be taking my evening meal in my own room.”
“Why?” Gray asked, his temper flaring.
Calmly, she said, “I see no need for us to meet regularly since you’ll be doing so on your own with Mr. Linfield and Mrs. Cassidy. That was the bulk of what we discussed at dinner and those matters are now out of my hands. Of course, you’re welcome to stop by the schoolroom any time to see your nieces. I’m also happy to give you weekly reports on their progress, as well as Lord Crampton’s. If you’d like to arrange a time to do so, please let me know.”
She sounded so damned . . . competent.
“You’ve taken efficiency to a new level, Miss Nott,” he said, his tone edged with anger.
The governess ignored it and said, “Thank you, Mr. Grayson.”
“We shall dine every Thursday and discuss the children then.”
Frowning, she refrained from speaking a moment and then replied, “As you wish. Good evening.”
Miss Nott left and his temper soared. If the two footmen hadn’t been present, he would have hurled his wine glass against the wall.
Instead, he retreated to the library, where he planned to get thoroughly soused.
He poured a crystal tumbler almost to the brim with brandy and downed it in one lengthy swallow. The liquid burned a path to his belly, coating him with fire and warmth. He refilled his glass and took it to a chair, where he sat sipping and brooding.
After two more glasses, the giggles hit him as he remembered getting soused with Burke and Reid at a seedy tavern during their first year at Oxford. They’d climbed up on the bar and swayed as they’d sung at the tops of their lungs My Thing is My Own and The Jolly Brown Turd, much to the enjoyment of the pub’s patrons, who egged them on. Those university days had been so carefree. So long ago. Before he’d learned of the horrors of war.
Gray poured himself another brandy and sang a few lines aloud.
The maid she shat and a jolly brown turd
Out of her jolly brown hole,
Quoth she: if you will candle light
Come blow me the same cole.
He couldn’t remember any verses beyond that. Something about a friar meeting the maid but his thinking was too fuzzy to remember. He decided to forgo the glass and let it tumble to the ground as he now took swigs straight from the decanter. More giggles erupted as he remembered writing dirty limericks with his friends and leaving them on the desk for their tutors to find. One, a jovial man with a good sense of humor, had read them aloud to his gathered pupils. Gray frowned, trying to remember his favorite one and stumbled along as he recited to himself:
There was a young sailor from Brighton,
Who remarked to his girl, “You’ve a tight one.”
She replied, “Oh, my soul,
You’re in the wrong hole,
There’s plenty of room in the right one!”
Gray erupted in drunk laughter, feeling quite clever, and brought the decanter to his lips again, finishing off the remaining brandy. He tried to remember other limericks and found he drew a blank. Bored, he stood unsteadily, the room moving. Or was it he that moved? He couldn’t tell as the empty decanter fell from his hand and hit the carpet. His stomach lurched and he realized, too late, that he should have stopped imbibing long ago.
He plopped back down and slowed his breathing as he gripped the sides of the chair while the room swam. He’d been drunk before but not for a good number of years. War was an uncertain time and an officer couldn’t afford to be off his game in any way, especially deep into his cups. He’d indulged in a single glass of wine now and then but had avoided strong spirits during the past five years.
He’d better get to his bed. Standing slowly, he took a few steps. Dizziness overwhelmed him, forcing him to drop to his knees. Why had he been so foolish? His head would ache in the morning something awful. He knew at this point he’d never manage to leave this room, much less make it up the stairs and to his bed.
Opening his eyes, he spotted the settee and crawled toward it. By the time he reached it, he hadn’t the strength to climb on it. Instead, Gray lowered his head to the floor and curled up on his side. His head swirled with images of Miss Nott, that full, bottom lip calling out to him. He wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into it and hear her cry of pleasure.
His last thought was of his arms about her, his tongue inside her mouth. He shuddere
d with pleasure and passed out.
*
Charlotte dressed for bed and then unpinned her hair, brushing it one hundred strokes. She plaited it into a single braid and restlessly moved to the window, staring out across the lawn.
The past month, she’d worked every hour of daylight and far into the night in order to be able to accomplish everything that needed doing at Gray Manor. She’d gotten by on very little sleep, falling into bed and going to sleep immediately.
Tonight, she was agitated. Almost without purpose. She’d left dinner and knocked upon Mrs. Cassidy’s door. The housekeeper had admitted Charlotte warily but then they’d shared a cup of tea and confidences. By the time she left an hour later, she felt she had a new friend in Mrs. Cassidy. Next, she’d finished letting out Mr. Masters’ jackets. She’d split the seams so he’d be able to get his arm inside the sleeve and then stitched it loosely together so it wouldn’t flap and get in his way. Once his plaster came off, she would repair the coats. She’d also visited young Lord Crampton and spent half an hour with him. She knew the boy was lonely and tried to see him on a daily basis, varying the times she came. She left him with a footman. A different one had been assigned to stay awake in the earl’s chamber each night in case he suffered an asthma attack and needed assistance.
Charlotte paced her chamber, having nothing to do. It was the first time since she’d arrived at Gray Manor that she had a moment to herself. Within an hour of her arrival and hiring, she’d been planning two funerals. Things hadn’t slowed since. Though she longed to go to bed, she knew sleep wouldn’t come. Her mind raced too much, all of her thoughts centering on Danforth Grayson. She told herself she’d done the right thing by ending their nightly ritual of dining together. It wasn’t proper. She was a governess. He was the head of a large household who did the hiring—while she was the hired help. No matter what she secretly wished for deep within her heart, it could never come to pass. The former military man would never be interested in a lowly governess.
She decided to go to the library and find something to read. She hadn’t done any reading for pleasure in months and since she was wide awake, she might as well enjoy the large Grayson library. Charlotte withdrew her green silk dressing gown from the wardrobe. It was the finest thing she owned, a gift from the duchess, who told her it brought out the green of her eyes.
Taking a candle from the bureau, she left the bedchamber and went downstairs. As the clock chimed, she counted ten bells. The house was dark and quiet. Gray Manor definitely kept country hours. She entered the library and smelled a candle which must have been extinguished only a short time ago. Charlotte supposed Mr. Grayson might have been here collecting a book for himself. She wondered what he might like to read and then snorted. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. She had to stop thinking about the man else she’d go mad.
“Get a book, Charlotte,” she muttered to herself and went to the shelves.
She’d only perused the spine of a few books when she heard a low moan and stilled, fear spiking in her. Turning, she called out, “Who’s there?”
Most of the room was in shadow. No one answered. She tamped down her nerves and returned to her search, trying to convince herself she’d only imagined the noise.
“No,” a voice said, filled with anguish.
Charlotte asked again, “Who’s there?” and still received no reply.
Her heart beating, she slowly walked toward the center of the room. Her foot hit something and she bent, retrieving a tumbler.
“You can’t. It’ll kill them all.”
This time, the voice was clear.
And it belonged to Danforth Grayson.
“Mr. Grayson?” she called out, taking a few more tentative steps.
He muttered and then gasped. Charlotte saw a dark shape on the floor and moved toward it, finding him lying on his side. The strong scent of brandy invaded her nostrils and she determined he was drunk. It surprised her since she’d only seen him consume a single glass of wine at night. Then she watched his body twitch and he moaned again as if in pain. He was dreaming of the war. She had no doubt about it but wondered if she should wake him. As words poured from him, he sounded in agony.
Placing the candle and tumbler down, she knelt beside him, touching his shoulder. He shrugged it off. Charlotte brushed the hair from his brow, reveling in its silky texture. She ran her fingers through it several times, massaging his scalp, trying to comfort him.
“Mr. Grayson,” she said gently. “Gray?”
He shot to a sitting position, his eyes wide. Charlotte didn’t know if he was awake or still in the depths of his nightmare.
Then his hands latched on to her upper arms and yanked her toward him. Their mouths collided.
And everything changed.
Chapter Thirteen
This kiss had nothing in common with the brief touch from before. It was hard, demanding, born of need. And greed.
Charlotte’s belly tightened and then exploded with butterflies as Gray’s mouth devoured hers. The kiss, almost brutal in nature, stirred something dormant within her. Then he was urging her to open to him. She was helpless to resist. His tongue swept inside her mouth, filling her, rocking her to her core. The place between her legs seemed to explode, a sudden pulsing beating within her as he took and took and took. Breathless, her hands found his shoulders and clasped them tightly.
Then his tongue teased her, no longer dominating, as if calling her out to play. Tentatively, she moved hers against his and both of their breaths hitched. His fingers tightened on her arms and she stroked his tongue as he had hers. A low, guttural noise came from the back of his throat and his kiss became more urgent. Suddenly, they were at war with one another, each fighting for supremacy. She would never have understood the thrill of this kind of battle. Of tongues. Of wills. She grew lightheaded and wondered if the taste of brandy from him had her slightly tipsy.
She no longer knew space or time, only Gray’s insistent kiss. Her breasts seemed to swell and then grow heavy, her nipples aching with need. He seemed to understand and one hand released her, only to cup her breast through her dressing gown. She gasped at the touch, his fingers kneading it. Her hands slid up his neck and locked behind it as she pushed herself against him. He drew a nail across the nipple and she whimpered. His thumb began circling without touching it, driving her mad. Then he tweaked the nipple, pulling and twisting on it. Desire flared within her.
His mouth left hers and trailed hot kisses along her jaw and to her throat. She murmured his name again and again as the pounding between her legs thumped rhythmically.
She wanted his touch there.
Charlotte sensed her face flaming at the thought. This was insanity.
Gray’s mouth returned to hers, nipping her lips and soothing them with his tongue. His arms had gone around her, drawing her against him, her aching breasts mashed against his muscled chest. Her fingers played with the hair along the nape of his neck, teasing it as his tongue teased her.
When her time came and life was at an end, this is the moment she would relive before everything ebbed away. Her body crushed against his. His mouth slanting over hers, again and again. The rush of passion filling her. Need for him singing in her veins. She wanted it to go on and on, knowing somehow she would never be satisfied again with anything in life.
That gave her pause. This was out of control. She prided herself on conducting herself with dignity, always maintaining restraint. With Gray, restraint had flown out the window.
If she didn’t stop this, she was unsure of what would happen next. She’d had no mama to inform her of the ways between a man and a woman. As Charlotte’s body betrayed her, giving itself over to Gray, she knew if they didn’t halt that they were on a collision course from which they could never return. Much as she wanted to remain in this man’s arms and keep on with the drugging kisses, nothing good could come of it.
Deliberately, she moved her palms to the broad wall of his chest. His heart beat out of
control underneath her fingertips. She pushed against him and pulled back, breaking the kiss.
“Gray, we must stop,” she said gently, sounding perfectly in control but knowing her heart beat as fast as his did.
He looked at her in confusion a moment, then those beautiful blue eyes flickered with desire. The yearning she saw almost broke her resolve and Charlotte forced herself to keep from hungrily kissing him again. Instead, she brought a palm to his cheek, feeling the slight stubble against it.
“Are you all right now?”
His hand went to her wrist and encircled it, his thumb slowly stroking the delicate underside, making her pulse jump.
“I would say I’m sorry . . . but it would be a lie,” he said, his voice low and rough.
She bit her trembling lower lip, not trusting herself to speak.
His other hand went to her waist a moment and then he pushed himself to his feet, bringing her with him. Her thumb stroked his cheek once, reveling in the feel of him.
“You were having a nightmare,” she said softly.
His brow creased. “I can’t seem to rid myself of them,” he admitted. “There were times I had to follow orders that were given . . . and even times I issued orders myself . . . that caused the deaths of men under my command. It’s impossible to let go. I hear the anguished cries of the dying. The dreams can be vivid.” He swallowed. “I’ve tried to stop feeling—because with feeling comes vulnerability. I already hurt so much for those who were lost.”
“War is savage. The atrocities you saw may never leave you. But Gray, you and your commanding officers only did what you thought best. The loss of life is inevitable in battle. Please don’t keep holding yourself responsible.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry you saw me like this.”
“I only hope I brought some comfort to you. I was afraid to awaken you.”
Instead, he’d awakened something within her that would never give her rest.
“You did.” He paused. “You called me Gray.”
“I thought you might respond to that.”
His gaze searched hers. “May I know your Christian name?”
