Читать книгу Her Lord And Master - Jennifer Dale - Страница 3

Molly gripped the silver tray tightly as she hurried down the hall. Though the food needed to arrive warm, it wouldn’t do to spill the master’s breakfast. She was newly come to Ashford Hall, and wanted to make a good impression. Fortunately, the door she sought was just ahead. Reaching her destination, she balanced the tray precariously with one hand and quietly rapped on the door.

Through the door she heard an indistinct bellow, then the door swung open. A handsome young man with blond hair and green eyes stood in the doorway. Surely this couldn’t be the master. Though he was impeccably dressed, he lacked the arrogance she’d already come to associate with the aristocracy. Molly surmised that this was his lordship’s valet. He put his finger to his lips and then stepped back to allow her to enter the room.

The suite was a disaster. She nearly tripped over a pair of shining Hessian boots as she walked across the room, looking for a place to set the tray. Every available surface was covered with trunks and bandboxes, all of them overflowing with cravats, hose and other items of masculine clothing. As she stood there, bewildered, the valet tiptoed over to the enormous four-poster bed in the middle of the room.

“Breakfast, my lord,” he whispered.

“Don’ wan’ any!” came the reply from a covered lump on the bed.

Molly just stood there, holding her tray, unsure of what to do. Finally, the valet came over and scooped a pile of clothing off a cherrywood writing desk, accidentally knocking an inkwell to the floor. Another loud bellow, this time quite clear, came from the bed.

“Plunkett! Quit that infernal racket!”

On the heels of this exclamation, two pillows from the bed came sailing across the room. The valet, burdened only by his master’s clothing, was quick enough, or experienced enough, to step out of the way. Molly, however, was not so lucky. Both of the pillows crashed into the tray she held, sending tea and scones flying to the floor. The crash of breaking china seemed to further enrage the figure on the bed.

“By all the saints and sinners! Get out!”

Apparently deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, the valet beat a hasty retreat, still clutching his master’s clothes. Molly froze for a moment, then knelt quietly and began picking the remnants of the master’s breakfast off the floor. If she left a puddle of tea and porcelain on the floor, there’d be hell to pay from Mrs. Hutchins.

“Are you deaf, gel?”

Molly tried to ignore the commanding voice and continued using her apron to mop up the tea.

“You must be deaf.”

Molly took a deep breath, stood up and turned to face her master, who was now sitting up in bed, and nearly stumbled as her knees went weak. He was as beautiful as an angel, well, a fallen angel maybe, with his long dark hair and fiercely slanted eyebrows. Even from across the room, his flashing blue eyes seemed to bore a hole straight through her.

She summoned up her courage enough to reply, “No, my lord.”

“Well, then, since we’ve established that Mrs. Hutchins has not taken to employing deaf-mutes in my household, I must assume that you are just stupid!”

“I beg your pardon, my lord.”

“I said, ‘Get out!’”

“Yes, my lord, but…”

He arched one of his perfect eyebrows at her. Molly swallowed nervously and then blurted, “Begging your pardon, my lord, but Mrs. Hutchins would turn me off if I left a mess in your lordship’s room.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll turn you off myself, gel?”

“Yes, my lord.” Molly bowed her head, staring at her shoes, waiting…hoping he wouldn’t sack her.

“Fine, fine, you may clean it up,” he said, waving a hand idly at the mess.

“It’ll just take me a moment, my lord, and then I’ll bring you another tray,” she told him.

“’S’truth, gel, I didn’t even want the first one.” He sat back in the bed and promptly banged his head on the wooden headboard. “Bloody hell!”

Molly thought privately that her new master was altogether too fond of cursing. He swears like a tar, she thought, although truthfully, Molly had yet to meet a sailor, swearing or otherwise. Though there was a smithy in the village who was well-known for his colorful cursing. Still, the master hadn’t sacked her, so who cared if he swore or not? She grabbed the pillows off the floor. Luckily, they had missed the strawberry jam, and there didn’t seem to be any tea stains on them. She hurried over to the bed. “Here, my lord, please allow me.”

He sat back up, and allowed her to tuck the pillows behind his head. The coverlet fell slightly as he moved, further exposing his broad shoulders and well-muscled chest. Molly felt a tingle between her legs as she stared at his perfect physique. As she adjusted the pillows, her breast accidentally brushed against his upper arm. A spark seemed to leap between them, and she quickly pulled back. But before she could step away, he grabbed her wrist. “How is it that I’ve not seen you before?” he asked.

“I have only been at Ashford Hall for a fortnight,” she replied.

“Ah, that it explains it then. I’ve been in Scotland for a month,” he said. “Shooting pheasants.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“What’s your name, gel?”

“Molly, my lord.”

“Well, Molly, I suppose, as your new master, I should officially welcome you to Ashford Hall,” he said. There was no time to protest as he pulled her down into his embrace and his mouth came down on hers. Molly had been kissed before by boys of the village, but the kisses of those callow youths could hardly compare to the kiss of an experienced rake like the master. He nearly took her breath away with the touch of his lips.

His arms tightened around her, and he pulled her more firmly onto his lap. He teased her bottom lip with his tongue, licking her and nipping her with his teeth, until she gasped. Then, quick as lightning, his tongue was in her mouth, twining hungrily with her own.

One of his hands slid down her back, to her hip, then continued along her leg, past her knee, down to rest lightly on her stocking-clad ankle. She felt the warmth of his hand burning through the cotton stocking and into her skin like a brand. No man had ever touched her like this…actually, no man had ever touched her at all. So she was unprepared for the molten heat she felt as his hand stroked her ankle.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Molly struggled against the muscled arms that held her, but it was like fighting against bands of iron. The master ignored both the knock and her struggles, and went on plundering her mouth with his tongue. The knock came again; finally, he pulled his mouth away from hers.

“What is it?” he asked angrily.

“My lord,” came the voice of his valet, “Mr. Lambert is downstairs. He has been cooling his heels in the drawing room for a quarter of an hour, my lord.”

“Ballocks!”

This time Molly barely registered the cursing. The master looked down at her, his blue eyes sparkling like twin sapphires, and gave her a quick buss on the mouth. “We will have to continue this later, my dear. I have some urgent business with my solicitor to attend to.”

Molly just stared up at the face of the dark angel, still too stunned to move, until the master set her on her feet again and gave her a quick pat on the ass. She jumped away and scurried toward the breakfast dishes still lying on the floor, but not before she got a full view of the master’s splendid body as he rose, naked, from the bed. His shoulders were wider than even those of the swearing blacksmith from the village. Below them, his flat abdomen tapered to long, muscular legs, and nestled between them amongst dark curls was his thick cock. She blushed furiously at the sight of him. Nonchalantly, he strode over to a nearby chair, grabbed a silk dressing gown and donned it before saying, “Come in.”

The door to the room swung open and the valet came in, a basin and towel in hand, as Molly was gathering the last of the mess from the floor. The master sat down in a chair while his man prepared to shave him. Molly quickly scampered to the door, but she couldn’t help turning to ask, “Will there be anything else, my lord?”

“No, that will be all…” he replied, but then one eye dropped lazily in a wink, “for now.”

Molly’s cheeks were still hot and red as she rushed from the room and down the hall. She could scarcely believe what had just happened. She dreaded having to explain the broken china to Mrs. Hutchins. The cost would likely come out of her meager wages. But, even worse than the shattered dishes was her shattered piece of mind. The master had kissed her! What was she to do? Maybe she was making too much of the incident. Maybe it had been just a welcoming gesture. She decided that it would be best to pretend it had never happened.

She hurried to the kitchen and scraped the leftover scones into the slops pail. Then she set the tray on the counter. Fortunately, there was no sign of the cook or Mrs. Hutchins. Still, Molly knew she would never be able to conceal her mishap. She washed the dishes, including the broken bits of crockery, and then dried and put away the still intact pieces of china. The remains she wrapped up in a towel and set on the counter. She would explain the accident to Mrs. Hutchins, but the rest she would keep to herself. By the time she crawled into her garret bed that evening, Molly had almost forgotten the events of the day. But that night her dreams were plagued with memories of brilliant sapphire eyes and fierce kisses.

Several days passed before she again encountered the master face-to-face. She was polishing the banister in the front hallway when he came in from riding. Holding her breath, she dipped him a curtsey as he approached, sure he wouldn’t recognize her. Or that if he did, he wouldn’t bother with her. She held the curtsey as he strode on past her, but then she felt his hand graze her hip. Still, he didn’t stop. She sighed, her relief tinged with disappointment, as she heard him continue on up the stairs, and she resumed her polishing.

An hour or so later, she entered the library to continue her dusting and polishing. Of all the rooms in the house, she liked this one the most. Though she could barely read the stories contained in them, she loved the books and the rich leathery smell of their bindings; she didn’t even mind climbing the tall ladders to reach the highest shelves. She was perched atop one of these ladders, dusting, when she heard someone enter the room. She turned slightly, and nearly fell off the ladder when she saw the master’s brilliant blue eyes looking up at her. Thinking he wouldn’t care to be disturbed, she started down the ladder.

“I beg your pardon, my lord. I’ll come back later.”

“No.”

“My lord?”

“I shan’t be disturbed in the least. Go ahead and do your chores.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Molly took a deep breath to steady herself and set back to work. She ran her feather duster along the top shelf, and tried not to stare at the master as he browsed the shelves. It was hard not to look. He hadn’t yet bothered to change his clothes from his ride. His dark hair was tousled and windblown, his Hessian boots were dusty, and his normally perfect and starched cravat was wilted. Strangely enough, she preferred this disheveled look to his normal sartorial splendor. It made him seem more human, more approachable. Not that she would ever dream of approaching him unless summoned.

It seemed, however, that the master had different ideas. While she worked, he came closer and closer to the base of the ladder. Before she knew it, he had mounted the first rung of the ladder, his weight making it shift beneath her. She hoped he was only looking for a book. He took another step up the ladder. Her hopes were dashed when she felt his hand close on her ankle. Another step, and his hand crept higher beneath her skirts.

“I never got to finish welcoming you to Ashford Hall,” he told her. “I think it is time that we remedy that situation.”

She knew she should flee, but he had her cornered, and he was the master. Truthfully, her desire to escape was weak. Secretly, she longed for the strange tingling sensations she felt whenever she saw him, or whenever she was near him. She wanted the warmth of his hands on her naked skin. So she stood there, staring at the books, and let him touch her.

She could feel his hard, lean body press against her as he climbed up the ladder. It inflamed her almost as much as the pressure of his hand on her leg. His fingers wandered up, stroking the curve of her calf and the sensitive spot behind her knee, before toying with the knot of her garter. When his hand moved higher across the bare skin of her inner thigh, brushing against the muslin of her undergarments, she thought she would swoon. Then, without so much as a word, his fingers sought the slit in her drawers.

Her whole body shivered as the master’s deft fingers parted her damp curls and found her clitoris. She nearly fell off the ladder when he stroked her there, but she soon relaxed under the gentle yet insistent pressure of his fingers. Before long, her sex grew hot and wet as he rubbed his fingers in slow circles against her flesh. He touched and teased her until her body was at a fever pitch. Then, he slowly slid one long finger into her snug sheath, eliciting a gasp from Molly.

He slid his finger from her tight passage, stroked her clit once again, then gradually slipped his finger back in. Over and over he probed the depths of her warmth. As she grew wetter, his pace increased until he was thrusting his finger in and out of her cunny rapidly, while she struggled to keep her balance and her sanity. Soon, she could feel an unfamiliar need building within her body. She writhed against his hand as he continued to plunge his finger deep inside her. All her fears of toppling from the ladder were forgotten as she concentrated on the novel sensations he was causing.

Soon, her breath grew ragged and her heart raced as her body climbed toward fulfillment. Then, like the sun bursting through the clouds, something burst deep within her, and wave after wave of warm, golden pleasure swept over her. She grabbed at the top shelf to keep from falling from the ladder, but there was no need. His arm was around her, steadying her, as he buried his face in her skirts, while his other hand continued to stroke her, sending tremors through her body.

Finally, just when she thought she could stand it no longer, the stroking stopped. His hand slowly withdrew and she felt a trickle of moisture run down her thigh. Molly felt the ladder creak under his weight. Then, without saying another word to her, he was gone. She barely heard the click of the door latch as it closed behind him. Still she stood there, too shaken to move.

Nothing she’d ever experienced could compare to the pleasure she’d just been shown. Now she understood why some of the other serving girls stole away to meet their lovers behind the stables. Still, Molly knew that all pleasure has its price, and she was afraid what that price might be. Her job perhaps, or worse, her virtue. What could she do? She needed this job, yet if she ever wanted to marry well, she needed her virtue too. Losing either was not a happy proposition. She could only hope that the master would lose interest in her. In the meantime, she had work to do.

After finishing in the library, she went into the morning room to dust and polish. It was there that Mrs. Hutchins found her a quarter of an hour later.

“Molly?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You are required in his lordship’s room,” the housekeeper informed her.

Molly’s stomach fluttered at the mention of the master. “Is something amiss then, ma’am?”

“Not precisely.”

“May I ask what I’m to do then, ma’am?”

The housekeeper looked at her sadly, and clucked her tongue. “Come sit down for a moment, Molly.”

Molly was confused. Though Mrs. Hutchins was no termagant, she was strict. It wasn’t like her to coddle her girls, and so such kindness made Molly wary. Still, she sat obediently, perched on the edge of a delicate chaise across from Mrs. Hutchins who was seated on a nearby sofa.

“I came to this house when I was younger than you,” the housekeeper began. “I was the tweenie. Then his lordship took note of me, that is the seventh viscount, not the current one. Soon, I was promoted to an upstairs maid, and after that I became the housekeeper.”

Molly nodded, not sure what to say.

“Do you understand what I’m getting at, my girl?”

“Not really, ma’am.”

Mrs. Hutchins sighed, “Ah, you are such an innocent.” She leaned closer. “I was one of the viscount’s light o’ loves. At least until he was forced by his family to marry.”

Molly gasped. “What about Mr. Hutchins?”

“There was no Mr. Hutchins until after the viscount was wed.”

“But, why are you telling me all of this?”

“I thought that’d be clear to you, my girl. The master has decided he wants you to be his personal maid.”

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t be daft. It means he wants to bed you.”

“He told you that?” Molly was shocked. It seemed that the master hadn’t lost interest in her at all.

“Of course he didn’t tell me right out,” Mrs. Hutchins continued, “but I’ve been around the nobility long enough to know what he wants. If you have no interest in being his dollymop, just say so, and I’ll make sure of it.”

“Would you send me away?”

“I’d help you find another position.”

“Do I have to decide right now?”

“The sooner the better. The choice won’t change no matter how long you wait, and the master said he wanted to see you in his chambers right away.”

“I can’t decide, not like this.”

“He’ll be calling for you…”

Molly’s heart beat wildly in her chest. This was exactly the choice she’d been dreading. On the one hand, she could spurn her master, saving her virginity for the man she would marry, whoever that might be, and lose her position in this house. On the other hand, she could succumb to the burning caresses of a man who stirred her blood, and in doing so, lose her last shreds of honor and dignity.

Again she wished that there was someone she could talk to, someone she could confide in. Mrs. Hutchins was being kind, but she’d made it plain what she thought Molly should do. And why not? It had worked out for her. Or had it? “Mrs. Hutchins, may I ask you something?” she queried.

“Of course, dear.”

“The seventh viscount? Did you love him?” Mrs. Hutchins looked as though she was about to cry. “With every fiber of my being, until the day he died.” She turned away.

“And what about Mr. Hutchins?”

“Aye, I loved him too. He was very good to me.”

Molly knew she had her answer. She left the chaise and walked toward the door. “I’ll be in the master’s chamber.” With that, she left the room and began the long climb up the staircase. She walked down the hall, then stood in front of the familiar door. With shaking hands and trembling knees, she knocked on the door.