A Well Pleasured Lady Read Free Page A

you can’t, you’re the housekeeper. What’s your name?”
    In as courteous a tone as she could manage, she said, “Mary Fairchild, at your service.”
    â€œMiss Guinevere Mary Fairchild,” Lord Whitfield corrected. “It is still ‘Miss,’ isn’t it? You haven’t wed as an escape from this onerous position, have you?”
    â€œIt is not onerous at all.” Mary spared a smile for Lady Valéry. “I’m honored and grateful—”
    But Lady Valéry interrupted. “I told you not to use that word. You’re not to be grateful to me.”
    â€œI treasure your kindness, then,” Mary answered.
    â€œYou’ve more than repaid me.” Lady Valéry’s long nostrils pinched, her eyelids drooped, but beneath the leathery skin, Mary could see a resonant beauty still. “Do you think I don’t know how many of my guests have tried to steal your services? Just last month my own sister tried to bribe you into returning with her to England.”
    How had Lady Valéry found out? Mary wondered. She frequently seemed omniscient, but she had never inquired about the events that had driven Mary to Scotland. That, more than anything else, explainedMary’s unwavering devotion. “I have no wish to work for anyone else.”
    Lady Valéry opened the drapes, glancing out the large windows at the last swirl of fog to be seen before night fell over the Scottish Lowlands. Leaning closer to the fire, she spread her veined hands. “It would be warmer in England.”
    Warmer? Yes, they’d burn Guinevere Mary Fairchild alive in England.
    Lord Whitfield smiled again, gloating as if he scented vulnerability. “Charlie was always loyal, too.”
    He still watched her with that unnerving stare, but Mary was thankful that he’d changed the subject. In her own way, Lady Valéry was as stubborn as Mary.
    â€œBut a wastrel, of course.” Lord Whitfield sighed as if in sympathy. “He left you penniless, didn’t he?”
    Abruptly, mightily furious, Mary rose to her feet in one smooth movement and started toward the door.
    She didn’t know why she was angry. Men had said worse things to her in her tenure as housekeeper. But this man with his judgmental air grated, and she lost her valued self-discipline.
    Then his arm wrapped around her waist and he spun her so she faced Lady Valéry.
    Mary got the impression Lady Valéry’s interest verged on voyeuristic.
    Then Lord Whitfield adjusted Mary, fitting them like two spoons in her own well-kept silverwaredrawer, and all else fled her mind. No one had dared hold the grande dame of housewifery for years upon years.
    Did he understand what he dared? Did he realize the impact of one strong male body against her flesh where only the winds of desolation had swept? She wanted to strike out at him, to box his ears or pull his hair, anything to make him feel the pain of the constant, bone-chilling loneliness she’d accustomed herself to.
    And learned to live with.
    He spoke in her ear, and the warmth of his breath intruded on her, too. “Too much pride, too, just like Charlie.”
    She shuddered. How dared she even contemplate the ache of her isolation? She was the housekeeper, a nobody…a murderess. And of all the people in the world, she had to allow this man every liberty he desired.
    His hands moved slowly away from her, releasing her with the care of a parent who any moment expected his toddler to flee into the arms of danger. Just as slowly, she stepped away.
    He was looking at her. She could feel his gaze almost as clearly as she had felt his grip. Her skin still burned. Her bones still ached. Tears pressed against the back of her eyes, and if she returned his gaze, she feared he would detect them.
    Instead, walking on wobbly feet, she navigated the short distance to her chair. She wouldn’t rise again. She was a fast learner, and that brief contact