I was so attracted to Kyle, I couldn’t allow my sensibilities to get in the way. I was a woman in my thirties, for goodness sake, I thought muzzily as Kyle kissed all reservations away. I was entitled to a fling. Wasn’t I? I had been celibate since well before my mum’s death, not being in the mood to make love while my mother lay wasting away, slipping away from me bit by bit. Or maybe I had sensed Drew’s indifference and couldn’t bring myself to be affectionate with him. My body was so starved, I couldn’t have stopped if I’d wanted to, and I most definitely did not want to.
I reached up and began to undo the buttons of Kyle’s shirt. My fingers trembled, and it took me several tries to free the first button. The rest came easier. Kyle slid his arm around my waist and pulled me closer.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, looking deep into my soul.
“Yes,” I said. My voice sounded husky, and my insides seemed to be turning to molten lava as he unzipped my trousers and slid his hand inside, banishing all doubts once and for all.
At the beginning of my relationship with Drew, I had been shy, afraid to ask for what I wanted or to tell him what I really enjoyed, but I felt no such reservations with Kyle, possibly because he asked me point blank and wouldn’t take my dissembling for an answer. He seemed to genuinely care about my pleasure, and after a time I began to relax, giving myself up to his thorough exploration of my body. Drew had been squeamish about certain things, but Kyle suffered no such handicap. By the time he covered my body with his own, I was quivering like jelly, ripples of pleasure still radiating from my core.
“Kyle, please,” I moaned.
“Please what?” he asked, his face only an inch from mine. “Please stop? Please continue?”
Please shag me senseless, I thought, but still had the wherewithal not to say it out loud. “Please, don’t stop,” I whispered, and gasped as he finally slid inside me, his gaze never leaving my face as he watched my pleasure.
Afterward, as I lay in his arms, feeling satiated and drowsy, I thought I would be happy to stay this way forever.
Journal Entry
My Husband brought in his own man to replace Master Johnson, who’s been the Steward at Ashcombe Manor these thirty years. It’s high time Master Johnson retired from his duties, but I don’t trust the new arrival. He is to stay at the manor house, since Master Johnson is to remain at his cottage for the duration of his lifetime and there’s no other empty dwelling on the estate. Had my father not held Master Johnson in such high esteem, I would gladly turn him out of his home, if only to get the new steward out of my sight.
I detest my Husband’s dog. I wish it would die.
Chapter 39
Alys
“His lordship says ye’re to take the day, Alys,” Mistress Helmsley announced when Alys came down for breakfast. “Ye can stay here and rest or go see yer family. But break yer fast first. Ye’ve hardly eaten these past few days.”
Is it any wonder? Alys fumed. It wasn’t as if anyone had cared enough to bring her food while she was nursing his lordship or relieve her for even an hour so she could rest. She accepted the bowl of porridge and ate her fill, glad to have a whole day before her.
Having finished, she stepped outside, inhaling the piney smells of the forest and the scent of freshly cut grass. Several gardeners were outside, their scythes moving in unison as they worked on the lawn. Alys walked toward the gates, then took the path that cut through the forest instead of walking downhill using the lane. It was a beautiful day, sunny and pleasantly warm, and she had no cause to rush. She needed a bit of time to herself.
Walking along, she paused to listen to the familiar sounds of the forest. She missed being outdoors and having the freedom to take a walk or simply sit beneath a shady tree, look up at the sky, and dream. No matter how busy she had been at home, she’d always found some time to herself. At Ashcombe Manor, the list of chores only seemed to grow. She was kept busy from morning till night.
Alys found a nice tree with a patch of soft grass beneath and sat down, drawing her legs up and resting her chin on her knees. Images of Jeremy, as he had been last night when she’d checked on him, filled her mind. She’d found him sitting up in bed, reading by candlelight. He’d still been pale and drawn, having hardly eaten in four days, but his eyes had been clear, his smile genuine. Never before had she wanted to touch a man so desperately, to caress his cheek and kiss his brow. And never before had she wanted a man to touch her.
She’d been friends with Matthew since childhood and had thought she loved him, but she’d never longed for him to kiss her or hold her close. The very thought of Jeremy Lockwood pulling her into his arms nearly made her weep with longing. No wonder Matthew had chosen another. He understood what she’d failed to grasp in her innocence. There was friendship between them, but no passion. Not the kind that brought couples to bed and resulted in numerous
