The Dowager Countess (The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor Book 2), Sahara Kelly [best thriller novels to read txt] 📗

Grateful for his observation, she nodded. “I am loath to leave, gentlemen, but I fear Evan is right. I am most content, well-fed—and beginning succumb to an annoying weakness.”

Royce immediately rose, just before the others did the same. “Allow me, my Lady.” He walked to her side and picked her up from her chair without hesitation. “Time for you to return to your room. With your permission I will convey you to your bed?”

His arms were firm, and his eyes pure blue as he stared at her. “You’re tired. Let go for now.”

Unable to resist, she nodded. “Thank you, Royce.”

“Go along, then, Royce. Settle her Ladyship.” Giles rose. “We will meet in the morning, Ma’am, when you are rested.”

“I would like that, Giles,” she answered from the security of Royce’s arms. “I have questions.”

“It is only to be expected,” he bowed. “I will answer them.”

Royce glanced at Giles, saw the brief nod, and walked from the room, barely allowing Gwyneth time to call her thanks to Evan for a wonderful meal and bid the others goodnight.

Gabriel looked a little lost, but did not hesitate to help Jeremy and Evan. These men really had formed a tightly knit group, she thought. Their courtesies to each other, their jests, their conversation…all spoke to the kind of friendship that helped and supported, rather than teased and discouraged.

“You’ll have to do without your maid, tonight, my Lady,” grunted Royce as he carried her up the stairs.

“I assume you’re referring to Gabriel?” Her eyebrow rose at him. “A fine gentleman who has been very kind to me. And since you mentioned it, why don’t I have my own maid?”

“You’ll have to ask Giles that,” he answered shortly.

Irritated, she frowned. “You can be sure I will.”

He nodded, opened the door to her room with his shoulder, and carried her inside, walking to the bed and putting her down quite abruptly.

She felt a flare of anger jump inside her. “Thank you. You may go now.”

“No,” he said, standing in front of her. “Not until you’re in bed.”

She raised her chin. “I can manage.”

“Really?” His look said it all.

Gritting her teeth, she glared back. “Yes.”

“Show me,” he stepped back. “Stand up, then go and relieve yourself on your own.”

She wanted to smack that smug look from his face. Gabriel had handled the necessities elegantly and with gracious concern. She’d needed his assistance and was grateful for it long before she might have been embarrassed by it.

But Royce turned it into a challenge, the bastard.

The screen was in one corner of her room. Slowly, she stood, letting her legs take her weight. She was steadier than she thought, although the weakness and the weariness were still there in force.

Holding on to the bed post she faced Royce. “You may leave,” she repeated.

He walked to the chair by the bed and sat. “No,” he answered once more. “Show me you can manage by yourself and I will go.”

Forcing her body upright, she let go of the bedpost, remembering that she could indeed walk by herself. Had she not done so earlier? She’d walked downstairs without a problem.

Of course, she’d had Giles’s arm, and had just awoken from a nap, but still. Bravely she ignored Royce and took a couple of steps unaided. Encouraged, she took two more…and faltered.

He was there in an instant, catching her up, lifting her off her feet and taking her to the screen. He put her down when they got there. “I will trust you to do what is necessary without my assistance, but I am not leaving until you’re tucked in. Get that through your head. Let me know when you’re done.”

She heard him stalk away, and then she heard drawers opening and closing.

It was a few moments before she could even consider relieving herself, but the need was there. And eventually it was done. More comfortable, but every bit as angry, she forced herself to call.

“Royce.”

He appeared, picked her up and carried her over to the bed, where a nightgown was now laid out. She’d forgotten she wore a robe and chemise—she’d have to undress. Damn the man.

“Yes, you will don your nightgown, my Lady. You might as well accept it, rather than staring at it. It won’t bite.”

“You might, though,” she grumbled under her breath.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

Her breath snagged in her throat at his words, and she shot him a quick glance from the corners of her eyes. His face was hard, his expression intense…the look of a man who meant what he said and was quite willing to bite—and do other things too.

“Help me, then,” she commanded, refusing to give an inch. She felt alive, engaged in a battle of wits and wills, with an undercurrent of sensuality disturbing everything that made her a woman.

“As you wish, Ma’am.” He pushed her hands to her side and untied her belt, abrupt moves that brooked no refusal.

Her robe slid off her shoulders and onto the bed, and he leaned past her to pick it up and move it out of the way. She caught his scent…the wine he’d had at dinner, the touch of sandalwood and musky wool…all of which cried man.

The room was warm but even so, she could feel herself responding to his presence, and her nipples tightened beneath the thin chemise. Disgusted, she chided herself. She was no mare going into heat at the scent of a stallion.

“This comes off,” he said, lifting one ribbon from her shoulder and untying it. The other followed and she found she’d grasped the front to hold it in place.

“Let go,” he ordered.

“Turn your back,” she demanded.

“Not a chance,” he countered. “You are the Lady of Wolfbridge. I am one