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

She smiled. “You can let me thank you, Evan. I know I’ve done so before, but I need to make sure you understand that I do not, in any way, underestimate what you’ve done for me and my return to health.”

He seemed at a loss, adorably so in her eyes. Obeying some unknown instinct, she walked to him, put her hand on his chest and went up on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Except he moved…and the kiss landed on his lips. His warm, firm lips…

His arm encircled her drawing her close. “I like this kind of gratitude,” he whispered against her skin. “Thank me again?”

For a split second, Gwyneth engaged in a conversation with herself. Should she or shouldn’t she? Where would it lead?

In that instant a truth blinded her. She was the Lady of Wolfbridge. These men were hers. It was time to put that statement to the test.

So she lifted her face a little, opened her mouth and kissed Evan, a lingering and sensual moment when lips caressed, tongues met and duelled, and bodies crushed against each other.

He had both arms around her now, she discovered. And she liked the feeling. Solid, warm, his body was pressed against her. Clad only in his shirt and breeches, she felt his heat soaking through her bodice and skirts, a lick of fire searing every place it touched.

Deepening the kiss, he tightened his hold, bringing one arm up to cradle her head in his hands as he angled her against his mouth and explored her with his tongue.

Someone moaned—it might have been her—and she became aware he grew hard against her thighs.

For the first time in years the sensation of desire rippled through her. A need, a wanting that caught her by surprise. He smelled wonderful; a mix of man, mint and spices. Hunger raced through her, an urge to taste more, to devour his kisses and explore his warmth.

Alarmed, she drew back, her mouth tingling and wet, her heart pounding beneath the cotton and lace. “Evan,” she muttered. “Evan…I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have…”

He smiled, his eyes warm and tender. “Of course you should have. You are my Lady. Our Lady. We are yours, Lady Gwyneth. Best you understand that right now.” His hand lingered on her cheek. “Your desires are our desires. Your needs are our needs.”

“So it is true?” she asked cautiously. “All of you are here to serve me. To fulfil my every…wish?”

“Your every wish, dream, and yes, your every desire.” The last word was a caress in and of itself. “No matter what they may be, dear Gwyneth.”

Her body trembled and she drew away from him. “I see.” His arms lowered and she felt strangely bereft without their comforting warmth. “I must think about this.”

“Indeed you must.” He smiled and turned toward the sink again. “It is a glorious spring day, my Lady. If you go through that door…” he nodded to one side of the room, “you’ll find yourself in our brand-new kitchen garden. ’Tis a lovely place this time of year, warm and fragrant with all the different plants beginning to grow. There’s even a bench where you may sit and listen to the bees…”

It sounded like paradise. “Thank you. Yes, it does sound appealing.”

“I will be here. If you need anything at all, just call and I’ll hear you.”

“Very well,” she nodded and headed for the door. “Thank you again.”

His grin was as warm as the sunlight. “Believe me, it was my pleasure.”

She couldn’t help but smile back, even as she walked out into the garden and took her confused thoughts with her.

He was right about one thing…this spot was quite lovely.

She found herself surrounded by neat flowerbeds, delineated by pathways made of stone slabs. Since it was already April—something that had surprised Gwyneth when she had asked about the date—many of the beds were fully green with growing things expanding their leaves into the warm spring sunlight.

She recognised parsley, thought those slim spears might be either onions or scallions, and guessed that some others held carrots and potatoes. Although she’d grown up far from here, she recalled a similar garden near her parents’ house. And she also remembered spending some time in it with her mama.

How long ago that was and how much had happened in between.

And yet, in its oddly circuitous way, life had brought her back into a spring garden. As she sat on the promised stone bench, beneath the branches of a cherry tree, she had to wonder at the strangeness of it all. Not to mention what on earth her parents would have thought if they could see her now.

A fine lady with her very own estate. They’d be happy, she knew. And with luck, they’d never have learned what she had gone through to get here. In fact, nobody would ever know. There were matters in her past that were best left there. Buried, forgotten by almost everyone but her. There was nobody left to betray her confidence—the only one was gone now, along with the husband she’d done her best to love.

She was good at pretending. The Earl had been kind, but there was no passion there, no kisses that aroused her body, or touches that made her yearn for more. Certainly nothing like the emotions she was experiencing here at Wolfbridge from her gentlemen.

Gabriel was kind and gentle—and oh so sweetly tender, like the new plants emerging around her. He might be her age, but in her eyes his heart seemed so fresh.

Royce was the opposite. An older soul, with eyes that had seen much and forgotten none of it. He was harsh, she guessed. Edgy perhaps. And a born leader.

Jeremy was laughter and light, unable to resist a joke when the time was right, and