The Rightful Lord (The Saga Of Wolfbridge Manor Book 3), Sahara Kelly [english novels for students .TXT] 📗

Harry consolingly. “It’s been several hundred years and the properties have doubtless been re-registered or de-registered. After all, the Fairhursts lived there for quite some time, didn’t they? I’m sure we’ll find that the legalities were taken care of at some point during the history of this place. And it’s likely that Sir Jerald Wolfbridge had legal advice before he purchased what would become Wolfbridge. Or at least a document verifying everything.”

“Or something. We’ll have to find out.” Royce’s voice was firm and confident as he spoke.

Gwyneth wasn’t quite so sure about what she saw lurking in his eyes. “You’re wondering if this might have anything to do with those legal inquiries Giles mentioned.”

He raised both eyebrows in surprise. “A mind reader as well? My Lady, you constantly astound me.”

She simply looked at him. “It was the logical assumption.”

“It was. And yes, to answer your question. That possibility is going to worry me until I hear from Giles.” He sighed. “At any other time of year I’d be on my way to see him in person, but this winter has been challenging and I have no wish to be stuck in some small village for a week because of a storm.”

“I understand,” she agreed. “As long as we can get messages to and from Giles in London, and whoever he is corresponding with about all this, then we must be satisfied, Royce.”

“I know.”

“But you can’t rest.”

“I’ll try, my Lady.” He shook his head. “I’ll probably fail, but I will try.”

*~~*~~*

Plagued by restless thoughts, Gwyneth paced her room that night, walking to and fro in front of the fire.

She’d doused the candles, finding their flickering flames not to her liking. They were too much like the little fires of worry that the day’s events had ignited in her mind, and she wanted to try to put them all to rest.

She was alone, by choice. Although she knew any of her gentlemen would have come to her room had she mentioned it, for some reason tonight didn’t seem the right night for a session of erotic passion.

Her thoughts were just too chaotic.

Anger was uppermost, she knew. An irrational anger that the one place she’d found peace, and happiness, was once again under attack. They had weathered the violence of a disturbed baron and seen another foe incarcerated.

Wolfbridge had thrived, and yet they’d fail to save Susanna Brockford, a shadow on their summer.

And now the threat from Gylbart and the law of the land, which might affect the very foundations of Wolfbridge.

Why did there always have to be shadows? Could there not be a decade or so in her life when she could simply enjoy who and what she was and the gentlemen who loved her so dearly?

It wasn’t fair. She pouted at herself in the mirror like a spoiled child denied a treat. Turning away, she neared the warmth of the fire, and seated herself on a low stool, fighting back tears.

In the months since she’d arrived, barely alive, she’d recovered her health and her heart, both of which she knew had nearly been lost, along with her life.

Memories of that terrible time in the Dowager house at Kilham, the unbearable cold, the hunger, the rats…

Yet here she was, hale and hearty, possessed of a beautiful home, fertile lands, tenants that many landowners would have killed for—and five men who filled her life and her heart with such incredible joy…

Why was she crying? Why had the tears begun unknowns to her, dripping from her cheeks onto her nightgown?

“Oh sweet love, what’s this?” Gabriel stood behind her. So lost in her own misery, she’d not heard him come into her room.

He knelt on the rug and put his arms around her, cuddling her into his body. “Are you ill? Did you hurt yourself? What is it, dearest?”

She shook her head, unable to find the right words. Her throat filled and there was nothing she could do but let go and sob all over Gabriel.

The best thing he could have done was let her, and he did. He simply held her until the tears abated, reduced to an occasional hiccup-filled breath.

“I’m sorry,” she began.

“Silly sweetheart. Do not be sorry. Sometimes tears are great cleansers of the soul.”

She snuggled into him. “And sometimes I forget how wise you are, Gabriel.”

He squeezed her. “I shall make certain to remind you now and again.” He kissed the top of her head. “But you are chilled, love. Time to get you into bed.” He tugged her to her feet as she wiped her cheeks with her hands.

He smiled, a sweet smile that lit up his eyes. In that moment she could well have believed him a faery prince about to pronounce a magic spell and turn her chamber into a garden filled with flowers and light.

“You spoil me, Gabriel.” She sighed as he pulled back the quilt and linens.

“You need spoiling,” he answered.

“Do I? I suppose I do.”

“Tell me why you cried?” He undid her night robe and slid her gown off past her shoulders. “I think I know what will help soothe you. Lie on your belly, love.”

Too bemused by his touch, Gwyneth obeyed. She was exhausted and couldn’t have resisted his tenderness even if she’d wanted to.

Closing her eyes against the pillows, she felt him get onto the bed and straddle her. And then his hands began a soothing slide up and down her spine.

“Oh Gabriel,” she muttered. “That feels so good.”

“Now you can relax. And tell me why you were crying.”

“You’re not going to give up asking, are you?”

“No.” He pressed firmly in between her shoulders and kneaded the bones he found there.

“All right. I will surrender to the terrible torture you’re inflicting upon my person.”

Gabriel chuckled. “I rather thought you