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

He paled. “What?”

She squared her shoulders. “Your response tells a tale, Baron. And one that will not, sadly for you, have a happy ending.” She turned away from him and walked to the door. “Giles?” she called.

“Ma’am?” He was there in an instant.

“The Baron is leaving.”

“Very good, my Lady. This way, sir.” Giles stared at the man.

“But…” The Baron stuttered.

“There is nothing for you here, Baron Randschen.” Gwyneth stood straight and resolute. “I will not consider marriage with you, as I have made quite clear. If, as it would seem, you would prefer a wife who comes with an estate, I suggest you repair to London and talk to some of the ladies of the Ton? They are always seeking a title for their daughters. You might find one or two who come with land attached.” Her lip curled. “Whatever you decide, you have my best wishes.”

There wasn’t a thing left for the Baron to say. He clicked his boot heels, dipped his head in a brief salute, and glared at her, his eyes radiating anger. Then he walked stiffly out, past Giles and into the hall.

Giles closed the door behind him, leaving Gwyneth alone.

She sank into a chair, her hand shaking a little. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have been concerned too much after such an experience, but there’d been something so malevolent about the Baron’s eyes.

Jeremy opened the door, looked in and hurried to her side, kneeling down and taking her cold hands in his. “Did he hurt you? Upset you?”

She shook her head. “No, no of course not. I’m well, Jeremy. Really. Giles was outside the whole time. It’s just…” she paused, trying to collect her thoughts. “He’s not a kind or pleasant man. And it was plain he didn’t want me at all, he wanted Wolfbridge. When he found out that if I wed I surrendered it, he promptly lost interest.”

“The cad.”

“Well, I’m rather glad he did.”

“There is that, I suppose.” Jeremy tipped his head on one side. “Honestly? There really wasn’t anything he could have done right, was there?”

She couldn’t help the laugh that tripped from her throat in surprise. “No. No, now you mention it, not a single thing. He was doomed from the start. No wife, and no land. Either way.”

“That’s better.” Jeremy raised her hands to his lips. “I like to see you laughing. Put all thoughts of him from your mind.”

“I will.”

The eyes staring at her were warm, filled with promises, the smile sensual and very appealing. “You should rest a little. It’s been a busy day.”

“Perhaps I should.”

“It will be an even busier night,” he murmured as he helped her to her feet.

She turned her head, looking at him, feeling the want rise within her. “I do hope so.”

Chapter Twenty

Tense and on edge, Gwyneth heaved a sigh of relief when the day finally ended. Whether it was the concern over the potential blackmail threat, the after-effects of turning down the Baron, or the knowledge that tonight Jeremy would come to her…she was close to emotionally exhausted.

Her hand shook a little as she slipped from her gown, washed and put on her robe. Refusing to accept that it might be nerves, she looked at herself in the mirror over her bureau as she sat to brush her hair. It had definitely thickened, and for that she was grateful. It still showed no signs of lengthening very much, but if she were honest with herself, she found the short curls to her liking. Easy to care for, the chestnut lights were returning, helped along by the rose soap and the oils recommended by both Mrs B and Mrs Smart.

Simple, but effective, like many of the ways in the country.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear Jeremy enter, and jumped when his image appeared behind her in the mirror. He put his hands on her shoulders, calming her.

“Hush, dear one. I didn’t want to make you jump, but I didn’t want to advertise my presence either.”

She nodded, staring at his face, partly shadowed now in the semi-darkness. He was so handsome. “It’s all right.” She turned on the stool, seeing his robe. He looked…somehow more masculine, more…everything. Clad in dark blue wool, simply tied at the waist, she could see a little chest showing between the lapels. Her gaze travelled upward.

“Jeremy…” she whispered. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He pulled her to her feet. “Are you sure? Very sure?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good.” He ran his hand around her face, cupping her chin and raising it so that he could bend toward her. “Then I can do something I very much want to do…”

He kissed her, gently at first, his arm surrounding her and lifting her into his body. Without her shoes she realised for the first time how tall he was, and how short she was. But nevertheless, his mouth took hers, sweetly, easily, urging her lips apart with his tongue and making her moan as she allowed him entrance.

Her hands reached for him, running up his chest to his neck, locking there and holding them together as they explored the kiss, deepened it and let it claim them both.

She broke free, gasping his name. “Jeremy…” She freed the tie of his robe, pushing the fabric aside. “God, you’re lovely,” she whispered, stroking her palms over the firm planes and ridges she’d exposed. Whorls of hair dappled his skin and arrowed down his body—she pushed the robe completely away and sucked in a breath of air at the rigid length of him emerging from the fair curls between his legs.

“Kiss me again,” he growled, pulling her against his nakedness.

Willingly she went to him, her senses luxuriating in the heat from his bare body as it seeped through the thinner silk of her