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

to cup her bottom. “Do you have a stitch on underneath this?” He squeezed her, making her moan a little with pleasure.

She shook her head.

“Wicked,” he said, letting her go with a little sharp slap.

“Evan,” she gasped.

“Gwyneth,” he answered, a smile in his eyes. “Jam. Jam now. Later…”

“Later?”

“We’ll see.”

Pouting, she obeyed and followed him to the stove where two large pots were already warming. Wood piles stood ready in case more heat was needed, and she carried out his instructions, adding sugar and water to the cleaned and prepared blackberries as he added them to the pot and mashed them up a little.

“How many pots will this make?” she asked, curious, and noticing the small china containers lining part of the table.

“I’m hoping for three dozen. As you are well aware, our jams and jellies are much prized. I make a batch every few days for market, but these are for tomorrow.”

“So the carts I see coming and going now and again…they are your supplies? Pots and cloths to cover them?” She stirred gently as the fragrant mixture heated over the stove.

“Yes,” he nodded, adding the last of the sugar and a few squeezes of a lemon to each cooking pot. “There. That has to heat up now until it’s bubbling nicely.” He came to stand behind her, running his hands over her backside again. “I will note that I’m already heating up quite nicely, thanks to you and your lovely bottom, Gwyneth.”

She sighed and leaned against him. “I shouldn’t say it, but I do love feeling your hands there.”

He closed the space between them and dropped a kiss on her neck as he squeezed the firm globes.

“Well then.” He pulled away and handed her a wooden spoon, then drew the pots slightly off the heat. “You have to watch the pot now. It mustn’t catch, but it must keep simmering.”

“All right.” She stayed in front of the stove, covered in an apron, holding a wooden spoon. Never had she seemed so at home. The smell of the blackberries, the gentle sound of the jam as it slurped tiny bubbles to the surface and steamed happily away…Gwyneth felt something in her soul lift at the sheer, simple joy.

Evan stood beside her, tending the other pot. He leaned against her for a brief moment. “You’re very good at this.”

She glanced at him. “Thank you.”

He wouldn’t know she was thanking him for more than just a compliment to her stirring abilities. He’d given her a moment, a brief and tiny slice of time where she was free of all her worries and troubles. All she had to do was stir the pot.

“It’s thickening nicely,” he said quietly, lifting his spoon. “See how this is starting to hold on to the back?” He showed her what he meant.

She lifted her own spoon and indeed hers was also beginning to turn into a thicker and more viscous liquid. “Are you going to strain it?” she asked, recalling something about jelly bags and dripping juices.

“No, that’s for jelly. I’ll do that later in the year when all the fruit is starting to ripen. It’s a week I set aside, and some of the farmers’ wives and villagers come in to help.”

“I like that. The idea that Wolfbridge is here for everyone, not just us.”

“It’s part of who we are. Everyone here feels the same way. We have a deep need to do good, Gwyneth. It may sound silly, but that’s what the Manor is all about. And the more good we do, the more we get back in return.”

She sighed. “If only more people could understand that.”

“Agreed.”

The pots bubbled on for a few minutes and then Evan left her side to come back with a saucer and a tiny bit of cold water. “Now,” he said, picking up his spoon. “Let’s see how we’re doing.”

She watched with interest as he dipped his spoon into the hot liquid and dripped a little into the cold water on the saucer. Within moments it had thickened considerably and he could push it around with his finger.

“Almost there. I think we should get our jam pots…”

And a few minutes later they were ready, cautiously decanting the hot and thick jam into the waiting pots, pouring a tiny bit in first to warm the glass so that it didn’t crack. It was tricky work, and Gwyneth found herself sweating as they carefully filled pot after pot.

Finally all were complete and Evan tossed several clean cloths over all the little vessels. “They have to cool now.”

She looked at the trays as he carried them into the cold larder and put them on an empty shelf. “And then you put the covers on?”

He nodded, putting the last tray with its fellows. “It will take a while.”

“We should clean up.”

She turned to the stove and carefully lifted an empty pot, taking it over to the sink. It wasn’t hot, but she was still cautious, and pumped cool water energetically to make sure the worst of the heat had dissipated.

She jumped as the water poured faster than she’d expected, splashing a mixture of wet droplets and some of the jam that had stuck to the inside of the pot. It caught her smack over the front of her apron and gown.

“Gwyneth…” Evan rushed over. “Jesus. Is that hot?” He grabbed the apron at her chest and tore it away…taking her bodice with it.

She gasped, not from the warmth of the water and jam, but from the searing heat that flared in his eyes. “No, it’s mostly water. I’m all right,” she whispered.

“You certainly are,” he answered. “But I’m not sure I am…Oh God,” He reached for her breasts, cupped them in his hands and dipped his head.

“Evan,” she murmured, her body igniting as he suckled