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

And those were going to offer the most difficult of challenges.

He’d done his best to prepare what he could. He’d established everything in an order that satisfied both him and his needs, and he’d lived the life he’d chosen for himself while doing so.

A quote from Aeschylus darted through his mind. Something about Zeus causing ill winds to change. His classical readings had been many years before, so he couldn’t recall the exact phrasing, but it seemed oddly apt.

The winds around Wolfbridge were indeed changing. The Lady herself was becoming the leader they needed and desired. He knew she was now intimate with her gentlemen and such things bound lovers together with stronger ties than even loyalty and duty.

All was as it should be, and the demise of Randschen also took the final burden from Jeremy’s shoulders. He wondered if the lad even realised that yet. Time would tell.

Lifting his head and breathing in the unique fragrance that he would always associate with Wolfbridge, Giles picked up his pace and strode back to his office.

There was work ahead, still, and no time like the present to get to it.

Chapter Thirty-One

Although it should have been a sombre moment, the residents of Wolfbridge couldn’t help the sensation of relief and gladness that the threat to their Lady had been disposed of.

The Lady herself was wreathed in smiles, announcing that of a surety she was happy the danger had passed, but also that her much-loved cook had been justly avenged. Evan grinned, demonstrating his happiness by waving the glass full of brandy in his good hand. And slopping a bit of it in his enthusiasm.

Giles had left them to their celebrations, informing them that any headaches on the morrow would be entirely their own fault, and no allowances would be made for absence or tardiness.

His words were stern, but there was a look of patient amusement on his face as he bid them goodnight.

With his departure, the brandy circulated once more, and Gwyneth made sure she claimed her share. There were times when a glass of excellent sherry hit the spot. Then there were times like these when only a finely matured brandy would do.

They sprawled, all of them, in shirtsleeves with buttons undone and legs over the arms of chairs. Gwyneth sprawled a little more elegantly, but she boldly stretched her legs out in front of her and let her arms fall wide, revealing a bodice with a loose ribbon.

“I will say it…I feel wonderful.” She grinned happily at her gentlemen. “And you all are responsible. Thank you for everything you do. And may I also add you are now relieved of your guard duties.” She rolled her eyes. “Perhaps I can now use the chamber pot by myself.”

Jeremy snorted out a laugh. “We weren’t that bad, Gwyneth…”

“You came bloody close,” she retorted.

“It’s our job,” said Royce, his tone smooth, his words carefully enunciated. “We have to guard your body. And,” he pointed his glass at her. “I will add my opinion that it’s a very fine body, as well.”

“Hear hear.”

The toast was seconded, thirded and fourthed.

Gwyneth blushed. “Why thank you Royce. You are so kind.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“Hey. I like your body too,” complained Jeremy.

“So do I,” smirked Evan. “A lot.”

“Of all of them, darling Gwyneth, I hold your body to be beyond anything in loveliness. It is the vision of a goddess, a bounteous feast of magnificence…”

“Ohhh…..”

“Gabriel….”

“Aaaaargh….”

Royce, Jeremy and Evan threw out a barrage of groans and moans and mimicked vomiting noises as Gabriel continued his fulsome praise of the Lady of Wolfbridge.

“It’s only because she took pity on him and let him offer up his virginity,” muttered Jeremy.

“Well, of course,” said Gabriel. “How could she be anything else to me but a mystically magical angel? Ever?”

“The lad’s got a point,” observed Royce, finishing his brandy.

“Don’t empty that bottle unless you plan on getting another one…” Evan shook a fist at Royce. “I am still talking. Therefore I need more brandy.”

Gwyneth looked at them, the wonderful, amazing, handsome men that some quirk of Fate had put into her path. Just the sight of them, happy, a little tipsy, casually clothed…it was enough to make her understand that she had indeed broken a vow to herself. She had opened her heart. And let not one, but four men in.

“Why don’t I get the next bottle.” She stood, ignoring the protests. There wasn’t a lot of effort put into them, since it seemed her gentlemen were really quite happy with her suggestion—they just didn’t want to say so openly.

“And I’m taking it upstairs to my room.” She raised an eyebrow and straightened, knowing she put her breasts on display as she did so.

“Can we…”

“Er, Gwyneth…did you mean…”

She chuckled. “Yes, I do mean. And yes you can. If you want to, that is…” Coyly, she lowered her lashes.

“You’re teasing us,” said Royce. “There will be repercussions.”

She turned for the door. “Oh I do hope so, gentlemen. Be creative.”

The stairs were a slight hindrance; Gwyneth accepted the fact that she had over-imbibed. She clung to the bannister, walked slowly, and reached the landing without incident, although she jumped a little at the portrait facing her. Surely there was condemnation in the sober face looking out at her from under a wimple.

She harrumphed, stuck out her tongue at the painting and hummed all the way to her room.

Aware of the scandalous invitation she’d extended, her hand shook a little as she lit the candles and began to undress. They would come, she knew. All four of them. All four lovely hard bodies, all hers for the taking.

It was as intoxicating as the brandy, this knowledge that she could let free her most wicked