Sinful Seduction (6 page)

Five minutes later she was back. ‘Open wide,' she ordered, and still whimpering, Emily did as she was told, wincing as Mrs Hardcastle dabbed oil of cloves onto the offending tooth. ‘Now,' she muttered, producing a large green bottle and carefully measuring out a small spoonful, ‘get this laudanum down yer and get back to yer bed. If this don't work you'll ‘ave to ‘ave it out.'

Emily opened her mouth to protest, but the laudanum was already having an effect, and instead she yawned prodigiously and smiled at Mrs H. ‘Yes m'm,' she murmured, slowly getting to her feet. She staggered then giggled.

‘Better see her up to bed, Maggie,' sighed Mrs H. ‘Don't want the silly young madam falling asleep on the stairs,' and with Emily leaning heavily against her, Maggie left the kitchen.

By the time she left Emily safely tucked up in bed and returned to her duties, Mrs H had made a fresh pot of tea. ‘You'll have to take these up,' she said, indicating the trays. ‘The old master's first, then young Master Jeremy's.' She sniffed. ‘Her ladyship won't want to be disturbed until near enough midday.'

Maggie stared at her in dismay. ‘Me?' she protested. ‘But what about my own work?'

‘You can do it later,' snapped Mrs H. ‘Now don't stand there gawping. Get a move on before them bells start jangling,' and with a sigh of resignation, Maggie picked up the master's tray.

 

When she entered the bedroom her nose wrinkled in distaste. The windows were closed and the room smelt of stale sweat and lingering farts. For all his wealth and breeding, Lord Edward stank like a fat old pig. He looked like one too, lying there with his mouth open and his puffy red face covered in grey bristles.

Holding her breath, Maggie bent to lay the tray carefully on the bedside table. With a bit of luck she could have the curtains drawn and be out of there before he was properly awake.

But as she stood up his hand shot from beneath the coverlet and grabbed her behind the knee, toppling her onto the bed. She gasped and struggled as he sat up and hauled her alongside him. His sweaty face came down on hers, his breath stinking like an open grave and she gagged as his tongue squirmed its way between her lips like a hot, wet slug.

‘Come on,' he panted, lifting his head. ‘You know you want it.' His lips came down on her breasts this time and even through the thick serge she could feel the slobbering wetness against her skin. Holding her down with one hand, he flipped up her heavy skirts and groaned as he found the gap in her pantaloons, his stubby fingers exploring the softness where her thick black stockings ended and the creamy flesh of her thighs began. He pinched her viciously and chuckled as she squealed, and it was that that saved her. Galvanised by the pain she jerked convulsively and broke his hold. Rolling away from him she fell on her knees on the other side of the bed, then leapt to her feet and scurried out the door, his jeering laughter following her.

She was halfway down the servants' stairs before she stopped running. Swallowing down her nausea she scrubbed her mouth, trying to remove the taste of him, then attempted to rearrange her tangled hair. When she had finally regained her breath and restored herself she continued on down, still shuddering at her narrow escape.

‘You took your time,' grumbled Mrs Hardcastle. ‘What were you doing? Admiring yourself in the mirror, no doubt.' For a moment Maggie contemplated telling her what had really happened, then dismissed the idea. Whose word would she take? That of a common lady's maid or that of Lord Edward Cavanagh, member of the House of Lords and pillar of society? And even if she did believe her story, what could she do? Smack his wrists and tell him not to be a naughty boy?

‘Yes m'm,' she muttered, bowing her head to hide the bitterness in her eyes. ‘Sorry m'm.'

‘Well then,' said Mrs Hardcastle, mollified. ‘Take up Master Jeremy's tray. And be quick about it. He's probably awake by this time.'

He wasn't. Putting the tray down quietly, Maggie stepped back and feasted her eyes on him, wondering how an ugly brute like Sir Edward could have fathered such a son. His blond hair was endearingly tousled against the pillow and his lips were slightly parted, making him look boyish and vulnerable, despite the rakish moustache.

Maggie blushed as she realised he slept without a nightshirt. He had tossed off most of the bedclothes during the night, and the remaining sheet was tangled round his waist, revealing his broad tanned chest. Her fingers itched to touch the soft golden hair that made a V in the centre of it, then led tantalisingly downwards. She suppressed a gasp as she realised that the thin cotton outlined every curve of his body - and that she could see his...

‘Well, do I pass inspection?' he asked, smiling lazily at her from beneath half-closed lids. If she'd been red before, she was scarlet now! Waves of hot shame washed over her. Even the piano in the drawing room had its legs decently covered to avoid wicked thoughts - and she'd been caught staring at a man's half-naked body like a cheap dockside whore, touting for custom.

‘I... I'm sorry, sir,' she stammered. ‘I was just about to wake you.' She pointed to the tray. ‘I brought your breakfast.'

‘Thank you, um...'

‘Maggie, sir,' she said, staring demurely at the floor.

‘Thank you, Maggie,' he said. ‘And I'm sure it'll taste all the better for being served by such a pretty wench.'

The blush, which had been dying away, stained her cheeks again. ‘Thank you, sir,' she muttered, bobbing a curtsey. ‘I'll be back to bring your hot water and fetch the tray once you've finished.'

‘I'll look forward to it,' he grinned, and as he turned his attention to his breakfast she took the opportunity to leave, with as much dignity as she could muster.

‘You've been running on thon stairs again,' scolded Mrs McAlister. ‘Look at the colour of you. You're as red in the face as a turkey cock. If you're not careful you'll give yourself a fainting fit and end up in bed beside young Emily - and then how will we manage?'

‘Don't be daft,' scoffed Maggie. ‘I won't faint.' She smiled ruefully. ‘There's too much to do. I haven't got the time.'

‘Well, at least get something inside you, lassie,' grumbled Mrs McAlister. ‘You can't run about like a scalded cat on an empty stomach.' She pointed to the black-leaded range. ‘There's porridge in the pan and some tea left in the pot. Get yourself something to eat before you take up the hot water and fetch down the trays.'

‘Porridge!' exclaimed Maggie, pulling a face. ‘No thanks, I'll make meself a bit of toast.' Pouring herself a cup of tea, she found the toasting fork and stuck the heel of the loaf onto it. Seated in front of the fire, she held the bread in front of the hot coals, staring dreamily at the patterns they made as she went over Master Jeremy's words in her head.

‘For God's sake, girl, do you want to set the place afire?' demanded Mrs McAllister, and Maggie came to with a jerk to find her toast in flames. She squeaked with dismay as the fiery remains of her breakfast fell onto the hearth and disintegrated in a shower of sparks.

‘Now look what you've done,' said Mrs McAllister. ‘Get that swept up and make yourself another slice.' The bells on the wall jangled. ‘Too late,' she went on in vexation. ‘That'll be them wanting their hot water. Leave it and I'll do it. You'll have to wait for your breakfast now.' She tutted. ‘Really Maggie, I don't know what's got into you this morning. You're usually such a sensible girl.'

‘Sorry, Mrs M,' apologised Maggie, leaping to her feet. ‘But don't you bother; I'll sweep up the mess when I get back.' Gripping a water can in each hand, she nudged the door open with her hip and set off back upstairs.

Outside Lord Edwards door she paused apprehensively. What if he grabbed her again? She might not have such a lucky escape this time. She pushed open the door, peered round it and breathed a sigh of relief. There was no sign of him. He must be in the dressing room, so hitching up her skirt she dashed in, deposited his hot water, picked up the breakfast tray and dashed out again.

Leaving the tray at the top of the servants' staircase, she returned for the second water tin, walked along the upper hall to Master Jeremy's room and tapped on the door. There was no answer and a pang of disappointment ran through her. He must be getting dressed too. Pushing the door open she walked in - then stopped on the threshold, her mouth dropping open.

He was getting dressed all right, but he hadn't bothered withdrawing to his dressing room to do it. The sunlight coming in through the window illuminated his naked body, highlighting the smooth hard planes of his chest and stomach and the muscular columns of his thighs. He looked like that statue of whatsisname she'd peeked at in one of the books when she'd been dusting the library. With one small - or rather large - difference. She gasped and averted her eyes from the sight of his manhood lying heavily against his thighs, her knees suddenly weak at the wicked images the sight conjured up.

At the sound he whirled round and grabbed the crumpled sheet from the bed to cover himself. ‘Good God, girl! Couldn't you knock before you came in?' he demanded.

‘I - I did, sir,' she stammered. ‘You couldn't have heard me.' She held up the can of hot water as if it were a talisman against the strange feelings the sight of his naked body had provoked. ‘I - I only came to bring you this and take away your tray. I didn't mean to disturb you, sir. I'm sorry.'

He looked up from fastening the sheet round his waist, saw the expression on her face and took pity on her. ‘Don't look so horrified,' he grinned. ‘It's not the end of the world. If having a pretty girl see me in the buff is all I have to worry about, I think I'll survive.'

She bit her lip and looked up at him. ‘And you won't tell Mrs Hardcastle about it?' she pleaded. ‘She'd give me an awful row.'

‘Of course not,' he assured her, then winked and chucked her under the chin. ‘It'll be our little secret. I think I'll take that, before you drop it,' he added, taking the water can from her nerveless fingers. ‘Don't want you getting into any more trouble.'

Maggie pulled herself together. ‘Thank you, sir,' she said, stepping back from him. ‘You're very kind.' She edged past him. ‘I'll just take your tray and be out of your way.' As she lifted it she discovered her hands were shaking; the breakfast china rattled together, giving her away.

‘Good heavens, you're a nervous little filly, aren't you?' he grinned. ‘Here, that looks heavy. Give it to me and I'll carry it downstairs for you.'

Maggie stared at him in horror, her nerves forgotten as she imagined what Mrs H would have to say about Master Jeremy doing her work. ‘Oh no, sir!' she protested, hanging onto it as if he was going to wrench it from her at any minute. ‘You can't do that. It'd be more than my job's worth.' She shook her head. ‘I can manage, sir. I'm used to it.'

He stared at the slim, defiant figure and suppressed a smile. She looked as if she was prepared to defend the damned tray with her life if need be. ‘Determined as well as pretty,' he said softly, and she flushed again at the admiration in his eyes. ‘Well, at least let me hold the door open for you; you can hardly object to that.'

‘Thank you, sir, that's very kind of you,' she said formally - then relief made her bold and the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. ‘Better hang on to that sheet though,' she said, dimpling up at him. ‘I've had enough frights this morning to last me a lifetime.' She stopped in shock at her own forwardness. God, he could have her sacked on the spot for insolence! She stared at him apprehensively.

‘You're quite right,' he agreed solemnly. ‘I shall.' Clutching it to his waist, he bowed and opened the door, and as she maneuvered past him he was so close that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, and the clean male scent of him made her head spin. Sudden heat blossomed in her belly and she could feel the secret place between her thighs moisten in response.

He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her and she shivered involuntarily at his touch. Their eyes met and she recognised the answering desire in his - a desire reflected in the burgeoning swell of his manhood beneath the concealing sheet. Her lips parted and she swayed towards him, and if it hadn't been for the tray between them she would have found herself in his arms.

Coming to her senses, Maggie turned and walked away as fast as her burden would allow, the breakfast crockery clattering in her shaking hands. Aware of his eyes still on her, she kept her head high until she was safely round the corner and out of sight. Only then did she allow herself to collapse panting against the wall. She must have been imagining things. He was the master's son. He wouldn't be interested in the likes of her - or if he was it would only be for one thing.

Once her heart had stopped pounding she picked up the other tray and made her way slowly back downstairs.

‘I knew it!' said Mrs McAllister triumphantly, taking one look at her face. ‘I told you you should have eaten something. You're shaking like a bloomin' leaf.' She took the trays from Maggie's unsteady hands, dumped them on the table and pushed her into a chair. ‘Just you sit there, my lass, and get something in your belly before you fall over.' She glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘Madam won't be needing you for half an hour, so you just put your feet up. You'll be run off them soon enough.'