The Care and Feeding of Your Captive Earl (What Happens In Scotland Book 3) (16 page)

“Is that so?”

She poked him in the chest, holding her finger there. “It is.”

“And how might a husband repent?”

She lifted a brow and infused her words with more confidence than she felt. “On his knees.”

It took no convincing. Without argument, he sank to his knees in front of her. “Is that all a husband must do?”

He was asking her to tell him what she wanted, but she could not. The lady tucked tightly inside her would not allow it. But perhaps she could show him.

Slipping off one shoe, she leaned against the table and placed her foot on his shoulder. Never taking her gaze off his, she lifted her hips slowly—a silent invitation.

He took her meaning fully. Smiling, he slid his hand past her ankle and her calf, gathering the fabric of her skirts as he went. His lips followed his hand, kissing his way up her calf to the inside of her thigh. She shivered and sucked in a sharp breath as his lips connected with her entrance.

Placing one hand on his shoulder, she tipped her head back. He licked the length of her entrance, sucking gently—his tongue dancing around the knot of nerves at her center. And when his tongue thrust inside her, she nearly came out of her skin.

“Oh, sweet heaven,” she breathed, attempting to squirm away from him. The pleasure was too much, too intense. She couldn’t take it.

With his large hands, he gripped her backside, holding her captive as he continued to devour her. In seconds, she was soaring toward climax—her body shaking with the intensity of pleasure. And just as she reached the peak, she came crashing down again, a wave of heat pulsing through her until she was completely and utterly spent.

As she sagged against the table, utterly spent, he replaced her slipper and lowered her foot to the ground. He stood, hooking his arm around her waist and pressed his lips to her neck. “I could do that all damned day.” He kissed the line of her jaw, her chin, her lips. “Tell me I am forgiven.”

“Mmmm.” She angled her head to the side, relishing the feel of his warm lips on her skin. “I don’t know. I think perhaps more atonement will be required.”

“Do not toy with me, Gwendolyn,” he said, his voice serious. “I must have your mercy.”

Turning her head, she looked into his eyes. What she saw there made her heart constrict. Genuine fear lit in his eyes, and for the first time, she understood the power she wielded over this man. One would hardly think it possible, but the evidence was clear in his eyes.

She took his face in her hands. “You have it.”

“Good.” He smiled wickedly. “Now, about that atonement…”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Are you ready for this?”

Matthias glanced at Gwen, who clutched her stomach as though she were going to be sick. She glanced up at the white bricks of her father’s town house, and he could see the terror written on her face. It was plain to see.

“I don’t think I will ever be ready,” she said. “Must we do this?”

He took her gloved hand and laced his fingers with hers, squeezing lightly. “Remember, you are my wife now. Whatever happens, we shall weather it together.”

She nodded and straightened her spine, as though she were about to walk straight into the thick of battle. Perhaps she
was
. Matthias knew her father to be a formidable man, uncompromising and boorish.

Matthias knocked on the door, which sprang open with alarming efficiency. A starched butler of middling age stood at the threshold, his gaze fixed on Gwen. “Miss Gwendolyn,” he said, astonished. “Your father will be pleased to see you.”

“Thank you, Wilmot. I don’t think
pleased
is the correct word, but I do appreciate the sentiment.” As they stepped into the foyer, the butler took her bonnet. “Where is Father?”

Wilmot took Matthias’s hat. “He just returned from his morning walk. He is in his study. Would you like me to tell him you are here?”

“No, thank you, Wilmot. We shall go through directly.”

Wilmot bowed as Gwen turned and walked down a corridor, Matthias following behind her. When she reached a pair of double doors, she paused. “I had better go in first, to smooth his feathers.”

Matthias hesitated. “Are you certain?”

She lifted her chin. “I am.”

Allowing her to step into the fray—alone—went against every instinct he had, but he understood her desire to face her father without an audience. Matthias nodded, and her lips curved into a tight, uncertain smile before she opened the door and disappeared into the room beyond.

Arms crossed over his chest, Matthias paced the corridor outside, straining to catch what he could of the conversation. Gwen’s lilting voice could be heard faintly through the oak doors—followed by her father’s booming, infuriated baritone. The individual words were difficult to make out, but Sir Wilbraham’s tone was clear.

Lowering his arms to his sides, he clenched and unclenched his fists as he continued to pace. What he wouldn’t give to have Wilbraham’s neck in his hands at this moment. He would enjoy squeezing the life from his body.

Of a sudden, the cadence of Wilbraham’s voice intensified, becoming even more forceful and violent. Every instinct compelled him into action. He could no longer stand idle.

Pushing through the doors, Matthias took in the sight of Gwen standing in front of her father’s desk, Wilbraham leaning over the massive slab of mahogany, his face red with fury. When his eyes alighted on Matthias, however, his countenance shifted instantly—from fury to astonishment.

Wilbraham straightened, his entire focus now on Matthias—who strode forward with deliberate intent, stopping beside Gwen.

“I heard raised voices. Is there a difficulty, Sir Wilbraham?” Matthias asked firmly.

Wilbraham nearly fell over himself coming around the desk to greet Matthias. “My lord,” he said in a rush. “It is an honor.
Truly
, an honor.”

Matthias narrowed his eyes at Wilbraham. He was a short man, quite stout with graying hair and sharp brown eyes. Matthias saw little of Gwen in him—which was a mercy, perhaps, considering Wilbraham’s bent toward depravity.

Matthias glanced at Gwen and he could see her uneasiness. This was torment for her. He could see it in the way she gazed at the floor, in the way her hands were folded in front of her. He hated that Wilbraham had done that to her, and he wanted nothing more than to put his fist through the man’s face.

“What excuses did you make for Gwen’s absence?” Matthias asked, his muscles aching with the effort it took to restrain himself.

“We employed the only explanation left to us—an ailing cousin in Yorkshire. We were deliberately sparing in the details.”

“And what news of Emily?” Gwen asked.

Wilbraham stared at her blankly, as though he had forgotten she was in the room.

“My maid,” she clarified. “What news of my lady’s maid?”

He appeared baffled by her concern. “When she returned she was dismissed immediately, of course, without wages and without a character.”

All of the breath seemed to leave Gwen’s body and she sagged forward, hands resting on the back of the chair in front of her. “Emily, gone. How could you be so cruel?”

Wilbraham leaned forward, perilously close to touching Gwen. “Need I remind you, your maid’s current situation is due to your own impulsive and childish nature?” He turned to Matthias and his voice took on an ingratiating tone. “I cannot thank you enough, my lord, for your kindness and generosity toward my daughter. As you have no doubt discovered, she is handsome, but quite dimwitted—”

Matthias launched at the man so quickly, and so violently, it surprised even him. He grabbed Wilbraham by the cravat, shoving his feeble body up against the desk. “Would you care to say that again?”

Fear lit in the man’s eyes and perhaps it spoke to that twisted place inside Matthias, but it gratified him to see the terror in Wilbraham’s face. “You will not speak to my wife after today. If there is something you wish to say, you will come to me. The same holds true for your wife. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes,” Wilbraham said. “Of course, my lord.”

He released Wilbraham’s cravat, and the old man sagged against the desk. It was clear now why he tormented Gwen. Wilbraham was weak. He was a damn coward. He terrorized his daughter because he had no strength against a man his own size.

Disgust filled him. If he ever had a daughter, he would never treat her thus—as though her existence were a burden, a hindrance to his own happiness.

Matthias turned toward Gwendolyn—she looked shaken, her eyes wide with disbelief. He took her hand. “We are leaving.”

Not waiting for her response, he guided her out of the house and helped her into his waiting carriage. Once he’d settled against the seat across from Gwen, he rapped on the silk-lined roof. The carriage jolted into motion and Matthias finally spared a glance at his wife. He’d been afraid to see the pain on her face—afraid of what it might do to him.

But when he glanced at her, her eyes were cast downward. It was perhaps the only time Matthias had ever seen her so silent.

“Are you well?”

She blinked, looking across at him as though coming out of a haze. “Yes.” She shook her head. “Yes, of course. I am just tired. It has been a taxing few days.”

There was no refuting that—though he sensed there was something more behind her quiet countenance. “Indeed, it has. And you have endured it all admirably.”

She flashed him a small smile. “As have you.”

He moved to the seat beside her and brushed a stray hair away from her face. Her eyes fluttered up to meet his, and something inside his chest squeezed impossibly tight. “Your mother and father are not worthy of a daughter like you.”

“Do you believe that, sincerely?”

“I do.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek and he wiped it away with his thumb. “Thank you,” she said. “For what you did. No one has ever defended me like that before. I have always withstood his cruelty alone.”

Christ,
he could kill Wilbraham.

He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “You are my wife. I shall always endeavor to protect you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You will never be alone again.”

She nodded, swallowing visibly. “You are very kind.”

“It is more than kindness, Gwen. Surely you must know that.”

How could he explain his growing affection for her? It was confounding, even to himself. Somehow, against all odds, she had crept beneath his skin and taken hold of his heart.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Warmth and contentment spread through her as she inhaled the musky scent that clung to Matthias’s skin. Happiness. Was that what this feeling was? It seemed impossible, but the evidence was irrefutable. Slow, steady heartbeat, flushed cheeks, a pleasant warmth spreading through her veins.

Yes, this was most definitely what happiness felt like.

Snuggling more closely against his chest, she closed her eyes, listening to the clopping of the horse hooves against the cobbles. It was midday, and the streets were choked with horses and carriages, which made their progress slower than usual.

Once home, they fell into a comfortable rhythm. Matthias retreated to his study while Gwen retired upstairs to write her letters—the first one to Evelyn. So much had happened in the last few days and Gwen was anxious to speak to her best friend about it all. She needed Evelyn’s aid in sifting through the countless emotions rioting inside her. And she was concerned, of course, for Evelyn’s situation. What had happened with the blacksmith? How did Stephen fare? There was so much to discuss.

Later that evening, she handed the letters to Mrs. Reid and asked her to see them delivered directly. Gwen found Matthias in his study, poring over the many documents that were scattered across his desk. As she moved deeper into the room, he didn’t seem to note her presence. He was busy reading—his brows knit together tightly.

“A penny for your thought,” she said.

His head jerked up. “I believe I said no one was to enter my study.”

“Well, the door was open, so…”

His lips stretched into a beautiful smile and she was reminded, again, why so many ladies found him pleasing to the senses. Now, she was among the hordes in that respect.

He shook his head. “Just reading through my great uncle’s accounts. His accountant had the most deplorable handwriting. I can scarcely make out a word of this.”

“I have come to ask you the greatest of favors.”

Matthias leaned back, steepling his fingers and placing them under his chin. “Oh?”

“My father said he fired Emily when she returned from Scotland. I’d like to offer her a position here, if she will accept it.”

“Do as you wish,” he said. “This is your household now. You don’t need my approval.”

“Well, yes, you see, there is the small task of
finding
her first. I don’t even know where to begin. I thought perhaps you might offer your assistance?”

Emily had been a loyal servant—following Gwen to Scotland, even against her own good judgment. She had warned Gwen of the dangers of traveling to Scotland alone with a man. But when Gwen had insisted, Emily had offered to chaperone in hopes of protecting Gwen’s reputation. How could she abandon such a faithful servant?

“The other servants in your father’s household would know where to locate her, surely.”

She shook her head. “It’s doubtful. She was very quiet about her private life. In any event, I refuse to set foot in my father’s house again.”

Matthias nodded. “I have a man who can locate her. What information do you have?”

“I’m ashamed to admit it, but I only know her surname—Michelson—and that her older brother lives somewhere near the docks. I don’t know his name. Not much to go on, I’m afraid.”

Matthias scribbled the scant details down on a stray parchment and nodded again. “I’ll write to my man directly.”

Gwen released a breath, relieved. It felt as though a hundred bricks had been lifted from her shoulders. “Thank you.” She stood awkwardly for a moment before half-turning toward the door. “Well, I shall leave you to your affairs…”

“Just a moment,” he said, halting her.

She turned back around to face him. “Yes?”