Her Lord and Master
Jennifer Dale
Part One
Molly gripped the silver tray tightly as she hurried down the hall. Though the food needed to arrive warm, it wouldn’t do to spill the master’s breakfast. She was newly come to Ashford Hall, and wanted to make a good impression. Fortunately, the door she sought was just ahead. Reaching her destination, she balanced the tray precariously with one hand and quietly rapped on the door.
Through the door she heard an indistinct bellow, then the door swung open. A handsome young man with blond hair and green eyes stood in the doorway. Surely this couldn’t be the master. Though he was impeccably dressed, he lacked the arrogance she’d already come to associate with the aristocracy. Molly surmised that this was his lordship’s valet. He put his finger to his lips and then stepped back to allow her to enter the room.
The suite was a disaster. She nearly tripped over a pair of shining Hessian boots as she walked across the room, looking for a place to set the tray. Every available surface was covered with trunks and bandboxes, all of them overflowing with cravats, hose and other items of masculine clothing. As she stood there, bewildered, the valet tiptoed over to the enormous four-poster bed in the middle of the room.
“Breakfast, my lord,” he whispered.
“Don’ wan’ any!” came the reply from a covered lump on the bed.
Molly just stood there, holding her tray, unsure of what to do. Finally, the valet came over and scooped a pile of clothing off a cherrywood writing desk, accidentally knocking an inkwell to the floor. Another loud bellow, this time quite clear, came from the bed.
“Plunkett! Quit that infernal racket!”
On the heels of this exclamation, two pillows from the bed came sailing across the room. The valet, burdened only by his master’s clothing, was quick enough, or experienced enough, to step out of the way. Molly, however, was not so lucky. Both of the pillows crashed into the tray she held, sending tea and scones flying to the floor. The crash of breaking china seemed to further enrage the figure on the bed.
“By all the saints and sinners! Get out!”
Apparently deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, the valet beat a hasty retreat, still clutching his master’s clothes. Molly froze for a moment, then knelt quietly and began picking the remnants of the master’s breakfast off the floor. If she left a puddle of tea and porcelain on the floor, there’d be hell to pay from Mrs. Hutchins.
“Are you deaf, gel?”
Molly tried to ignore the commanding voice and continued using her apron to mop up the tea.
“You must be deaf.”
Molly took a deep breath, stood up and turned to face her master, who was now sitting up in bed, and nearly stumbled as her knees went weak. He was as beautiful as an angel, well, a fallen angel maybe, with his long dark hair and fiercely slanted eyebrows. Even from across the room, his flashing blue eyes seemed to bore a hole straight through her.
She summoned up her courage enough to reply, “No, my lord.”
“Well, then, since we’ve established that Mrs. Hutchins has not taken to employing deaf-mutes in my household, I must assume that you are just stupid!”
“I beg your pardon, my lord.”
“I said, ‘Get out!’”
“Yes, my lord, but…”
He arched one of his perfect eyebrows at her. Molly swallowed nervously and then blurted, “Begging your pardon, my lord, but Mrs. Hutchins would turn me off if I left a mess in your lordship’s room.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll turn you off myself, gel?”
“Yes, my lord.” Molly bowed her head, staring at her shoes, waiting…hoping he wouldn’t sack her.
“Fine, fine, you may clean it up,” he said, waving a hand idly at the mess.
“It’ll just take me a moment, my lord, and then I’ll bring you another tray,” she told him.
“’S’truth, gel, I didn’t even want the first one.” He sat back in the bed and promptly banged his head on the wooden headboard. “Bloody hell!”
Molly thought privately that her new master was altogether too fond of cursing. He swears like a tar, she thought, although truthfully, Molly had yet to meet a sailor, swearing or otherwise. Though there was a smithy in the village who was well-known for his colorful cursing. Still, the master hadn’t sacked her, so who cared if he swore or not? She grabbed the pillows off the floor. Luckily, they had missed the strawberry jam, and there didn’t seem to be any tea stains on them. She hurried over to the bed. “Here, my lord, please allow me.”
He sat back up, and allowed her to tuck the pillows behind his head. The coverlet fell slightly as he moved, further exposing his broad shoulders and well-muscled chest. Molly felt a tingle between her legs as she stared at his perfect physique. As she adjusted the pillows, her breast accidentally brushed against his upper arm. A spark seemed to leap between them, and she quickly pulled back. But before she could step away, he grabbed her wrist. “How is it that I’ve not seen you before?” he asked.
“I have only been at Ashford Hall for a fortnight,” she replied.
“Ah, that it explains it then. I’ve been in Scotland for a month,” he said. “Shooting pheasants.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“What’s your name, gel?”
“Molly, my lord.”
“Well, Molly, I suppose, as your new master, I should officially welcome you to Ashford Hall,” he said. There was no time to protest as he pulled her down into his embrace and his mouth came down on hers. Molly had been kissed before by boys of the village, but the kisses of those callow youths could hardly compare to the kiss of an experienced rake like the master. He nearly took her breath away with the touch of his lips.
His arms tightened around her, and he pulled her more firmly onto his lap. He teased her bottom lip with his tongue, licking her and nipping her with his teeth, until she gasped. Then, quick as lightning, his tongue was in her mouth, twining hungrily with her own.
One of his hands slid down her back, to her hip, then continued along her leg, past her knee, down to rest lightly on her stocking-clad ankle. She felt the warmth of his hand burning through the cotton stocking and into her skin like a brand. No man had ever touched her like this…actually, no man had ever touched her at all. So she was unprepared for the molten heat she felt as his hand stroked her ankle.
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Molly struggled against the muscled arms that held her, but it was like fighting against bands of iron. The master ignored both the knock and her struggles, and went on plundering her mouth with his tongue. The knock came again; finally, he pulled
