is it?” he asked angrily.
“My lord,” came the voice of his valet, “Mr. Lambert is downstairs. He has been cooling his heels in the drawing room for a quarter of an hour, my lord.”
“Ballocks!”
This time Molly barely registered the cursing. The master looked down at her, his blue eyes sparkling like twin sapphires, and gave her a quick buss on the mouth. “We will have to continue this later, my dear. I have some urgent business with my solicitor to attend to.”
Molly just stared up at the face of the dark angel, still too stunned to move, until the master set her on her feet again and gave her a quick pat on the ass. She jumped away and scurried toward the breakfast dishes still lying on the floor, but not before she got a full view of the master’s splendid body as he rose, naked, from the bed. His shoulders were wider than even those of the swearing blacksmith from the village. Below them, his flat abdomen tapered to long, muscular legs, and nestled between them amongst dark curls was his thick cock. She blushed furiously at the sight of him. Nonchalantly, he strode over to a nearby chair, grabbed a silk dressing gown and donned it before saying, “Come in.”
The door to the room swung open and the valet came in, a basin and towel in hand, as Molly was gathering the last of the mess from the floor. The master sat down in a chair while his man prepared to shave him. Molly quickly scampered to the door, but she couldn’t help turning to ask, “Will there be anything else, my lord?”
“No, that will be all…” he replied, but then one eye dropped lazily in a wink, “for now.”
Molly’s cheeks were still hot and red as she rushed from the room and down the hall. She could scarcely believe what had just happened. She dreaded having to explain the broken china to Mrs. Hutchins. The cost would likely come out of her meager wages. But, even worse than the shattered dishes was her shattered piece of mind. The master had kissed her! What was she to do? Maybe she was making too much of the incident. Maybe it had been just a welcoming gesture. She decided that it would be best to pretend it had never happened.
She hurried to the kitchen and scraped the leftover scones into the slops pail. Then she set the tray on the counter. Fortunately, there was no sign of the cook or Mrs. Hutchins. Still, Molly knew she would never be able to conceal her mishap. She washed the dishes, including the broken bits of crockery, and then dried and put away the still intact pieces of china. The remains she wrapped up in a towel and set on the counter. She would explain the accident to Mrs. Hutchins, but the rest she would keep to herself. By the time she crawled into her garret bed that evening, Molly had almost forgotten the events of the day. But that night her dreams were plagued with memories of brilliant sapphire eyes and fierce kisses.
Several days passed before she again encountered the master face-to-face. She was polishing the banister in the front hallway when he came in from riding. Holding her breath, she dipped him a curtsey as he approached, sure he wouldn’t recognize her. Or that if he did, he wouldn’t bother with her. She held the curtsey as he strode on past her, but then she felt his hand graze her hip. Still, he didn’t stop. She sighed, her relief tinged with disappointment, as she heard him continue on up the stairs, and she resumed her polishing.
An hour or so later, she entered the library to continue her dusting and polishing. Of all the rooms in the house, she liked this one the most. Though she could barely read the stories contained in them, she loved the books and the rich leathery smell of their bindings; she didn’t even mind climbing the tall ladders to reach the highest shelves. She was perched atop one of these ladders, dusting, when she heard someone enter the room. She turned slightly, and nearly fell off the ladder when she saw the master’s brilliant blue eyes looking up at her. Thinking he wouldn’t care to be disturbed, she started down the ladder.
“I beg your pardon, my lord. I’ll come back later.”
“No.”
“My lord?”
“I shan’t be disturbed in the least. Go ahead and do your chores.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Molly took a deep breath to steady herself and set back to work. She ran her feather duster along the top shelf, and tried not to stare at the master as he browsed the shelves. It was hard not to look. He hadn’t yet bothered to change his clothes from his ride. His dark hair was tousled and windblown, his Hessian boots were dusty, and his normally perfect and starched cravat was wilted. Strangely enough, she preferred this disheveled look to his normal sartorial splendor. It made him seem more human, more approachable. Not that she would ever dream of approaching him unless summoned.
It seemed, however, that the master had different ideas. While she worked, he came closer and closer to the base of the ladder. Before she knew it, he had mounted the first rung of the ladder, his weight making it shift beneath her. She hoped he was only looking for a book. He took another step up the ladder. Her hopes were dashed when she felt his hand close on her ankle. Another step, and his hand crept higher beneath her skirts.
“I never got to finish welcoming you to Ashford Hall,” he told her. “I think it is time that we remedy that situation.”
She knew she should flee, but he had her cornered, and he was the master. Truthfully, her desire to escape was weak. Secretly, she longed for the strange tingling sensations she felt whenever she saw him, or whenever she was near him. She wanted the warmth of his hands on her naked skin. So she stood there, staring at the books, and let him touch her.
She could feel his hard, lean body press against her as he climbed up the ladder. It inflamed her almost as much as the pressure of his hand on her leg. His fingers wandered up, stroking the curve of her calf and the sensitive spot behind her knee, before toying with the knot of her garter. When his hand moved higher across the bare skin of her inner thigh, brushing against the muslin of her undergarments, she thought she would swoon. Then, without so much as a word, his fingers sought the slit in her drawers.
Her whole body shivered as the master’s deft fingers parted her damp curls and found her clitoris. She nearly fell off the ladder when he stroked her there, but she soon relaxed under the gentle yet insistent pressure of his fingers. Before long, her sex grew hot and wet as he rubbed his fingers in slow circles against her flesh. He touched and teased her until her body was at a fever pitch. Then, he slowly slid one long finger into her snug sheath, eliciting a gasp from Molly.
He slid his finger from her tight passage, stroked her clit once again, then gradually slipped his finger back in. Over and over he probed the depths of her warmth. As she grew wetter, his pace increased until he was thrusting his finger in and out of her cunny rapidly, while she struggled to keep her balance and her sanity. Soon, she could feel an unfamiliar need building within her body. She writhed against his hand as he continued to plunge his finger deep inside her. All her fears of toppling from the ladder were forgotten as she concentrated on the novel sensations he was causing.
Soon, her breath grew ragged and her heart raced as her body climbed toward fulfillment. Then, like the sun bursting through the clouds, something burst deep within her, and wave after wave of warm, golden pleasure swept over her. She grabbed at the top shelf to keep from falling from the ladder, but there was no need. His arm was around her, steadying her, as he buried his face in her skirts, while his other hand continued to stroke her, sending tremors through her body.
Finally, just when she thought she could stand it no longer, the stroking stopped. His hand slowly withdrew and she felt a trickle of moisture run down her thigh. Molly felt the ladder creak under his weight. Then, without saying another word to her, he was gone. She barely heard the click of the door latch as it closed behind him. Still she stood there, too shaken
