17. A Rainy Morning in Oxfordshire

CHAPTER 17

A RAINY MORNING IN OXFORDSHIRE

S ix years later, August, 1839 near Bampton, Oxfordshire

As rain fell in sheets in the early morning hours of what should have been the last day of the harvest, Barbara Higgins Slater, Countess of Bellingham, stared out the window of her small salon and winced when she finally spotted her husband. Will Slater, Earl of Bellingham, had spent the predawn hours—when it hadn’t been raining—helping his brother-in-law bring in the wheat. Their work in the fields adjacent to the River Isis now complete, Will was soaked to the skin. His white shirt was plastered to his muscled chest and large arms, and water sluiced from his hair and face.

Watching him as he made his way from the Gisborn estate across the farmland behind their manor house, Barbara felt an unexpected frisson deep in her belly. How it was the former naval commander could still have such a profound effect on her even after twenty years of marriage baffled her. But then, she had been attracted to him since the moment she had met him at her come-out ball in London.

Back then, he had already secured a commission in the British Navy. His grandfather had been an admiral in the King’s Navy, his uncle a commander, and despite his status as heir to the Devonville marquessate, Will had begged his father he be allowed to serve in the navy.

Water appealed to the Slaters. Will’s younger brother, Stephen, had enlisted in the navy, joining about the same time as Will. A bastard son of William Slater, Marquess of Devonville, Stephen had been assigned to the same ship as Will—the HMS Greenwich —for their final few years of service in the Mediterranean.

When another frisson interrupted her reverie, Barbara gave a start. Will was already making his way through the gardens and was nearly to the back door. At any moment, he would enter the kitchens, soaked to the skin, and Mrs. Maybury, the cook, would no doubt raise a fuss over him dripping water on the floor.

Despite his title and the ease in which he could fire Mrs. Maybury for her treatment of him, Will allowed her to scold him. With his own mother dead for over three decades, he didn’t mind that Mrs. Maybury treated him like the son she never had.

Barbara rushed from the salon and into the nearest bathing chamber. Grabbing several bath linens, she made her way down the Aubusson-carpeted stairs and through the manor house to the kitchens.

Mrs. Maybury looked up in alarm from a bowl in which she had been frantically stirring. “My lady?” she queried, obviously surprised at seeing the mistress of the house up and about so early in the morning. The sun was barely lighting the eastern sky, although given the rain, it would likely remain hidden all day. “I won’t have breakfast ready for at least another hour, ma’am.”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Barbara replied. “And you might wish to turn your attentions elsewhere,” she warned, knowing what she intended to do once Will entered the kitchens.

Not only provide him with the means to dry off but to kiss him senseless.

She only hoped he might be of a mind to accept such displays of affection.

“Yes, my lady,” Mrs. Maybury replied, a knowing grin touching her lips as she moved her bowl to another counter and continued her aggressive stirring.

The back door burst open, and Will, breathless, entered and slammed it shut, his move helped by the gusty wind accompanying his arrival.

Barbara was before him in an instant, covering his head with a linen and wiping his face with another.

Chuckling, Will used one hand to rub the linen over his head and through his dripping hair and the other hand to grasp her hip. He dipped his head, and when the bath linen she was using to dry his face dropped away, he leaned down and kissed her thoroughly.

“What are you doing up so early?” he asked when she could no longer stand on her tiptoes.

“Waiting for you,” she replied, breathless.

Will’s attention briefly darted to the cook. “Is everything all right?” he asked, his brows furrowing with worry.

“Quite. But it would be much better if we rid you of these wet clothes,” she whispered. “Otherwise, you’ll catch your death.”

He grinned, understanding her unspoken invitation. “I’m starving,” he replied, arching one of his dark blonde brows. A piece of toast was thrust into his hand, courtesy of Mrs. Maybury, and he turned his attention on the cook. “Much obliged,” he said as he took a bite. He placed his free hand on Barbara’s elbow and led her from the kitchens.

When they were halfway up the stairs, he glanced over at her. “How long have you been awake?”

She shrugged. “Since you left the bed, I suppose.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, his voice sounding his apology.

“I didn’t mind, although I did miss the warmth you provided.”

“Is anything wrong?” He paused on the stairs.

She shook her head. “No, but I find I am in need of you,” she whispered, her face reddening with her admission.

Will allowed a wry grin. “Your bedchamber or mine?” he countered.

“I don’t care if it’s the library ,” she whispered hoarsely.

Blinking, Will resumed the climb to the second floor, his steps much quicker. By the time they hit the landing, he was moving at a near run, chuckling as they crashed through the master suite door and into the dark bedchamber.

Before he undressed, he pulled Barbara against the front of his body and kissed her hard.

She pulled away with a sound of protest. “You’re soaking wet,” she complained.

“You must be as well,” he teased, one of his brows waggling.

“You won’t find out until you get this damned gown off of me,” she replied in a huff.

Noting she wore a drab day gown, Will grabbed the edges at the top of the back with his fists and pulled them apart.

Barbara gasped as buttons scattered about on the carpet below and yards of fabric suddenly passed before her eyes. “Will!” she scolded. “My lady’s maid will have a fit.”

“So be it,” he replied, his expression of determination turning into a grin. Even before the gown had completely fallen to the floor, he had the ties to her petticoats undone and her corset loosened.

Attempting to help with the divestiture of his clothing, Barbara undid the tie at the top of his shirt and the buttons that secured his trousers. “Don’t bother with the stockings,” she murmured.

“Yours or mine?”

She tittered. “Does it matter?”

He kissed her forehead. “Are you sure everything is all right?” His shirt, still wet, sent a spray of water droplets in all directions as it passed over his head and landed in a literal puddle on the Turkish carpet below. He leaned down to pull his boots from his feet.

Pulling her corset over her head, Barbara regarded him with a look of impatience. “I think so,” she replied. “Although your son has mentioned a matter to which I’m not sure how to respond.”

Will paused in pushing down his trousers and smalls. “Which son?”

Barbara winced. “We don’t have to discuss it now ,” she whined.

Chuckling, Will lifted her onto the bed and followed her down until he was hovering over her. “During breakfast then,” he murmured. Although he’d been soaked with sweat in his haste to complete the final pass of harvesting, the rain from the thunderstorm had since washed it away. His skin was left damp with the scent of rain mixed with man. He licked a few crumbs of toast from his lips as he stared at her.

“Why did you stop?” she asked, her knees bent and spread wide.

Will’s eyes darkened as a mischievous grin appeared on his lips. “How long until breakfast?”

“About an hour.”

Barbara let out an exclamation of surprise when he was no longer over her but sliding down her body until his head was between her thighs. “Oh!” she breathed, knowing full well what he intended to do.

Although she had never visited the capital city of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, she knew how to read Latin and she knew about the Roman arts.

She inhaled sharply when Will’s tongue laved over her womanhood. Gasped again when his lips took possession. Cried out when he suckled her. And nearly screamed when his tongue once again passed over the swollen nub several times. “Will!” she admonished him, struggling despite his hold on her hips.

She heard him chuckle as he moved up her body, his lips leaving a trail of kisses on her belly and under her breasts. He entered her in one hard thrust, his groan of satisfaction filling the bedchamber.

Still reeling from what he had done to her with his tongue, Barbara gripped his sides with her hands and held on as he drove into her over and over.

His release had his body seizing, his head thrown back as his muscled arms strained to hold him up. He remained suspended over her for what seemed like several minutes before his body gave up its tenseness.

When he finally collapsed atop her, Barbara was ready. She guided his head into the space between her shoulder and neck as she lowered her feet to the bed.

“I love you,” he whispered before his body went limp.

Barbara allowed a wan grin, not bothering to say anything in response.

She knew he wouldn’t hear it.