Chapter Twenty-Four

“Samuel… Samuel, wake up. We’re home.”

Samuel opened his eyes to darkness. As if he’d slept for the first time in years, it took him much too long to summon to mind where he was. Nevertheless, the moment he nuzzled the soft, succulent mound of skin, he remembered every blessed thing—including the fact that he’d fallen asleep right after it.

What an ass.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said, reluctantly picking himself up from Myfanwy’s chest. He scrambled back to his side of the carriage, but not without taking her with him. Samuel situated her on his lap, placing her legs across his own as if he were holding a child. However, there was nothing childlike about Myfanwy’s expression. She seemed incredibly pleased with herself.

“Shouldn’t we go inside?” she said, chuckling while he ran his hands all over her, making sure she wasn’t irreparably damaged by his wicked salacity. Yes, Myfanwy had asked him to let go of his restraint, but a virgin had no idea what she was asking for. It was Samuel’s responsibility to ensure her first experience was memorable, and he had slept through it.

“What are you doing?” Myfanwy asked, slapping his hands away.

Samuel took a long, steadying breath. “I’m making sure you’re all right.”

“I’m all right.”

“How do you know?”

“Samuel, I think I know if I’m all right or not. What’s wrong with you?”

“I feel asleep!” he cried, dragging a hand through his hair. His wavy locks were already plastered in funny angles all over his head, and his nervous hands weren’t helping matters. He was positively befuddled, and the crazy woman was loving it! Samuel had heard of skittish virgins before the act, but not skittish men after. He couldn’t contain the thumping of his heart. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume an attack was imminent.

One by one, with peculiar thoroughness, Myfanwy fastened the buttons of his shirt. It was ridiculously comforting. “You were tired. After the afternoon you had, you needed your rest.”

“Who cares about what I needed? You needed me.”

Myfanwy scrunched up her nose. “Samuel, I got you… I got exactly what I needed.”

Well, there was that.His ego was slightly assuaged. Not that Samuel needed her to say it; his cock was still coated in her scent, and he would be dead and buried before he forgot the clench of her lovely release.

“But…” he began, folding her hands on her lap. It was damned difficult to think with Myfanwy sprawled all over him. Though the thought of placing her on the other side of the carriage put him in even more of a panic. “I should have thanked you—”

“Thanked me? Samuel, this wasn’t a cricket match. You don’t have to thank me for participating.”

He scowled. Why was she making it so difficult? He was trying to tell her that this wasn’t just another sexual act, that he’d never experienced anything as profound as what he’d shared with her—in a goddamn moving vehicle, no less. But Samuel couldn’t get the words out. Not with the aroma of her pussy still on his fingers and the carriage dark and overheated by their stamina.

Yes…stamina. Samuel had never thought of it before, but it made perfect sense now. Of course making love to a sportswoman would be otherworldly. Myfanwy’s strength and energy harmonized with his own. They were a perfect match for this act. And probably more, if he ever let his poor heart dote on it…which he couldn’t at the present. One step at a time.

Samuel tried again. With his finger under her jaw, he directed Myfanwy to meet his gaze. She was solemn, astonishingly so, as she waited for him to speak.

And yet, once more, the words eluded him. “I just wanted to make sure that you knew that I… That we…” He blew out an exhale and shrugged.

Myfanwy’s smile widened. “You want to make sure that I know we can do it again? Yes, good idea. How about now?”

*

Samuel couldn’t getthem into the house fast enough. Myfanwy shrieked when he lifted her in his arms and erupted into squeals of laughter as he ran up the steps and pounded on the door with his boot. Nighttime had fallen on the swank neighborhood, and although it was a prime time for couples enjoying their evening strolls, thankfully, there was no one to gape as Samuel made a lovesick fool out of himself.

How Benjamin managed to let them in without breaking that stern look of his, Samuel would never know; nevertheless, discretion was one of the butler’s strengths, and Samuel paid him a king’s ransom for it.

He bounced Myfanwy higher in his grasp and was just about to charge up the stairs when familiar and perplexing voices stopped him in his tracks. Myfanwy and he exchanged curious glances as he slowly—and reluctantly—set her feet on the ground. She smoothed her dress in front of her before taking short, intrepid steps to the drawing room, only pausing to sneak a peek at the mirror on the wall, no doubt making sure the word sex wasn’t written on her forehead in black ink.

The conversation increased in volume, and Samuel couldn’t place the odd mixture of voices he heard. He was sure he could identify them one by one, but together they made no sense at all.

Together they halted at the entrance to the room, stretching their necks inside to inspect the activity. Nothing could have prepared Samuel for what awaited him.

Normally, Sarah would have whisked the children to the nursery by this hour, and normally Aunt Abigail would have been comfortably situated in her own home, and normally Joe Danvers and Benny Hardcastle would have been glued to their seats at the Flying Batsman.

However, Samuel surmised, nothing about this day had been normal, so why would it start now?

Catching sight of the duo in the doorway, Benny lifted his tiny teacup in salute, one gnarled pinky finger raised imperiously in the air. “’Allo, coach,” he said jovially, sitting prim and proper in one of the room’s dainty Queen Anne chairs. It squeaked tremulously as he shifted toward Samuel. “Joe and I were in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by and discuss the lineup for the big match next week. No rest for the wicked and all that, you know.”

Samuel thought he nodded, but he couldn’t be sure. Seeing was believing, but he couldn’t be positive that he was truly witnessing his two old teammates sitting demurely in his drawing room, sipping pretend tea from a little girl’s miniscule tea set with Aunt Abigail and Aaron across from them.

“Mr. Hardcastle, I already told you,” Aunt Abigail said with a remonstrating frown. “You don’t just lift your pinky finger when drinking the tea. You use it to balance your cup, so you don’t spill.” She sighed, giving Samuel a put-upon look. “So, you’re back, then? Did you speak to the children’s grandparents?”

Samuel shook his head, rubbing his temple, attempting to get his brain to catch up on this situation. He was supposed to be upstairs making love to Myfanwy. How had everything been turned upside down?

“Why are you here?” he asked, ignoring her question. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed blood rush to Myfanwy’s cheeks. She must have been thinking the same thing he was. Because fuck it all, they’d forgotten that they were supposed to stop at the grandparents’ village before returning that night. They’d been… Well, they’d been preoccupied.

Abigail placed her little teacup and saucer on the end table, arching a pointed brow, clearly annoyed Samuel didn’t answer her query. “If you must know, I came by to apologize.” She pursed her lips in distaste, as if she’d never apologized to anyone before. “I was harsh yesterday…about the children. Some of the things I said were rather…abrupt. But, in my defense, I was shocked and unsure of how to handle myself. I came here because I wanted”—she closed her eyes, swallowing—“my little niece to know that none of this is her fault and that I welcome her to the family. Wholeheartedly.”

Myfanwy trod further into the space. “Oh, Aunt Abigail, of course we know that. You don’t have to apologize—”

Her aunt held up a hand, stopping Myfanwy cold. “No. It needed to be said. But when I arrived, I found your nanny or servant or governess… Who is she, exactly?”

“My barman’s oldest daughter,” Samuel piped in.

Abigail’s eyes landed dull and flat on him. “Ah,” she said, running her tongue over her teeth. “I think I’ll have to remedy that and find a proper governess for the children because—”

“Sarah is doing a wonderful job,” Myfanwy replied.

“Hardly wonderful,” her aunt argued. “When I walked in the door, they were playing tea right here, of all places, and Sarah didn’t have the first inkling on how to do it correctly! For heaven’s sake, there were no napkins on laps, and she advised Belle to pick the teacup up and leave the saucer on the table.” Her face was mottled, her brows drawn all the way to her hairline in utter confusion. “I told you, Mr. Everett. I told you that you weren’t fit for this—”

“He is!” Myfanwy broke in, but up came her aunt’s hand again. The woman would make a formidable cricket umpire.

“No, he isn’t,” Abigail said. “But I am.”

The room fell silent. The only sound that could be heard was Aaron as he munched on a biscuit that Samuel hoped was real and not a part of the pretend tea set.

“I will help you,” Abigail said, rising from her seat. “She is my niece, after all. Belle and Aaron need my help if they’re going to have any chance of getting out of this house knowing which fork to use at dinner.”

Samuel was about to tell the woman that he never had any clue which fork to use and that he was navigating the world fine enough, but Aaron stopped him.

“Me?” he squeaked. “You want to help Annabelle…and me?”

Samuel’s heart cracked for the boy, who clearly couldn’t restrain himself from asking the question. Aaron, who had already seen the harsh realities of this world and knew they didn’t lessen for children, stared at the older woman, his emotions bare and exposed.

“Of course, dear boy,” Abigail returned, her expression softening. “You’re family now too, aren’t you?

Aaron couldn’t find the words, and Samuel completely understood, considering he’d had that very same problem only minutes before. The boy could only nod, lowering his head and swatting at his eyes before anyone could see his tears.

“Now that that’s settled,” Abigail said, clapping her hands together, “tell me about the grandparents. I will have to talk to them if they expect the children to live with them. I will have to explain that we have just as much a right to them as they do, and that they would be better off here in civilized London and not out”—her lips curled away from her teeth—“in the country.”

Myfanwy sighed, and Samuel saw her roll her eyes. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Um, we didn’t… Ah… There wasn’t…”

“Aaron was right,” Myfanwy said. She walked over to his side and furtively pinched his back. “They weren’t good people.”

Abigail nodded approvingly. “So that’s it, then?”

Myfanwy turned to Samuel, and he met her gaze. He stared at those big brown eyes feeling everything she was wordlessly telling him. And he agreed with it all.

A gentle smile came to his face, and she gave one in turn. “That’s it,” he said.

Aaron picked up his little sister and smacked a kiss to her chubby cheek. “We’re yours now?”

Samuel grinned at the boy and was about to respond when Benny decided his commentary was needed. “What about us?” he said, throwing a biscuit into his great maw and flicking his head to Joe. “Can we stay too?”

Samuel’s grin immediately evaporated. “You two can get out now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He shared a look with Myfanwy. “I’ve got more important things to do than discuss cricket.”