Chapter Fifteen

L eonard sped up his horse on the country road, heading into the village. In breeches and brown coat, he looked like a lord of yonder roaming the lands.

He'd taken a hasty breakfast and rode off to make the most of the morning.

But, in truth, he galloped on a quest to vent his fury. How dared that bastard accuse his wife of thievery when he, the Earl of Ramsgate, returned to discover bursting coffers? The ones his very wife had filled up with her flair for numbers and wise management. Barret was in for a dreadful fall, if only to atone for false accusations. That was the exact reason for his rush out; to talk to the villagers and glean enough to get to the bottom of this.

As he reached the single row of simple houses, he dismounted in front of the blacksmith. That seemed as good a place to start as any.

After tying his horse, he entered the smithy, whose name was Milton, if memory served. The stocky man inside lifted his eyes from the furnace, his humble clothes blackened with work. "My lord." He said as he dunked a red-hot horseshoe in cold water, producing thick vapour. "Long time." And checked the piece held between the tongs.

"I am still putting my life to rights." Leonard evaded.

"Aye." Milton drove the piece back into the oven. "Got a bairn on the way, have you?"

"And you have been busy, I see." The earl propped a hand on the counter.

"Missus and the little ones to feed now." The iron piece emerged from the furnace and the blacksmith took the hammer to the red-hot iron, producing a metallic sound. Leonard felt like he'd dropped right in the Middle Ages with the age-old trade.

"Barret uses your services for my estates, does he not?" Ramsgate opted for a blunt approach.

The hammering halted as Milton snapped his gaze to Leonard. "You could say."

"He has been paying you fair fees, I expect." The Earl's attention channelled to the other man.

"As usual." The hammer started again, and the blacksmith broke eye contact.

Leonard scoffed at Milton's evasiveness. "I am not prone to micromanaging, so I have scarce information about how he goes about his duties."

The water hissed as the red-hot iron dived into it. "You should take it up with him, then."

"But I am asking you."

"Don't mind me, my lord, but I promised to finish this before the day is out. And I have ten more to make."

The Earl gave a curt nod and left the shop.

In the other shops and houses, Leonard heard a variation of the dialogue with Milton. The only plausible conclusion was that people were avoiding talking about Barret. In his experience, silences were as significant as words, or even more. Smoke and fire came to mind.

As he veered his horse onto the local road to the manor, he saw a woman walking far ahead. He increased the pace. Nearing the woman in a neat dress, he recognised her.

"Good day, Mrs Gregson," he greeted.

Alice turned to look at him and curtsied. "My lord."

Leonard hopped down from the horse and matched his stride to hers. "Are you coming from the village, too?"

"No, from one tenant. A friend. Mrs White is her name."

He nodded in understanding, and both fell silent.

Leonard could not miss this chance to probe further into the matter, prompting him to resume the conversation. "I suppose you—"

"They will not tell a thing," Mrs Gregson warned at the same time.

"They?" Pulling his horse by the rein, his expression crumpled.

"The villagers." She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him with her unremarkable features. "Barret holds all of them on a leash."

"You mean…"

"He blackmails them." She resumed her brisk walk. "If they do not comply with his demands, he ceases to use their services, or whatever they sell."

"How long has this been going on?"

She shrugged. "A year or two at most."

"And no one cared to bring this to my wife, or me?" Anger coated his words.

"He makes sure no one does." She looked straight ahead, plain sand-hued hair collected in a bun, shining in the afternoon light.

"But you took it upon yourself to break it to me." He sent a hard look at her. "Even after all this time."

"Better late than never." She tilted her head, unashamed of the unimaginative retort.

"Can he harm you in any way?" With her revelations, he became worried.

"My husband, perhaps." A cloud of apprehension crossed her face. "But this can't go on forever."

"One thing I can promise you," Leonard reiterated. "You and Timothy will always have a place in my lands."

A faint grin surfaced in her. "I thank you for that."

"I will get proof of Barret's dishonesty," he said as though he thought aloud.

"You might wish to visit The Boar's Den out in Shiplake." She named the nearest town.

"What about it?" he asked.

"I am not certain, but I overheard Mr Barret mentioning it in hushed tones."

The manor house rose in the distance. "I am grateful for your help, Mrs Gregson."

"Anytime."

With a wave, he mounted and rode the rest of the way.

Ophelia sat in the study with multiple ledgers spread in front of her. She'd been on it for hours, trying to locate where the numbers went wrong. Apart from the differences indicated on the ones for this year, nothing seemed to be amiss. Still, she went through them over and over.

Movement at the entrance attracted her attention to it. Her gorgeous husband entered windswept, dusty breeches and Hessians, looking more manly than anyone had a right to. Her heart ran faster at the sight of him. And when their gazes crossed, it skipped a beat.

"I have been to the village," he volunteered.

"Smart of you to make inquiries." She rested her hands on the papers as she observed him drop his broad frame on an armchair facing her.

A large hand raked his hair. "But people are reticent about Barret."

"Which means we have to ascertain what is going on." As she observed her Earl, it came to her that she'd never imagined finding an ally in him. That it felt too comforting for her peace of mind should ring bells. All it did, though, was warm her all over.

"For that, I will be riding to Shiplake first thing," he informed as he stretched his legs over the carpet. Then he related his encounter with Mrs Gregson.

"This will keep you away the entire day." In fit weather, the ride there took three hours at least.

He nodded. "With some luck, we will sort this out."

After luncheon, Ophelia decided that burning her brain in search of something that did not produce results would be a waste of time. So, she requested the cabriolet to be readied and drove to the spot that never failed to give her a feeling of peace, the Indian folie. It would afford her a window of reprieve from the servants' reproachful stances.

Leonard had excused himself to go about his article writing, ensconcing himself in his well-stocked library.

A mild sun lit her way with a pleasant temperature. Along with her book, she brought some cuts of cheese and a bottle of lemonade. Comfortable on the jewel cushions lining the chaise longue, she poured the drink into an Indian copper goblet and opened her book.

No sooner had she read the first few lines than she heard a horse's hooves pounding toward the folie. Through the open door, she saw the Earl dismount, his boots thumping on the gravel. They crunched on it before he entered the folie, a file in his hands.

Legs apart, he halted and eyed her. "I thought it a good idea to come work here with this splendid weather." His brows arched. "If it will not bother you, of course."

Jones must have relayed her whereabouts to him, causing him to join her. She rested her cup on a low side table made of the fragrant Agarwood. The Earl brought the costly piece of furniture with him from his first trip to India.

"Be my guest," she said as she pointed to the escritoire on the corner.

They sat each with their activity for a long time in companionable silence. The sound of his quill scratching on paper soothed her and helped her concentrate on her book. With a distracted hand, she took the goblet to her lips.

"What is that you are drinking?" His deep voice made her lift her head to him. He'd taken off his coat to have more freedom to write.

"Lemonade." She sipped the content. "Care for some?"

He stood from the escritoire. "If there is nothing stronger." And strode to her Ottoman.

"You might find brandy in that niche over there." Her arm motioned to the one she meant.

His long legs neared the one she showed. "You keep the place in good shape," he commented when he saw the array of bottles lined in the niche. Then, poured the brandy into a copper goblet before he came to where she sat. "May I?"

She bent her legs to make room for him. "Finished with your article?"

"The first draft, yes." And drank the amber drink. "I need to check a few references before I am done."

"In time, you could hire someone to help with the basic tasks." She sipped her lemonade.

He offered her a self-effacing grin. "When my career as a scholar soars, perhaps."

A peal of laughter escaped her. "Of course it will."

The talk died a sudden death as their eyes meshed, causing her cheeks to bloom.

"Leonard," Ophelia breathed.

"Hm." The rumble was a very absent one as his eager gaze roamed over every inch of her.

"I think you should kiss me."

His falcon eyes clasped to her, zinging with a molten hue.

He said nothing, not in words as such.

But his muscled frame climbed up the chaise, pressing her to the cushions with single-minded intent. His arm laced her growing waist, fingers splaying as wide as they could. His head closed in on hers, making their already unruly breaths mingle in between. And then, he got down to it, got down to her mouth already reaching up to him.

When their lips met, Ophelia felt her entire body catch fire, and melt down on the cushions. Her hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him closer, their legs entwining in the space that fit only one. Her spine arched in search of more contact just as his palm covered her back and squeezed her to him.

They devoured each other, tongues, lips, and teeth ever farther from being enough.

Leonard came up for air, heated eyes on her. "Woman," he rasped. "You have to stop saying these things to a famished man like me." His hand wandered up and down her day dress.

"I can't promise that." Her fingers clutched his dishevelled hair. "Else, how will you know what I want?"

A brief chuckle left his delicious lips. "What we want is not exactly what we need."

"As for me." A brief small pulled her mouth. "Needs must!" And glued their mouths anew.

This time, the kiss went deeper and more voracious. His hand cupped the back of her neck while one of her legs twined with his in a bid to make room for them on the chaise and bring them even closer, clinging to each other like a vine. The scent of him, the earthy heat he gave off, plunged her even further into lust.

In a haze, Ophelia sighed into his mouth, causing him to slide it down the sensitive skin of her throat, down to her collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps and eagerness in its wake. His hands never ceased to roam over her, their bodies seeking to melt into each other.

His jaw grazed over her bodice, ever lower. Until he knelt on the carpet as his fingers found the hem of her dress. Their gazes melded, both intent on going further.

With tantalising slowness, his hands bunched her skirts on her thighs to reveal her delicate stockings. Molten eyes took in what he uncovered at the same time she felt the cool air intensifying her sensations. The next moment, he stood in no ceremony as he bent to latch his mouth to the very core of her. The shocking pleasure that dominated her escaped in a moan that betrayed her anticipation.

His knowledgeable tongue found its way through the slit in her drawers. The moment it connected with the most sensitive part of her, her spine arched, and her head fell back. It seemed her flesh became so much more responsive than she remembered.

It was not that he just went down on her as if he did it as a mere part of some play script. No. Far from that. He stroked her, tasted her, savoured her as though there was no other place on the planet he would rather be.

His thumbs opened her more for him and from there, everything went down so fast that she might get whiplash. In the end, she did. Because the convulsions he brought about wrecked her entire being in a visceral madness. Then, he dragged it on until she could take it no more and crumbled on the chaise, spent and mindless.

Without a care in the world, he stretched his taut frame on the carpet covering the marble. Dazed silence stretched in endless minutes.

A flick of the dark eyes, and he looked at the ceiling. "I tried to capture the uniqueness of the palaces I visited." He put his hands under his head as he broke the stillness. "I fear I failed, though."

She followed his gaze. "I find the intricate pattern quite complex."

"I wish one day I could take you to see the real thing." His scrutiny clasped back on her. "I might stand there for hours and never tire of them."

"I get the feeling," she admitted, though referring to something else.

Ophelia's eyes strolled over him in breeches, boots and shirtsleeves. Goodness, the man lay there so self-possessed, comfortable in his own skin. When he bent one leg, her mind screeched to a halt.

She moved from the chaise without a conscious decision. Instincts governed her actions at that moment. Like a lazy cat, she neared him on all fours, skirts floating behind her.

Her husband watched her with those falcon eyes of his. "What are you up to, wife?"

As she halted over him, she ogled him as if he'd not satisfied her moments ago. "Oh, nothing much, husband." One dainty hand came to pull at his cravat.

She pulled the intrusive cloth from his powerful neck, rendering his shirt agape, the snowy lawn contrasting with his tanned chest and dark whorls. With hands bracing his sides, she lowered her head to score light teeth over his muscles.

The Countess observed as the air left him, his expression enthralled. Her lips rained kisses on him while her hand roamed downwards. And stumbled on hard, so hard, ground. Her palm cupped him, eliciting a hiss from his sensuous lips.

His reaction convinced her to explore further. So, she directed her full attention to his midriff. As she adjusted her frame, she positioned herself closer to his hardness. Nimble fingers focused on the buttons as she undid each with unhurried tenderness.

The moment she finished, her fingers hooked on breeches and underpants to lower them until his erection popped out, proud and straining. Blonde head went down, her tongue sticking out for her to trace him from root to tip and back. She peered at him. His stare rested on her, pleading and demanding, ruddy cheekbones added to the mix.

Her fingers wrapped around the base before her mouth took him in with utter gusto. She sucked him to the back of her throat. His body stretched on the carpet with a groan, compelling her to repeat the movement. Her head bobbed up and down, followed by her palm. The other hand joined in to cup his tight balls. He tasted so delicious that she was becoming aroused all over again.

She licked the shiny head with a restless tongue, sliding it into the slit, causing pre-cum to overflow her tastebuds. Her mouth went back to tending to him just as his hand cupped her head to guide her to his most sensitive parts.

Shameless as she felt, she followed. She sped up as he demanded more and faster. And felt as his seed travelled up the length of him. His entire frame tensed, and she dared not stop. Hand and mouth synchronised until he exploded in her cavity with a shuddering abundance.

Her hand milked him to the last drop as he fell on the carpet while she rested her head on his thigh, both of them breathless. They stayed like that for endless minutes, her palm caressing his hair-covered muscles. A wave of deep feelings threatened to take over her, fuelled by these moments of intimacy that felt too much like bonding. But she forced her mind to relax together with her body and not to go there. Not now, at least.

As the haze of satisfaction dissipated, she lifted her eyes to him. "Doctor Archer did us a favour, I should say." A naughty glint entered her expression.

Leonard turned to her. "How so?"

She tilted her head. "He recommended a saintly marriage bed and instead we found other, say, options."

"Other places and ways, you mean." A lopsided grin drew his wicked mouth.

"Hm-hum," she agreed with a smile. "And learning new skills is always an advantage."

His body rambled with a deep chuckle. "I can't wait to show you more."

A stable hand handed the Earl's horse before dawn the next morning. Leonard rode into the mist towards Shiplake, his mind twirling with restless predictions. He wished he knew what he would find there, as the wait got to him.

The town was little more than a village and offered no hardship to find The Boar's Den. The rundown place had a wooden sign falling to pieces at the front that signalled the mouldy smell of the interior and its chipped furniture. As he dismounted and walked in, the tavern keeper in stained clothes looked at the newcomer from hat to Hessians.

"Me lord," the man greeted as he stacked tankards on the worktop.

"Are you the owner of this place?" Leonard's tone did not hide his low opinion of his whereabouts.

"No, but if it be an ale you lookin' for, I can help." He moved more tankards, the noise of earthenware on wood filling the taproom.

The earl tore off his hat. "I care for no ale, only to ask a few questions."

His bloodshot eyes became slits. "Aye," he answered.

"I heard a man called John Barret is a regular here." The lord braced his legs.

The keeper's eyes rounded before he schooled his expression. "Many people come and go. They give no names."

"What is his business in this place?"

The other man gave a shrug that might have meant to seem casual but came out a little too tense. "I could nae say." An obvious lie as his head lowered to avoid scrutiny.

On the periphery of his vision, Leonard spotted a table stacked with dice and card decks in a darkened corner. Gamble, then.

"How much does Barret owe the house?"

"I told you I dinae—"

"What seems to be the trouble?" A bulky man emerged from behind the curtains leading to another room. In his early sixties, his clothes were fine if not luxurious, and he held a glass between his fingers.

"Mr Acker, sir, he was—"

The Acker man lifted his hand to the keeper in a sign he understood the situation and turned his attention back to the Earl. "I will take it from here, Green.

"I will repeat the question since you are in charge of this hellhole." Leonard hung his hands on his hips. "What is the exact amount Barret owes you?"

The Acker's virtual snout tilted up. "What is it to you?" His tone contained a bossy note. His bold manners aimed at intimidating but looked too inflated for effect.

"I asked first." Leonard's effortless command had a sway on the self-important man.

"Nothing. He owes nothing." Acker crossed one leg over the other as he propped on the counter. The man did not even bother to deny knowing Barret, which gave away the entire situation.

"He had a debt to you, I presume," Leonard dug.

"Depends on who wishes to know." A smug grin came to the man's face.

Leonard inhaled deep air to store patience with the man's lame delaying tactics. "Lord Ramsgate, to whom Barret works as a man of business."

"I see," Acker murmured, taking a thoughtful moment before continuing. "Well, you will have to take it up with your employee, my lord." He took a sip of his glass. "We are not prone to gossip around here."

What the man did not want was to lose a gambler who must give the house a considerable profit. "I shall do that, yes," Leonard answered in a careless tone. "And if it turns out that Barret stole from me to pay you, both will find a nice place in jail."

"Of course, you would have to prove it first." There was a drop of threat in Acker's taunt that disagreed with Leonard.

"Of course," he said and waved as he turned to exit that damned tavern, already regretting the wasted time and fruitless journey.

He reached his manor late in the evening; requested a bath, and some dinner, and went to bed, where his wife had already slumbered. He kept to his side of the bed to avoid disturbing her.

At breakfast the next morning, he told Ophelia about the trip and what happened.

"We need to call him back here and deal with it," she suggested.

"My thoughts, precisely," he agreed.

An hour later, the three of them sat in the study with a Mr Barret who did not seem himself. He chose the farthest chair from the desk and held a wrinkled handkerchief that he used to dry his sweaty brow.

"Are you ready to explain yourself?" Leonard challenged.

The man scowled. "I have already done that if memory serves."

"Unknown facts came to light, Mr Barret." Ophelia delivered with a rather bored voice.

"Which took me to Shiplake," Leonard said without preamble. Then stood up to face the man of business.

Barret's eyes rounded as his kerchief worked with frantic urgency. "Never heard of the place."

"Funny, because they heard of you at The Boar's Den." As bluffs went, Leonard quite hit the mark.

The mention of the low-life tavern caused Barret to crumble. "Acker said his men would maim me if I did not pay the five thousand pounds I owed him!" He bent on his seat and covered his face with his hands.

"Five thousand?" Ophelia echoed. "That is the reason you altered the result numbers on this year's ledgers."

He sent a resentful look at her. "When Lord Ramsgate returned, I assumed he would take over the finances." Barret raked his balding head. "He is not very good with numbers and would not have noticed it, for sure."

"But then I resumed the overseeing of the books," Ophelia interjected and left her chair as well.

"And caught you in the act." Leonard had never been so grateful for delegating the numbers to his wife. Barret could have stolen much more.

"Smart women are an aberration of nature!" Barret spat.

"The law will be in charge of you now." The Earl gave his verdict as he called the footmen to take him.

As the door closed behind the criminal, Leonard and Ophelia looked at each other. He watched as his wife released a sigh.

"We make a good team, do we not, husband?"

He exhibited a lopsided grin. "In more ways than one, wife."

"Then you will agree with me that Mr Gregson is the best choice for the position of man-of-business."

"The ideal choice, I will say." An attuned look passed between them with an emotional intimacy few found.

Just before dinner, the Earl and Countess sat in the drawing room waiting for the butler to call them.

It did not take long for the knock on the door to sound. Whitby came inside with a contrite expression. "My lord, my lady, would you allow the servants in? They wish to talk to you."

Leonard and Ophelia exchanged a glance. "Certainly, Mr Whitby, send them in," she answered.

A file of people entered the room and stood in rows in front of the couple. "My lady," the housekeeper started. "We all would like to apologise for believing Mr Barret's lies."

It did not surprise Ramsgate that the criminal had been spreading gossip among the servants, tenants, and villagers.

Ophelia offered an understanding smile to everyone. "Think nothing of it, Mrs Whitby."

"It is not a trifle thing, my lady," the cook added. "After all the kindness and care you showed us, we chose to believe a man over a woman. That is shameful."

"It was bad form of us, my lady." Jeff, the footman admitted, eyes on the carpet.

Bessie came running in and hugged Ophelia, who hugged her right back. "I never trusted that bald frog!"

They looked at each other with tenderness. "Oh, but then you are the clever girl." Ophelia praised.

"Let us forget the whole mess, shall we?" Leonard said as everyone felt more at ease.

"You know what?" Ophelia cheered. "We will all dine together in the dining room to celebrate the end of this misunderstanding." She sought his eyes, and he gave her a covert nod of approval.

"The footmen will set the table," Whitby volunteered.

It was the best dinner of Leonard's life.

When the raucous dinner finished and the joyful guests retired, her husband extended his hand to her. "Shall we retire, too?"

With a light mood, she rested her hand on his. "About time, I suppose."

In common accord, they climbed up the stairs holding hands as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

Inside, he laced her waist and glued their bodies as he looked her in the eye. "You must know by now that I love you." His rumble reverberated on all her nerves.

She gazed up at him, speechless. And then it occurred to her she could not deny her feelings for him any longer. Whatever misgivings she'd had since he returned did not prove real. He'd been by her side, supporting her, surprising her—completing her—every step of the way. In this unpleasant episode with Barret, he never suspected her, never believed the others. He stood by her like a solid rock in the wind.

So, she decided to let go of the fear of being hurt again and slid her arms to twine his strong neck. "Just like I love you."

He kissed her, and she kissed him back as they mingled tenderness and intimacy in the joining of their lips. Then they helped each other to undress and lay down, snuggling like a newly married couple.

Well, in truth, that was exactly what they were, despite the years lying in between the wedding and the actual marriage.