AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“The little devil is becoming too spoiled,” Edmund commented, a slight grin on his rugged features while he eyed the feline.
“He deserves it after his adventures in the streets,” she defended.
The Earl finished his breakfast and left for his day’s work. It gave Otilia the chance to open the letter. It would have been rather awkward to do it in his presence.
Dear Miss Kendall,
I hope this finds you well.
My son and I talked about your willingness to become my companion, and we agree you would suit me perfectly.
If you happen to still want the situation, it will be yours.
At present, I am visiting a close friend of mine in Buckinghamshire for the christening of her grandson and heir. I intend to stay here for a few weeks. Perhaps you would like to come and join me as soon as you can travel.
I am sure we will get along brilliantly.
Yours sincerely,
Charlotte Whitman,
The Dowager Marchioness of Mandeville.
Otilia’s heart somersaulted, and she pressed the letter to her bosom to get it under control. Everything she had wished for came in those simple lines. Her independence, the need not to marry for security, and the chance to make her own way in the world.
Doubt spread in her like the contents of a broken clay pitcher. A new position in view meant she would have to leave Thornton House and the possibility of re-visiting the manor now and then perhaps. And then there was Edmund.
She had no idea if she was prepared to drop their…whatever it should be called. Her mind had already gone around the matter. There was no doubt this thing between them would come to an end sooner or later. To rely on it, expect it to be more than it would ever be, would not be a very intelligent approach. Otilia had always been practical if nothing else. It was essential to keep her head clear and make the right decisions. There would be nothing for her here. The Earl must marry and marry well. What would become of her when it happened? She would be cast out, cast aside, become a left-over in the scheme of things. In her years of disillusions, she learned to count on only herself. Especially when she lost her aunt, and then her uncle; standing on her own was a valued and hard-earned condition. She had been looking for a source of income for months. The opportunity just sprung up, and it would be stupid not to grab it with both her hands. Leaving Edmund would be bleedingly painful. But it would become more so when he tired of her. If the thought alone caused extreme hurt, imagine the reality.
No, she should choose common sense. She did not have the luxury of doing otherwise.
Even talking with him about it would be a feat. He would deny her the choice categorically. Of that much, she was certain, so she would follow her destiny with or without his approval.
In her chamber, she left the letter on her escritoire and proceeded to the garden with Coal and a book.
A
Late afternoon, Edmund entered his townhouse. The day at the office had been quite normal, but he discovered his attention span had gone considerably short of late. His sole will had been to go home and find Otilia.
This continuous urgency to be with her was getting to him. A lot. Too much for his peace of mind. He avoided thinking of its implications like one avoided poison. Not following the impulse to come back to the house proved impossible, however.
“Dawson, please tell Miss Kendall to come to my study,” he said as he gave his gloves, hat, and coat to the butler, and strode there with haughty purpose.
A knock and his answer made his woman come in—she was not his woman, damn it!
“Did you send for me?”
Even in the simplest of dresses, the view of her discharged arousal in him. “I need your help with some ledgers from the manor,” he improvised. It must be something about her. Her beauty, her sensual nature, something that turned him on with instantaneous urgency. She did not mean a mere body to him though. Her defiance, that refusal to abide by his rules, his ruling, did things to his guts that no other woman did.
If he took the time to analyse his reactions to her, they would scare the living daylights off him. Not even Coraline had tied him in knots like this. To be frank, Otilia was the only woman to do it. Even eight years ago, she unsettled him in a way he found difficult to accept. Or to confess.
“Sure.” As their eyes met, a sense of oddity struck him. She looked different; a new glint flickered in her
eyes. He could not identify it precisely, but he sensed it there. Their liaison must be affecting her, too. Good. At least he was not alone in this.
Edmund passed on a few ledgers to her, and they spent the next hour discussing unnecessary issues. Hobs, the steward, had already exposed the manor’s intricacies which were not so troublesome to understand for a man used to business.
Otilia started to explain those same things to him, and he drifted off, sailing in her melodious tone. His attention navigated to her hair tied in a bun, her long lashes, down to the pert nose, full lips, and delicate chin. The curve of her neck where he rested his head so often while he poured his passion in the heat of her. The swell of her breasts on which he delighted all night. Her tiny waist, the flare of her hips, where he anchored his hold to find purchase, and move as they joined their bodies. He must be an utter cad to let her go on talking when his eyes and mind were somewhere else.
