there, it's all right now. You sleep, I shall hold you whilst you rest.’
Her soothing words worked and within a few minutes of her arrival he was breathing deeply, evenly. He was fast asleep and she was beside him in bed, in her night apparel. In the moonlight she could see he was still in his shirt. That was something, she supposed. She was quite definitely inappropriately dressed, but if she remained on top of the covers until she was able to extricate herself then maybe her reputation would still be intact.
This was the second time today she had held him. His head was heavy against her chest, the warmth from his skin seeping through the two thicknesses of her clothes. As she dozed her mind drifted, when had her husband last held her in this way? Shocked, her eyes flew open. She and John had not shared an intimate moment like this since Jack had been born.
Her hand moved of its own volition to stoke his hair. Foster must have been obliged to wash it because of the blood, and now it was soft and silky beneath her touch. Somehow she slipped down the pillows until she was lying flat. As sleep claimed her she knew, like Pandora and her box, she was going to regret this escapade in the morning.
Chapter Six
It was the cockerel in the stable yard that woke Emma next morning. She felt strangely warm and comfortable, believed she had not rested so well for years. It was what she had always loved best about being married to John, the closeness they sometimes found in each other's arms.
Her sleep befuddled brain cleared. John had been dead for more than a year, and they had shared nothing but arguments for the three years before that. She didn't dare to open her eyes, she recalled exactly where she was and with whom. Thank the good Lord he had now rolled away from her, perhaps she could slip away and he would be none the wiser.
With infinite care she inched her way to the edge of the bed, dropped first one barefoot and then the other to the boards. She froze. Had he stirred? No, his breathing was even, she was safe. After a few more agonising seconds she was on her feet and moving stealthily to the half-open door. She whisked through it and ran back to her lonely bed, climbed in and pulled the sheets up to her chin.
So many strange things had been happening to her since she arrived at Stansted Manor, she was behaving out of character and yet felt more invigorated than she could remember. Perhaps living dangerously suited her better than behaving with decorum. She would make sure that Fred did not ring the neck of the cockerel, without his intervention she would be in dire straits indeed.
A gurgle of unexpected laughter bubbled forth. Why was she getting in such a pother about her reputation? She was no longer a lady but a servant, she need not give a fig for such things. As long as she behaved as would be expected of a respectable housekeeper, no one else would care one way or the other what she did in her own time. There was an unexpected freedom in her straitened circumstances that she had never considered before. She need not agonise about having spent the night in the arms of a gentleman without the benefit of clergy, both she and he knew nothing improper had taken place. That was all that mattered. Well, he fortunately knew nothing about what had happened so that was one less thing to worry about.
She yawned, it was just after four o’ clock, she did not have to rise until six – plenty of time to go back to sleep. As her eyes flickered shut; it was not John she saw smiling down at her but a black-haired, dark visaged man.
*
Rupert continued to breathe as if asleep until he was certain the delectable Mrs Reed had gone. He felt wonderful, relaxed and refreshed and it was all due to the kindness of his housekeeper. He could not imagine any other woman prepared to do what she had done for him. She must never know that he had woken half an hour ago to find himself in her arms.
Somehow
Her soothing words worked and within a few minutes of her arrival he was breathing deeply, evenly. He was fast asleep and she was beside him in bed, in her night apparel. In the moonlight she could see he was still in his shirt. That was something, she supposed. She was quite definitely inappropriately dressed, but if she remained on top of the covers until she was able to extricate herself then maybe her reputation would still be intact.
This was the second time today she had held him. His head was heavy against her chest, the warmth from his skin seeping through the two thicknesses of her clothes. As she dozed her mind drifted, when had her husband last held her in this way? Shocked, her eyes flew open. She and John had not shared an intimate moment like this since Jack had been born.
Her hand moved of its own volition to stoke his hair. Foster must have been obliged to wash it because of the blood, and now it was soft and silky beneath her touch. Somehow she slipped down the pillows until she was lying flat. As sleep claimed her she knew, like Pandora and her box, she was going to regret this escapade in the morning.
Chapter Six
It was the cockerel in the stable yard that woke Emma next morning. She felt strangely warm and comfortable, believed she had not rested so well for years. It was what she had always loved best about being married to John, the closeness they sometimes found in each other's arms.
Her sleep befuddled brain cleared. John had been dead for more than a year, and they had shared nothing but arguments for the three years before that. She didn't dare to open her eyes, she recalled exactly where she was and with whom. Thank the good Lord he had now rolled away from her, perhaps she could slip away and he would be none the wiser.
With infinite care she inched her way to the edge of the bed, dropped first one barefoot and then the other to the boards. She froze. Had he stirred? No, his breathing was even, she was safe. After a few more agonising seconds she was on her feet and moving stealthily to the half-open door. She whisked through it and ran back to her lonely bed, climbed in and pulled the sheets up to her chin.
So many strange things had been happening to her since she arrived at Stansted Manor, she was behaving out of character and yet felt more invigorated than she could remember. Perhaps living dangerously suited her better than behaving with decorum. She would make sure that Fred did not ring the neck of the cockerel, without his intervention she would be in dire straits indeed.
A gurgle of unexpected laughter bubbled forth. Why was she getting in such a pother about her reputation? She was no longer a lady but a servant, she need not give a fig for such things. As long as she behaved as would be expected of a respectable housekeeper, no one else would care one way or the other what she did in her own time. There was an unexpected freedom in her straitened circumstances that she had never considered before. She need not agonise about having spent the night in the arms of a gentleman without the benefit of clergy, both she and he knew nothing improper had taken place. That was all that mattered. Well, he fortunately knew nothing about what had happened so that was one less thing to worry about.
She yawned, it was just after four o’ clock, she did not have to rise until six – plenty of time to go back to sleep. As her eyes flickered shut; it was not John she saw smiling down at her but a black-haired, dark visaged man.
*
Rupert continued to breathe as if asleep until he was certain the delectable Mrs Reed had gone. He felt wonderful, relaxed and refreshed and it was all due to the kindness of his housekeeper. He could not imagine any other woman prepared to do what she had done for him. She must never know that he had woken half an hour ago to find himself in her arms.
Somehow
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