Page 61 of The Virtuoso
“I don’t know about that, but my tenants have a substantial motive for wanting to get rid of me, and they have access to those children.”
St. Just grimaced. “You make a good point. One Sir Dewey should be apprised of.”
“He should. Shall we be off?”
Over a surprisingly good bottle of whiskey, Val established with Mortimus Bragdoll that the home farm would be reverting to the estate’s use, though no rent would be charged for Mort’s appropriation of the land previously. In exchange, Bragdoll agreed to set his hand to cleaning up the buildings, scything down the weeds, repairing the fences, and otherwise restoring the property to good condition. Bragdoll was built on the proportions of a plough horse, with four sons growing into the same physique, leaving Val no doubt the home farm would be adequately tended to.
And at Darius’s prompting, Bragdoll started making a list of improvements—beginning with the roof on the hay barn—the present Lord Roxbury had declined to see to.
All in all, Val thought the gathering on the Bragdolls’ porch productive, though it failed entirely to illuminate the question of whether his own tenants were attempting to burn him out and possibly bring harm to Ellen as well.
“I’ll be back tomorrow evening,” Darius said, folding a list into his pocket as Bragdoll put up the whiskey bottle. “If you have the other tenants here, we can decide what comes next after the hay barn has been seen to.”
“Aye.” Bragdoll pulled on his ear. “And my Ina will join us, too. She’s the smartest among us, and she’ll tell you exactly what needs doing.”
He looked like he might say more, but marital loyalty apparently trumped an urge to commiserate with his own gender. Val, Darius, and St. Just took their leave, unaware Hawthorne Bragdoll, youngest of the four sons, sat with his mother on the second-floor porch and watched their departure.
“Think he means it when he says he’ll make the improvements?” Thorn asked.
“Mr. Windham?” Ina pursed her lips in thought. “Yes, I think he means to do right, but as to whether he knows what he’s about, I’ve no clue, young Thorn. The man is a stranger to us, and to hear Deemus tell it, he wears gloves no matter what he’s about, like a dandy. Works hard, though, if you can believe Deemus or Soames.”
Thorn nodded. Neither Deemus nor Soames was much given to exaggeration when sober, and that was too bad. It meant Mr. Windham was likely a decent sort, pouring a great deal of time and money into a dilapidated estate. If Thorn’s instincts were accurate—and they very often were—poor Mr. Windham was in for one hell of a hiding.
And Thorn knew what it was like to get one hell of a hiding a fellow had done nothing to deserve.
***
“Go back to sleep,” Val whispered. For the past three nights, he’d slipped into Ellen’s bed after she’d retired then slipped out again in the dead of night. He’d made it a point to cross paths with her during the day as well, but with people around, so she might get used to being near her lover in relative public.
This, however, this quiet closeness in the night, it drew him. He didn’t make love to her—not when pregnancy was a greater risk—and he hadn’t found a way to explain to her about sponges and vinegar. Those were not entirely reliable, in any case, and he wasn’t about to go purchasing what he needed in Little Weldon’s apothecary and herbal shop. He could have withdrawn, of course, but that bore risks, as well, and with Ellen, he found he’d rather just damned wait a couple weeks than settle for half measures.
Then too, waiting meant he did not give his conscience yet more ammunition with which to assail him.
So he held her and cuddled and whispered in the darkness, sometimes falling asleep for a while, sometimes holding Ellen while she slept.
“I wasn’t quite asleep.” Ellen stirred and rolled to face him, slipping one arm under his neck and hiking a leg over his hips. She located his lips with her fingers then leaned in to kiss him on the mouth. “I’ve missed you.”
“Since luncheon, you’ve missed me? I’ve missed you too,” Val said, grazing one palm over her breast. “I’ve missed particular parts of you intensely.”
“Is that why you haven’t made love to me since Monday?”
“You’re blushing.” In the dark he could not see her blush, but when he laid the back of his hand against her cheek, he felt it.
“I am. I’m also asking you a question.”
Val dropped his hand and went back to thumbing her nipple gently. “I have left you in peace for a variety of reasons, the first of which is consideration for your tender person.”
“Oh.” It clearly hadn’t occurred to Ellen her person might merit such consideration. “My thanks. Do men get sore?”
“Not as easily as women, or I don’t think we do, but you inspired me to a prolonged and lengthy performance. Blazing hell, that feels good.”
Ellen had one hand on his cock and used her free hand to rake his nipples with her nails. “What were your other reasons?”
“For what?”
“Abandoning me.”
“Ellen?” Val caught her hand, stilling it wrapped around his member. “Abandoning you?”
