The Dowager Countess (The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor Book 2) by Sahara Kelly (classic children's novels txt) 📕

feel of the water against her body, the floating kiss of her thin cotton chemise…sensual pleasures that drove everything else from her mind.

She struck out, a natural movement of limbs propelling her across the pond, followed by similar strokes as her gentlemen escorted her on her steady progress.

“Don’t tire yourself.”

Evan was beside her, his naked skin gleaming, his smile flashing white against the growing twilight. She couldn’t help reaching for him, aching to feel the heat of his body.

“Not too far, Gwyneth,” Royce closed the distance between them. “You’re not at full strength yet.”

She tossed her head, letting the droplets from her hair spray around her. “This is magnificent,” she laughed aloud. “Wonderful, wonderful…”

Rolling in the water, she leaned back and floated, a trick she’d mastered at the ripe old age of five. “The stars. Look at the stars coming out…” She gazed upward into the deep blue sky, where tiny dots of light twinkled at her. The final flames of the sun were turning the horizon to vivid purple, making way for the pure blue white of the moon which would rise soon.

She felt them move close, four bodies, ripples touching her—and then hands, beneath her, holding her as she drifted on the surface.

An arm went under her shoulders, another touched her back and slid to her bottom, a heated caress. Hands found her thighs and calves; she floated still, but now held by the loving touches of her gentlemen. Could there be anything more magnificent than this?

It turned out that yes, there was indeed something even better.

When four warm bodies touched hers, when lips found skin, fingertips stroked cool flesh…Gwyneth closed her eyes and surrendered.

They held her but now they also played with her, tugging at the wet cotton, pulling it away from her body, finding her sensitive places beneath.

Two hands cupped her breasts, one from each side, her nipples responding to tiny tugs and abrasions. Who was it? Whose thumbs were making her squirm? She didn’t know, nor did she want to. The sensation was more than enough. Another hand found her bottom, squeezing, tickling, running fingertips along the crease and tugging on her cheeks, making her gasp a little at the strange feelings it evoked.

As her gown floated to her waist, a hand slid down, down between her legs, finding moisture that had nothing to do with the pond and everything to do with Gwyneth’s aroused desires.

This was what she’d wanted.

She allowed the confession to seep into her thoughts as she parted her legs, inviting whoever was touching her to explore whatever he wanted.

She moaned, the waters around her splashing little waves over her skin, reminding her that she was all but nude in their arms.

“So sweet,” someone whispered.

“So warm,” another answered.

“Gwyneth,” breathed Gabriel. She could recognise his voice—the wonder in his words.

“Ohhh…” Someone lifted her a little and the water ran down either side, then there were shoulders between her legs and a mouth and tongue replaced fingers.

“Oh God,” she cried out. The sensual assault increased as lips suckled on her breasts and hands ran over every part of her body. She tensed as that magic tongue laved the sensitive bud of her pleasure, teasing and tempting and finally pushing her up and over the edge.

Her cry startled birds in the willow tree and the rustle of leaves took the sounds and whispered them on the night breeze.

She was moving, being carried back to the bridge, four strong bodies acting as her ferry. Limp and relaxed, she let them guide her through the water, still shivering from the after effects of her experience.

Her lower body still tingled, the memory of the fierce spasms fresh, the exquisite release leaving her weak physically, but with a renewed sense of her own emotional strength.

She had survived the worst life could offer. She had lost everything and nearly lost her soul.

But she had survived.

And now she was going to thrive as the Lady of Wolfbridge. In any manner she chose.

*~~*~~*

Unaware of Gwyneth’s emotional awakening, Giles sat in his study with the windows open, enjoying the evening air and listening to the melodies of birds, insects and the occasional frog. Country sounds that soothed him and had become a steady accompaniment to times like this.

Beside him, on a small table beneath the window, was a glass of his favourite whiskey. The house was quiet, and he was alone but for his thoughts—and the letter next to the glass.

He had yet to open it.

Another lay beside it, this one addressed to the Dowager Duchess of Kilham, Wolfbridge Manor.

Both letters troubled him greatly, and he frowned as he reached for his glass, took a hefty swig of the warming liquor and pondered the questions running through his mind.

Who could’ve known Lady Gwyneth was now at Wolfbridge? Anything local would have been delivered as a message or in person, and besides, she wouldn’t be the addressee for estate business. That would all go to Royce. There was no sender, or seal, or identifying information, just an envelope sealed with perfectly ordinary wax and a stamp that one could find anywhere. From Randschen, perhaps…but if not, who else might have known her whereabouts?

Giles was at a loss.

He was uncomfortable at the thought of opening it himself, and rightly so. He might run Wolfbridge, but that did not offer him a licence to open her Ladyship’s post.

So, slowly, he reached for his own letter, both eager and afraid of what it might contain.

The marks and scuffs on this small package told of a long journey, and he knew for certain that it had indeed travelled many miles to reach his hand.

He lifted it to his nose, wondering if he could detect a trace of the scent that had once been so familiar—the salty floral air of