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

desires, only to have them met by similar desires, and men who didn’t think anything they did was wicked.

She slid from her gown, hung it up carefully and untied the straps of her chemise, letting it drop to the floor as her mind pondered the entire topic of wickedness.

It certainly conjured up scenes of improper behaviour. Of nakedness, sexual intimacy and flagrantly sensual eroticism. But weren’t those all part of the human experience? Should they be labelled wicked simply because some individuals felt shocked by them?

She sat on the chair by the bed and removed her shoes and stockings. Wicked, to her, was permitting people to starve. Wicked was treating another person as if they were rubbish, to be thrown out and discarded without a thought.

That, to Gwyneth, was wickedness. Evil, vicious and inexcusable.

There was no way she could associate the intimacy, the affections—the love she shared with her gentlemen—with that kind of horror.

They were good men. Not without their faults, but at the core, they were good. Each one had opened himself to her, a sick and starving stranger. Each one had treated her with respect, good humour and affection.

And now, as time went on, each one seemed to love her in their own way, both spiritually and physically. Which brought her back to this moment in time.

She stood naked in front of her mirror. Thankfully her breasts had filled out, and no longer did her ribs make bumps in her skin. She slid her hand down her side to her hip, noting the swell of soft flesh that emphasised her femininity, and the tight curls at the juncture of her thighs.

Yes, she was a woman now, full-blown, experienced and ready to be loved and cherished. Perhaps this was the woman she had always been, but how could she tell? Raising her eyes, she gazed at her face, noticing the flushed cheeks—probably from the brandy.

But then it struck her. She was standing naked before a mirror, her chin high, awaiting her lovers. All four of them. Yes, this woman, unafraid of her own desires, aware of her own needs and ready to demand they be fulfilled, this was the woman she was now. And the comfort of knowing such a strong part of her personality had emerged…it was a liberating moment.

She heard the door opened, and half turned, smiling as the men tumbled in, shedding their shirts, and falling silent as they saw her nude body lit by candlelight and reflected in the mirror.

“You see?” breathed Gabriel. “I was right. She is a goddess…”

*~~*~~*

Journal of Gwyneth, Dowager Countess, Lady of Wolfbridge - June 1818

 

The Baron has been killed.

A strange sentence to begin this entry, but so important. We believe him to be the one who fired at Wolfbridge and injured Evan, so finding his body in the forest was both a horrid tragedy and a relief. We cannot understand his motives, and probably will never know why he chose that course of action.

All I can say for certain is that a weight has been lifted from the shoulders of everyone here.

We celebrated.

Well, most of us did.

There was brandy, and sometimes I worry I might be overly accustomed now to the delightful warmth and relaxation it inspires. It certainly inspired a lot last night. And I must confess that I encouraged more than relaxation. I encouraged my gentlemen to come to my bedroom. Yes, I wanted them, and I made it quite clear. Am I ashamed? No. I am the Lady of Wolfbridge, and with that title comes the unique ability to choose my own path. To freely speak of my desires, and to freely avail myself of the men who are committed to serving me in my capacity as Lady.

I shamelessly flirted with them all in the Rose room, and suggested a refilled decanter of brandy to be shared upstairs.

Needless to say they were eager to agree, and I had chance to withdraw and ready myself before they arrived. It was somewhat surprising to find Royce was not with them, but Jeremy told me that Giles had appeared in the hall and asked Royce to spare him a moment.

I expected him to arrive later, but whatever he and Giles had to discuss obviously took considerable time. I missed him, his wry wit and his lovely body, but I had three others to play with. And none are bound to my desires. Everything must be given freely, and they know I would never demand their presence, merely request it.

Evan, poor love, with his wounded shoulder, was forced into the role of games master, since we determined that we would play something silly and Blind Man’s Buff was selected as the most suitable.

So he took a chair to one side, while Jeremy and Gabriel stripped themselves and then blindfolded me. In the manner of the parlour game, they turned me around several times, making me quite dizzy.

Then the fun began.

I felt a touch, a hand on my buttock. I swung around only to feel a kiss on my shoulder.

I stayed still and my nipples were quickly flicked, making me gasp and shiver and blindly stretch out my arms to capture the wicked perpetrator of such pleasure.

They laughed, I laughed, and I trembled when my hands found male flesh, warm and hard and ready for me. Then they moved away, free to touch me, and stroke me and even slap my bottom. Which, I’ll admit, was a surprise, a sting and then a rush of heat that surprised me with its arousing properties.

Arms came around me, trapping me, then slithered over my belly to my thighs. I tried to catch them, but my blindfold was doing its job too well, and they were still fast on their feet, brandy notwithstanding. Their delighted laughter was an arousal all by itself.

I