Sinful Seduction (5 page)

But not quite.

‘Fetch me a glass of hot milk to help me sleep,' ordered her ladyship. ‘And perhaps a few of those little rattafia biscuits.'

Maggie bobbed a curtsey and wearily set off for the kitchen again. Standing over the hob, she willed the milk to boil quicker. Every bone in her body ached with tiredness. She arranged the biscuits daintily on a doily, placed the milk on the tray and carried it across the kitchen, bumping the door open with her hip.

‘Will that be all, madam?' she asked, as she put the tray down beside the bed.

‘That will do,' muttered her ladyship, reaching greedily for the biscuits. ‘You may go now.'

Thankfully Maggie scurried out of the room - and almost bumped into his lordship, his dressing gown gaping to reveal a belly bulging against his nightshirt. ‘Oh, I'm sorry, sir,' she gasped, stepping back.

‘I'm not,' he wheezed lecherously, and before she could escape he seized and pulled her against him. She shuddered as a gust of alcohol-laden breath brushed her cheek, but worse was to come as his wet, fleshy mouth swooped down on hers, his thick tongue pushing between her lips.

‘Bbbmmm... no sir... stop it!' she managed, trying to push him off, but her struggles served only to increase his excitement. Even through her heavy uniform she could feel his thick member pressing urgently into her belly and his free hand was fumbling at her skirts. ‘Please, please...' she pleaded as his fat fingers found the soft flesh of her thighs. Was this what had happened to poor Millie Evans?

‘That's right, beg for it, you saucy little bitch,' he panted, his face flushed with lust.

‘Edward? Is that you?' came a querulous voice, and he let Maggie go as suddenly as he'd grabbed her. She fell against the wall, her breasts heaving.

‘Another time,' he promised huskily as he pulled his dressing gown round him, opened the bedroom door, and disappeared inside.

Maggie stared at the door and thanked God for her lucky escape. Another time? Over her dead body! She'd keep well clear of his lordship in future.

Light-headed with relief she fled to the safety of her room. Mary's snoring had never sounded so comforting, and her last thought before she fell into an exhausted sleep was that being a lady's maid was more hazardous than she'd imagined.

 

 

 

‘Strewth! I'm about run off my feet,' panted Mrs Hardcastle, planting herself down with a sigh and fanning herself with a limp hand. ‘You'd think it was the queen herself come to visit instead of just young Master Jeremy coming home.' She nodded towards Mrs McAlister, who was rolling out enough pastry to cover a small bed. ‘You got them menus wrote out for her ladyship yet, Sarah? If I don't take them up soon, she'll have a blue fit.'

‘There on the dresser,' muttered Sarah, pointing with a floury hand, and the words were barely out of her mouth when the bell for the morning room began jangling imperiously.

‘Told yer so,' said Mrs H, reluctantly heaving her bulk out of the chair and picking up the handwritten sheets. ‘They look fine to me, Sarah,' she said, running a swift eye over them. ‘But what's the odds she'll manage to find something to complain about? Ah well, no rest for the wicked, eh?' Straightening her voluminous black skirts, she bustled out.

Maggie put down the petticoat she was mending and looked at Sarah. ‘So what's this Master Jeremy like then, Mrs McAlister?' she asked. Sarah stopped her rolling and smiled indulgently.

‘A right wee charmer,' she sighed. ‘I remember when he was a laddie, he was always in and out the kitchen trying to wheedle me into making him biscuits. “Nobody in the whole wide world makes biscuits like you, Mrs Mac”, he'd say.' She beamed proudly. ‘And who could resist those big blue eyes of his and that head of blond curls? He was like a wee angel fallen from heaven.' She looked at Maggie enquiringly. ‘But have you not seen him yourself? You've been here long enough.'

Maggie nodded. ‘Yes,' she agreed. ‘But only once, the Christmas after I came.' And that was only a quick glance out of the corner of her eye when the staff was lined up on Christmas morning to receive their gifts; a length of cotton for the female servants and worsted for the men. ‘I think he was at boarding school then, and after that he got his commission and was posted to India. I can hardly remember what he looked like.'

‘Fancy that,' marveled Mrs McAlister. ‘How could anybody forget a bonnie laddie like that?' Maggie suppressed a smile and refrained from pointing out that she'd been more concerned with keeping her belly full and her work done than making sheep's eyes at her employers' son.

‘Anyway,' Mrs McAlister went on with satisfaction. ‘You'll have plenty of time to see him this time. Three whole months he's back for.' She nodded her head. ‘And deserves every minute of it, if you ask me. Living out amongst them heathen savages. His poor mother must have been worried sick.'

Maggie nodded, while wondering if Lady Georgina ever worried about anything apart from her own selfish hide. The last couple of weeks as her ladyship's maid had done nothing more to endear her employer to her. She had worked her fingers to the bone trying to please her and had nothing but complaints and rebukes to show for it. She smiled ruefully. Not to mention the bruises! Her ladyship was quick to show her disapproval with a sharp rap across the knuckles when she was displeased. And she was displeased most of the time. Still, perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps her son's arrival home would transform her. And at least she hadn't bumped into the master again since that first horrible night.

‘So when's he coming?' she asked.

‘Sometime this afternoon,' announced Mrs McAlister with satisfaction. ‘Harris is going down to the station to collect him after luncheon.' She pushed up her sleeves and tackled her pastry with fresh vigour. ‘Though if I don't stop blethering and get a move on there's not going to be any luncheon - and I can just imagine what her ladyship would have to say about that!'

At the mention of Lady Georgina, Maggie picked up her needle and began sewing industriously again. If her petticoats weren't mended, no doubt she'd have something to say about that as well.

‘He's here!' called Emily, peering excitedly out of the kitchen window. ‘He's here! The carriage is back! I can see the wheels!'

Maggie scowled as she set the flat-iron in front of the coals. About time too. If Lady Georgina had tried on one dress, she'd tried on half a dozen - before deciding on the one she'd picked in the first place. The pile of discarded dresses was lying crumpled on the kitchen settle, to be ironed all over again. And she'd had to do her ladyship's hair three times before she'd been satisfied with the result.

She grinned; anyway, God knows why Emily was getting so excited. All she'd see from the window were Master Jeremy's boots. He'd hardly be likely to come visiting the kitchens.

But Maggie was wrong. A couple of hours later the door swung open and a tall fair-haired man stood on the threshold, smiling. Keen blue eyes surveyed the surprised occupants and lit on Mrs McAlister, and in three long strides he'd crossed the room, scooped her up and was swinging her round exuberantly. When he finally deposited her on her feet, grey hair escaping from beneath her white cap, and planted a kiss on her cheek, she was laughing and fluttering like a girl of sixteen.

‘Och now, Master Jeremy, will you behave yourself,' she scolded. ‘And just you stand still while I take a good look at you.' She beamed up at him, her eyes full of happy tears. ‘My, my, you haven't changed one wee bit.'

‘Nor have you, Mrs Mac,' he said, with a gallant bow. ‘And you're still the best cook in England.' He bent down. ‘Do you know what the worst thing about India was?' Mrs Mac shook her head, wide-eyed. ‘Not having your famous biscuits!'

‘Away you go, laddie,' she chuckled, pride and pleasure written all over her face. She turned and clapped her hands. ‘Well, girls, don't stand there staring like boobies. Come and welcome Master Jeremy home again.'

One by one the girls came shyly up to bob their curtseys and have their hands shaken. ‘Ellen, Mary, Emily,' he said as they giggled and nudged each other. ‘Good heavens, what grown-up young ladies you've all turned into while my back was turned.' Then he caught sight of Maggie. ‘And who's this? You're new, aren't you?'

‘Not at all, Master Jeremy,' interrupted Mrs McAlister. ‘Surely you remember Maggie? She came to us as the tweeny in your last year at school.'

He stared at her for a moment in surprise, taking in the smiling face and the trim figure. ‘What?' he blustered, vaguely remembering a distant Christmas morning and a skinny waif with downcast eyes who'd scuttled up to receive her present then fled as if the devil himself were after her. ‘That scrawny little creature who looked as if she wouldn't say boo to a goose? I don't believe it!'

‘The very same, sir,' said Maggie, smiling up at him. She wasn't the only one who'd changed. Then he'd been a gangling schoolboy with untidy hair and knobbly wrists protruding from the suit he'd obviously grown out of while he was away at Harrow. Now he was a grown man; tanned, broad-shouldered and moustachioed. Piercing blue eyes regarded her with interest and she felt a strange quiver in the pit of her stomach.

‘Well, well, well,' he said, holding out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you again then, Maggie.' She took it - and was shocked at her reaction to his touch. Even Thomas' clumsy fumblings had never made her feel like this! Her mouth felt suddenly dry and the quivering became a demanding throb in the hidden place between her thighs. Flushing scarlet, she pulled her hand away and lowered her eyes before he could see the effect he'd had on her.

A quick glance from beneath her lashes showed that he seemed disconcerted too. ‘Er, well...' he muttered. ‘Time to get back upstairs then.' The bell for the drawing room jangled impatiently and his face cleared. ‘Sounds as if mamma's wondering where I've got to,' he said. ‘Better not keep her waiting, eh?' He smiled round at them all. ‘Keep up the good work, girls.' He grinned at Mrs McAlister. ‘And don't be too hard on them, Mrs Mac.' With a jaunty salute he strode out.

‘Isn't ‘e luvverly?' sighed Emily, and she winked at the other girls. ‘Wouldn't kick ‘im out of bed, would yer?' There was a chorus of giggles and Mrs McAlister scowled.

‘That's quite enough of that, young woman,' she snapped. ‘I'll have none of your smut in my kitchen, if you please. Master Jeremy's not for the likes of you.' She sniffed. ‘As if he'd even look twice at a bunch of scullery girls.' She nodded her head in approval. ‘Look at Maggie there. She's not carrying on like a moon-struck calf. Just you take a leaf out of her book and behave yourselves like good girls should.'

‘Ooooh, miss prim and proper and no mistake,' sniggered Emily, digging her elbow into Maggie's ribs. ‘Bet you ain't such a goody-two-shoes as yer looks. You wouldn't say no to Master Jeremy if he asked yer nicely, would yer now?'

Mrs McAlister's face became thunderous. ‘Right, that's it, my lady! Since you're feeling so lively, you can just go and give a wee hand peeling those vegetables.'

‘But that's not my job,' wailed Emily. ‘That's the tweeny's. It'll spoil me hands.'

‘It's your job now,' said Mrs McAlister, folding her arms over her formidable bosom. ‘And one more word out of you and it'll be your job for the rest of the week and all.' She nodded her head grimly. ‘Just you remember what happened to wee Millie Evans. Got herself in trouble and she was oot that door so fast her feet didn't touch the ground. She'll no be laughing now, the same lady.'

Subdued, the girls drifted back to their tasks. Maggie picked up her iron again, her legs still weak from the whirl of strange new feelings Master Jeremy had aroused in her. The harsh material of her uniform seemed to rub against the tips of her breasts with every movement, aggravating the throbbing between her thighs.

‘You wouldn't say no to Master Jeremy if he asked yer nicely, would yer?' Emily had said. Maggie shivered at the very thought... and she had the dreadful suspicion that Emily might just be right.

 

 

 

‘Where's that Emily?' demanded Mrs Hardcastle. ‘She should have been down here hours ago.' She looked at the table where the breakfast trays were still sitting and her lips set. ‘Still lying in her bed, I warrant.'

The door of the kitchen opened and Emily crept in. ‘About time too, miss,' snapped Mrs H. ‘As if I didn't have enough to worry about with them wanting their breakfasts in bed after last night, instead of in the breakfast room. Now pick up the master's and get yourself up them stairs.' She stopped. ‘Good heavens girl, what's wrong with you?'

Emily clutched her swollen jaw and whimpered. ‘I've got the toothache sumfing awful, Mrs H,' she moaned. ‘Never got a wink of sleep last night for it.'

‘Well, you can't go upstairs looking like that,' said Mrs Hardcastle briskly. ‘You've got a face like a turnip. Put anybody off their grub, that would.' She pushed the whimpering girl into the chair by the fire. ‘Now you sit there while I get my box.'