Blakewood Read online

  Blakewood by Sable Grey

  About the Author

  Sable Grey has been writing sensual and erotic romance since 2004 and is multi-published in both print and electronic formats. Also a publisher and a cover artist, Sable spends what little spare time she has in the small town of Clinton, Mississippi with William, her husband, and six needy cats and dogs. She is stepmother to two and grandmother to four.

  Visit her site at sablegrey.net

  Books by Sable Grey Available for Kindle

  Christy’s Ghost

  Charlotte’s Brides: Sophie

  Charlotte’s Brides: Danielle

  Charlotte’s Brides: Vivian

  A Demon’s Kiss

  The Warrior’s Heart

  Her Laird, Her Lover

  His to Want

  His to Have

  Shadow Wolf

  Passion of the Wolf

  Healing the Beast

  Vampire Oracle: Wisdom

  Something Wild

  Salacity

  Hired Hands

  The Nothing but Trouble Bride

  Embracing the Sun

  The Pirate’s Jewel

  Dedication

  To Kaye Spencer

  For the hours of editing she put in to make me look good in public

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  My first look at Blakewood was from the carriage that had retrieved me in London. As thunder sounded overhead, I leaned forward to peer up from the carriage window at the bleak sky of the spring’s afternoon. My journey thus far had been a long one, spanning over several tiresome days, and it seemed it rained the entire time, as if the storm followed me like a shadow warning of more darkness to come.

  I travelled with but one solitary bag, a somber reminder that in my twenty-six years of life, I had no more to show for myself than a few garments and small tokens of a childhood ended too soon by the death of a parent. And with that death began a ten-year education at the school for girls, a place my uncle paid for me to attend so I would be out from under his responsibility. Following my education, I accomplished two places of employment as governess: one for a girl, nearly grown, and the other for a young boy in preparation for his being sent to school. Now, I was off to a new employ.

  Looking over the hunting grounds, I imagined the deer and other wild life that might roam the trees. As the darkened wood thinned into parkland, I was able to see several well-kept gardens, each with shimmering pools and fountains scattered around before the intimidating walls of Blakewood Manor, at long last, unfurled into my view. Rising three floors in height, the massive structure sprawled across the countryside like an ancient, but mighty beast. The architecture was a collage of influences that reflected changes and additions throughout the generations.

  The entrance at the ground floor was an impressive garden terrace of red and gray stone with steps leading down to the trimmed lawn and stone drive that circled a massive fountain. From the doorway, a woman in gray stepped into view and stood as regal as the building behind her, arms crossed, and chin lifted as she watched the carriage deliver me to the steps.

  “You were expected to arrive thirty minutes ago.” While the woman herself was thin, her voice was not, and she swept down the steps, casting a reprimanding glare at the driver while I climbed from the carriage.

  “I was delayed in London, ma’am,” the driver defended as he pulled my bag from atop the carriage.

  “I will deal with you later.” The woman turned her attention to me then. “You are the governess, Elizabeth Mason, I presume.”

  “Yes ma’am.” I had a sudden urge to smooth out my dress and stand taller beneath her scrutiny. Instead, I held out the recommendations I carried with me. Slender fingers accepted the letters, and I watched her cast a quick glance over them while the driver set the bag on the ground at my feet. He offered me a slight smile and placed a finger under his chin, gesturing that I should keep my own up.

  “I’m Beatrice Loman.” The woman introduced herself as she turned on the worn heel of her leather boot and, with a flick of her wrist, indicated she wished me to follow. “I run a strict schedule and I expect it to be kept without exception. I do not tolerate laziness or excuses such as that given to me by the driver, and you can be sure his will be dealt with.” Up the steps, with bag in hand, I kept pace, noting the only sound made as she moved was the soft jingling of the keys secured at her waist.

  The door opened as she approached and a tall, balding man of lean build stepped aside so we could enter the foyer. My breath caught at the sheer magnificence of the interior. Wood polished so that it shone, expensive tapestries and grand paintings graced the walls, and exotic, tightly woven rugs quieted the steps of heavy shoes.

  “This is Mister Simpers. Thom, this is the governess, Elizabeth Mason.” Ms. Loman introduced us as she swept inside.

  Mister Simpers pulled the door closed and, as Ms. Loman looked more closely at my recommendations, he began speaking as if reciting an initiation that he'd long practiced with those hired to Blakewood. “We take our roles seriously, and you will be expected to follow suit. At night, you shall keep to your room. If you leave the grounds on your day off, you must return before dusk.”

  When Ms. Loman turned and walked through the arched doorway into a wide corridor, Mister Simpers fell into step next with her so I followed, listening closely as he continued his recitation of the odd rules. “You are not to interact or take up conversation with the master or any of his family unless prompted to do so by myself or Ms. Loman or unless you are addressed directly. You shall keep to your assigned work areas. We take our meals in the servant’s hall promptly at six. Any relationship you might have outside the household will be conducted privately and will not interfere with your service here. In short, you do not bring attention to yourself or your private affairs.”

  His stern glance conveyed the seriousness he meant. I quickly nodded that I understood. They halted at the foot of a massive staircase, which curled from the ground floor to the first in an elaborate sweep of oak and stone, promising more mystery and exploration at its top.

  “Remember your station, mind the rules, and your service here will be content.” Mister Simpers didn’t wait for my answer but turned stiffly and made his way back the way we’d come, the sound of his boots echoing with authority.

  “Everything seems to be in order. As you promised in your letter, you do come to us with experience, and I am encouraged by the contents of your recommendations.” Ms. Loman began up the stairs, her gaze never lifting from the parchment she still read. “The servants’ rooms and hall are on the second floor; the master and his family have rooms on the first. Your room is on the first floor in the east wing near the children’s rooms.”

  “How many children will I be responsible for?” I asked as we reached the landing on the first floor.

  “There is but one old enough to be your pupil; the other babes have a nurse.” Mrs. Loman supplied this curt explanation as she led me down the corridor to the east wing. “So you see, this could become a long term position for you at Blakewood.”

  At other employments, I’d always shared a room with a maid. The room I was given at Blakewood was singularly mine. And it was far larger than any I’d ever occupied. The bed itself seemed massive enough to sleep four people with sheer curtains that barely concealed the pillows and blankets within. The room was decorated with a blend of feminine honey and rose and was quite cozy. A small sitting area had been positioned in front of the fireplace and near the window, a writing table.

  “What a beautiful room.”

  Mrs. Loman faced me as I set my bag against the wall next to the door. “Tomorrow morning, you may begin the child’s education and in the evening, I will present you to the master. If you are
not too weary from travel, I can give you tour of Blakewood now.”

  As it happened, it took the rest of the afternoon to accomplish the tour and at the end of it, I was shown to the servants’ hall where I was introduced to four long tables of employees. I kept quiet, watching them all, mentally going over what names and positions belonged to which one. They chatted of their work, of their schedules, and of anything out of the ordinary that happened during their daily routines. It was a massive staff that kept the household, and I felt rather small surrounded by so many. Until then, my employment had been to smaller estates, both in town rather than in the larger country homes.

  After the meal, I was retired to my room and left to unpack my few belongings. My three dresses and underskirts looked lonely in the large wardrobe, but the room soon became truly mine when my meager belongings were positioned about the surfaces of the tables, vanity, and window sill.

  Settling near the fire, I took a deep breath. Blakewood had proven a beautiful place, and I was grateful to have acquired a position in such a wealthy household. One pupil, but with a promise of two more made me hope to have finally found a place I could call home for more than a few years at a time.

  It was there that I fell asleep and awakened several hours later, deep in the night, to strange sounds in the corridor. Moving quietly, I took up a candle and ventured into the darkness in search of the muffled voices that echoed through the halls. I’d never entertained a fear of ghosts, though I’d heard stories from servants in the households I worked for in the past. I’d dismissed their tales, however, as over-active imaginations of those bored with their stations. Now, I wasn’t so certain of my convictions.

  As I crept around a corner, a door farther down the corridor opened and I held my breath, waiting for a glimpse of a tormented spirit. Instead, a solid figure emerged. I breathed out. No ghosts, I realized with relief, and lifted my candle, shedding more light into the darkness.

  I was transfixed and felt as if my feet had taken root where I stood. I’d never in my life seen a man completely naked before, and my heart drummed as my gaze slid across his wide shoulders and followed the line of his back to the round crescents of his ass. Sinewy muscle and bone. There wasn’t an inch of softness anywhere on his body. My breath caught, and he must have heard it, for he turned. Dark hair swirled across his deep chest and crawled down the ridges of his abdomen into a nest from which his manhood boldly stood. That thick stalk held my attention and, for a moment, I marveled at the ridge and shape.

  Realizing to my horror that I was staring, I forced my gaze to his face. A pair of heavy lidded, dark eyes gazed out at me from beneath thick brows that rested low on a high forehead. Black sideburns encased his long face on either side of his wide jaw, accentuating the prominent nose and thick, but defined lips. His hair was long, wild, and tousled. Those dark eyes never blinked. He had no shame. I, however, felt my own burning in my cheeks.

  “I heard a noise!” I blurted into the quiet, only furthering my humiliation.

  One thick brow arched. “And so you rushed out into the dark without fear of what you might find in the shadows?”

  “Why should I be fearful?”

  I knew the answer to my own question the moment he took his first step toward me. He had the look of a night predator, like a wild thing slipping through the darkness in search of its next meal. My heart quickened as he neared.

  “Why indeed?” His gaze washed over me before slowly rising back to my face. “Who are you?”

  “I’m the governess.”

  “Of course you are. I should have guessed, all buttoned up and proper as you are.”

  His smile was nearly a sneer, and I lifted my chin as it has always been my nature to entertain stubbornness. “Better buttoned up than shameful and wearing not a stitch.” I bit my lip as soon as the retort was out. I did not know who this man was. He could be the master himself for all I knew of him.

  “You should try wearing shame sometime, love.” He closed the distance between us and, when I took a step back, circled around and advanced again until my back hit the hard wall of the corridor. My heart pounded as he placed two strong arms on either side of me, resting his weight on each, palms flat against the wall. I started when he leaned forward, his jaw next to my cheek as he inhaled deeply. When he spoke, his soft baritone voice vibrated next to my ear.

  “You might find you like it.”

  While I had never fainted before, in retrospect, I felt it was the most appropriate time to escape the fear that pounded in my veins. The last thing I remembered was his eyes, seeming to fill with the shadows around us until they were completely blacked-out.

  Chapter Two

  Richard Overton, who informed me quickly he’d rather be called Ritchie so he’d not be confused with his father, was a seven-year-old burst of raw energy. It was obvious that he’d been spoiled and given his way in the household by his attempts to bully me into allowing him to do as he wished. Once he realized I would not be manipulated and no one would come to his aide, he settled himself long enough for me assess that he’d already learned to read and needed now to improve his writing and be taught his numbers.

  A room had been prepared for his education, a quite efficient classroom on the ground floor with windows and a paned door that led out into the garden that he informed me was his own and where he was allowed to play. Upon further prodding, I found that poor Ritchie was often kept under watchful eye and never allowed to stray far from that very garden.

  My heart went out to the little man. He was, despite the coddling of the maids and servants, a lonely child, and I made up mind quickly that he would not only receive an education from books, but also from experience. After two hours of study, I rewarded him for his diligence, which was something new to him, by taking him for a walk.

  “Where are we going?” He looked a bit frightened once we left the manor, his gloved hand gripping mine as we set out across the lawn. “Does Beatrice know I’m gone?”

  “Mrs. Loman is a very busy woman and can’t tarry about all day making sure you stay out of mischief. You are under my care now.” I watched his brow furrow as if worried, but he trudged on without complaint. I took him just the other side of the river that wound through the estate to a cleared parkland area and where the manor could still be seen.

  The air, though dreary, was not too chilly. It still looked as if a storm was hovering just out of sight, and I’d heard more warnings of thunder that morning. I decided a short play in the fresh air would be good for him and perhaps me as well. “When I was a child, I often liked to run, though I was never as fast as other children,” Having already discovered he boasted often in an attempt to win my approval, I purposely baited him into action.

  His face immediately brightened. “I am very fast, Miss Mason. Like the wind even!”

  I feigned a gasp. “Surely not as the wind! I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true!”

  “You must prove it for me to believe you. There, that stone bench.” I pointed, and he grinned before dashing forward. When he returned, I applauded his demonstration and challenged him to a race there and back. By the time we returned—young Ritchie of course in the lead—we were both breathless, but full of laughter.

  “It is a wonder Mrs. Loman could ever keep up with you!” I complimented, and he beamed, proud of his win. “Come, let’s walk a bit more while I catch my breath. Then we’ll return to the house to start your numbers.” He grasped my hand without argument, and we wandered closer to the woodland before turning back.

  The bit of exercise had settled him enough to study when we returned and when Mrs. Loman checked in with us, I was confident enough to leave him on his own while we broke for a cup of tea. “He’s very bright.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Loman agreed. “But his father is rarely here to influence him, and he’s grown wild over the years.”

  “His father is not Master Overton?” I was surprised when she shook her head.

  “The mast
er is his uncle. Ritchie’s father is son to the master’s brother who tends to take more time to make the children than to actually care for them.”

  I was surprised at the sharpness in her voice and the obvious disapproval that caused it. “He is away with business? Where is the child’s mother?”

  “Richard Overton rarely has business that doesn’t consist of chasing after someone’s underskirts,” Mrs. Loman snapped. “And his mother is unable to care for him.”

  While she seemed more than ready to speak of the boy’s father, she offered no more of his mother. I deduced it must have been the master’s brother I saw in the corridor the night before, though I’d not yet decided yet if that strange encounter had been real or a dream. After all, I’d awakened that morning in the chair in my own room. “So the master provides for his brother’s child.” I glanced at Ritchie to find him frowning down at the numbers he was attempting to write. “My own uncle took responsibility for my education after my father died. While I longed for a family life as a child, I’ve found that the education I received at school was a far better preparation for the world.”