Page 43 of Sinfully Mine
A gasp escaped her as Drew found a particular spot. He remembered each of them, having mapped her body with great attention.
“Dunnings was a pile of rubble when we arrived. No servants of any kind. Not even a cook. Holes in the roof. Drafty and cold. The monthly pittance Bentley sent was barely enough to feed us. Spread your legs, Hester.”
A roll of heat curled low inside her at the press of his fingers. Her head fell back. “Drew.”
“Don’t interrupt. I’m not telling this story again. There wasn’t enough for a doctor when Mother became ill. I was only a lad, but I had to do something. I found a dice game in Spittal. Wagered the silver buttons on one of Tamsin’s dresses. I won. Next, I tried cards, which I became good at.”
Hester whimpered softly, reaching for him.
“Eventually, I caught the eye of an older widow. Unsurprising, I know. And in addition to introducing me to the delights of the flesh—” Drew made a twisting motion with his fingers inside her, and Hester whimpered as a bolt of pleasure struck her. “She also introduced me to wealthy merchants. Landed gentry. House parties.”
Hester’s breath came in small pants. “You helped support your family.” Andrew Sinclair was the furthest thing from a wastrel. And he’d once been wealthy if he expected servants and his sister had a dress with silver buttons to wager. How had she not seen it? Drew wasn’t anything like her father. Or Joshua. He’d become a gambler and fleeced a great many gentlemen because hehadto.
“Alas.” There was an edge to his words. “There weren’t enough bloody games of whist in all of England to save my mother. And if a carriage accident hadn’t taken Bentley’s worthless life, I would have.”
Drew rolled on top of her, thrusting into Hester with such force, she cried out, praying that no one had wandered into the barn. She could hear the truth of his words. The wound of his mother’s death that still haunted him.
“Now you know the truth of Dunnings,” he whispered against her lips. “We are more alike than you know.”
He slowed his body rocking into hers with exquisitely slow movements, so desperately tender and filled with all the things Drew did not say, that Hester sobbed his name. She clung to him fiercely and vowed to never let him go.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Mrs. Black.” Marystood at the bottom of the steps, as Hester descended with a smile on her lips and a tad sore between the thighs. She had never imagined that inside her stubborn, determined chest beat the heart of a passionate woman. There were nights, like the previous one, where she and Drew nearly tore each other apart in their need to be joined.
Hester doubted anyone at Blackbird Heath was fooled any longer. She and Drew did not sleep apart, sharing a bed even on those rare instances when Drew didn’t tup her. He had stopped sneaking into his own room when King George heralded dawn was near, because Drew got up with Hester. They often went to the fields together, discussing the upcoming harvest.
He’d stood beside her, holding her hand as the rest of the potato fields were burned because of the blight.
“It’s stupid for me to weep over potatoes,” she’d whispered to him, wiping a tear from her cheek.
“No, it isn’t.” He’d squeezed her fingers and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Those were important potatoes.”
Hester smiled at the memory.
“Mrs. Black.” The maid stood looking at her.
“I’m sorry, Mary. My mind was on the sugar beets. What is it?”
“Mr. Sinclair said to remind you he’s gone to Horncastle today to post some letters, in case you are looking for him this afternoon. You were with King George.” Mary giggled a bit. “He didn’t want to interrupt the royal visit.”
Drew had made great progress recently in charming the entire household. Mary and her sisters stammered and turned red whenever Drew was around. Even Mrs. Ebersole had finally warmed to him. At least there was no more cabbage being served.
“Thank you, Mary.” Hester turned to go down the hall.
“And Mr. Godwick is awaiting you in the parlor.”
“Mr. Godwick?”
Hester had not seen Martin since her last visit to Horncastle and they’d parted so awkwardly. After Ellie’s death, Hester had written him in Grantham, expressing her condolences but received no reply. Mrs. Ebersole, who traveled frequently to Horncastle, informed Hester that after Ellie’s funeral, Martin had chosen to stay with Ellie’s parents.
“Martin.” Hester entered the parlor. “I didn’t realize you’d returned from Grantham.”
He stood, thinner than she remembered. Drawn. Deep brackets had taken up residence around his mouth and smudges of purple beneath the blue of his eyes. Hester’s heart went out to him.
A weak smile crossed his lips. “I apologize for not answering your letter. I was—occupied.”
Hester took his hand, squeezing his fingers. “Sit. I’ll have Mary bring tea.” He appeared so stricken, so unlike himself. “I’m so sorry about Ellie. And as far as not answering my letter, there need be no apology between friends.” She released his hand and asked Mary to bring them tea and perhaps some of those little biscuits Mrs. Ebersole was now making every day. Drew’s favorite.
