Note, this is a very slow burn with little sexual activity in this first section.
The Widow and the Spymaster -- Part 1
The king's spymaster paused hearing a woman's voice on the other side of the tapestry obscuring the hidden passageway's exit.
"Thank you Marie, the bath looks wonderful," the woman said. He heard soft splashes of water and a contented sigh.
Lord Jerome allowed himself a small smirk although for all he knew the bather was a pruned old matron. His smirk flickered into a frown. These quarters hadn't been used for some time, Jerome considered. Casting his mind back he recalled the Lady Emelia Dewitt had come with a small retinue to plead her father's case before the king. They were housed in this wing, but the great lady herself would be situated in rooms suiting her station further down. Perhaps the poorer cousin was holed up in this smaller room instead of comfortably situated in the adjoining suite? How odd.
Jerome sucked in a sigh. It would take quite a while to retrace his steps along the secret passageways to the west tower. Fatigue and haste had made him uncharacteristically careless. The king's latest foibles had taken him until well after midnight to mitigate using Jerome's secret retainers and many foreign contacts.
His ears perked up at the retreating footsteps of the bather's maid and making a decision, he stepped silently from his concealment and made his way soundlessly towards the outer door. Luckily, stealth was one of his peculiar talents.
To his surprise, the bathing lady took this exact, unlucky moment to rise from the large tub and turned towards him. The woman froze in shock, her pretty mouth hanging open and her lush body tense. Jerome noted with chagrin that he stared at the woman a few beats before clearing his throat to offer some sort of quick-thinking apology.
He bit off his attempt at words with a curse when he saw her waver and sway. She reached to catch herself on the side of the tub, but she would have painfully crashed onto the stone floor if Jerome hadn't caught her swiftly with sure-footed speed.
He tried to ignore the fact that the dripping, naked lady was in fact, gorgeous. Her damp skin was smooth and luxurious, and her body nicely curved. Despite his considerable height, the naked, womanly body fit perfectly into his own as he held her upright. He winced as he felt his own body begin to respond. How long had it been? His musing cut off with her muffled shriek as she began to struggle against him.
He gently lifted her from the tub amid her flailing and set her down on the plush chair beside the fire. Jerome deftly handed her the blanket from the other chair and she took it, clutching it to her front and staring at him through huge, accusing hazel eyes.
He stood and took a quick bow, "My lady...
She cut him off, "What do you want? You are the king's advisor... Sir, I mean, Lord Jerome Morcant are you not? I have done nothing wrong" her voice was clear and she now sat stiffly peering up at him.
Jerome arched an eyebrow and responded in a quiet, serious voice, "No, my lady, I am the one in the wrong here. I am sorry to have frightened you."
She blinked and responded wrinkling her perfect brows, "Do you make a habit of... a habit of accosting visiting widows in their... rooms?"
He hid a small smile behind his hand as he pretend coughed and explained, "No, my lady, you see, I did not recall that these rooms were habited this evening. I was simply taking a, eh, shortcut from the west tower, you see." This seemed to mollify her a little and he followed her gaze down to her perfect toes peeking out beneath the blanket. She replied nodding to herself, "yes, I asked to be moved into a separate room just this evening. My cousin, that is, the Lady Emelia, was expecting company."
I bet she was, thought Jerome. Lady Emelia was known as a bit of a permissive player in courtier circles. It was possible the Lady Emelia was entertaining the king himself tonight to sway her father's cause, but his informants would have apprised him if that were the case. What was the cousin's name though? He didn't think he'd seen her at court before. His mind clicked through the vast store of information held in his apt brain as he recalled finally, "My Lady Agnes Dewitt, I fear this has been an unconventional introduction for us both." The Lady Agnes frowned.
"However," continued Jerome, his eyes growing sharper as he captured her gaze, "I would be most grateful of your forgiveness and... discretion." Lady Agnes gazed up at the handsome, but deceptively mild-faced spymaster with the cold eyes and bit her lip, "yes, my lord, discretion would be my wish as well."
Jerome's gaze couldn't help but be drawn to her mouth as she nervously bit her plump lower lip. His breath deepened remembering that beneath the brocade blanket swathed around her, this woman was all soft, sweet, bare womanly flesh. He had to check himself from a desire to move forward and what, touch her? Shove apart her soft thighs and plough into her sweet, wet hole? What the hell was wrong with him? Surely it had been too long since he'd slept. In truth, it had been over a year since he'd released himself with a woman; too many complications and never enough time for such distractions. He shook himself slightly before offering another short bow and turning to leave the tempting lady.
As Lord Jerome reached the door, he turned hearing the Lady Agnes called out to him softly, "Sir Jerome, if you could please forget this ever happened and especially not tell my cousin, the Lady Emelia. I am a poor relation, you see, and cannot afford a scandal." Agnes was now standing like the statue of a Grecian goddess, the blanket wrapped around her elegant figure. Jerome's eyes swept over her and he offered a small smile and a curt nod, "Of course my lady, as you say."
As the door closed quietly behind him and he continued down the dark hallway, Jerome found himself amused rather than self-recriminating. Coming upon an unknown at this late hour could have been a colossal blunder, but even if the lady spoke of their odd encounter, who would believe her version of events over the king's own confidant? Besides, she had more to lose than he, although, he should perhaps wall up that particular hidden passage.
Jerome felt inexplicably tired once he finally returned to his own chambers. He really didn't normally need much sleep. Once in bed he groaned, stroking the length of his semi-roused member which would not, it seemed, forget the Lady Agnes and her plump, ready body. "Please forget this ever happened," she had said. He sighed as he began to work his cock. Not bloody likely.
Lady Agnes Dewitt rubbed her hands over her face before taking a drying cloth to her long, wet hair. Her expression was grim as she finger-combed the long tawny locks. This was an unmitigated disaster. Hopefully, she could trust the discretion of Lord Morcant. She grimaced. If she were trying to keep a low-profile, she couldn't have done worse than have such a drastic incident with the one man at court who knew everyone and everything. He had the ear of the king for gods' sake!
It could have been worse, Agnes thought with a shudder. She shook herself. She could be ruined for simply being alone in the same chamber with him at this late hour. At least the Lord Jerome hadn't seemed shocked or worse, interested. In fact, he had curiously seemed to take the catastrophic, embarrassing incident in stride.
Agnes pulled on the clean shift the maid had left her. She was grateful she had excused Marie earlier. Agnes had felt a bit guilty at having kept the poor servant up so late. Thank goodness Marie wasn't party to her naked tumbling from the bath tub into the arms of the sleek Lord Jerome. Servant's gossip was as rampant as courtiers' in the capital.
If only she could get out of Heathcourt. Aunt Evangeline had promised if Agnes would simply accompany and keep an eye on her reckless, extravagant cousin Emelia during this sojourn, Agnes would not have to enter court life again. Uncle Bertram had finally ceased his urging Agnes to remarry when he fell into a bit of a scandal all his own. Agnes was so close to being able to quietly shelter herself away with her books and her weaving.
