Pleasure and Purpose (2 page)

"Anything to provide him solace. Including servicing him in the' bedchamber, aye?"

"If he requires it," Nessa replied calmly. The bread was delicious and settled her grumbling stomach straight away.

"So then," said Margera with a curl of her lip, "what makes you different than a whore?"

"Whores are paid for what they do," said Nessa without rancor. "I'm compensated for what I give."

"And what's that?"

"Solace, of course," said Nessa, and set her attention back to her food. Night had fallen by the time Edward came home, exhausted, frustrated, irritated. Fury, at least, had passed several hours before, when he'd forced himself to realize it would do naught but give him a headache.

Cillian Derouth had to be the least fit young man ever to wear the crown of Prince of Firth. He was arrogant, vain, reckless, immoral, and, worst of all, intelligent. A stupid, reckless, and immoral lout could have been molded, convinced to reign in his debauchery, controlled. Cillian was smarter than nearly everyone around him, including his father, King Allwyn, all of his advisors, and his lordling companions. Smarter even than Edward himself, as much as it pained him to admit it. It had made Cillian dangerous. But then, he'd always been so, even when they were lads in school, though then he'd been joyful, too. Time and circumstance had added madness to Cillian's list of other attributes, and Edward had no small part in the blame for that. No small part, but much guilt, and playing constant guard dog for his former school chum at the order of that man's father did naught to assuage it.

Leaving his horse in Peter's care, Edward went into the house, seeking a stiff drink and his bed. If he were lucky, he'd get the chance to sleep the night through without dreams. The line of light beneath his door stopped him with a startle, before he remembered. She'd arrived today.

The Handmaiden.
He'd forgotten. Edward sighed, aggrieved. Now he would have to speak to the woman, deal with her, when he wanted only the comfort of his bed. He pushed open the door, and stopped just inside.

She'd straightened his sitting room, which had not seen the attentions of a maid since he'd run the last one off for clumsiness almost two months before. She'd done more than tidy; his desk and the fireplace mantel, even the bookcases and his cabinet, gleamed, free of dust. She'd arranged his reading chair and the tapestry rug in front of the crackling fire, a small table set with a cup and teapot in front.

The woman herself knelt on the rug, one hand faceup in the palm of the other in her lap. Clad no longer in a dusty gown, she wore a deep blue dress with a high collar and buttons running from neck to hem. She looked up and smiled as he entered.

"My lord Delaw."

The kettle whistled. The Handmaiden got to her feet in a single effortless motion and took it from the fire. She poured steaming water into the pot and settled the cozy over top, then hung the kettle back in its place. Every movement smooth, precise, efficient. Still smiling, she came to stand in front of him. She had to tilt her head to look into his face, the tiny thing she was. Her eyes were the color of her gown.

"May I help you out of your coat?"

Edward knew a Handmaiden's function. He'd had to sign a slew of documents stating he understood his responsibilities to her and what she was to provide in return. He'd not hired himself some sort of glorified cleaning wench, nor a doxy, but something both and neither. He understood her function, but seeing it, her smile, the way she moved, knelt. . . the way she'd knelt... it was more than he'd expected.

He put up a hand as though to ward her off, though she'd not even done so much as reach to touch him. "I believe myself capable of removing my own coat, thank you." She tilted her head, her expression curious. "If it pleases you. Though I'm here to serve you and would be well pleased to make you comfortable."

Edward stared a moment, noting the curve of pale brows and pink blush of her lips.

"You're prettier than I expected."

Her smile widened a bit. "I'm happy my appearance pleases you." She seemed to be waiting for something. "You made me tea?"

"Yes."

"Tea at this hour will keep me awake. I need sleep."

"It's of my own blend," she said gently. "Made of herbs that promote an easy rest." Impressed but unwilling to admit it, Edward grunted. "Very well." She was two steps behind him as he sat, but the wench managed to be in front of him before he'd had time to cross his legs. In silence, she knelt at his feet as she poured the tea and offered it up to him. When he took it, she sat back and placed her hands in that peculiar position in her lap once more.

He sipped the tea, which was indeed of pleasant aroma and sweet flavor. "It's good." She smiled again. "I've run a hot bath for you. It will have cooled for your comfort when you've done with your tea."

Edward paused with the cup halfway to his mouth. "How have you managed this? The tea? The bath? You didn't know when I'd come home."

"True, but it's my pleasure and my purpose to know such things," she told him. "I wouldn't be a very good Handmaiden if I couldn't do something as simple as watch from the window for you to return."

He studied her. "What is your name?"

"Stillness, my lord."

He raised a brow at that. "An unusual moniker."

She smiled. "It's the name I was granted upon joining the Order."

"I see." He didn't, really. Edward knew the function of the Order of Solace, but little of its inner workings. "Do you like it?"

"My name?"

"Aye. Stillness. Do you like it?"

"I do," she said after a moment. "For stillness is a part of solace, is it not? Stillness is serenity, yet in stillness there can be action, as well, if it's the choice you've made." She was correct, and none of the serving maids he'd ever had would have known to make such an observation. "Are all Handmaidens so named?"

"When we enter the Order, we're given names that reflect our Calling. You may call me Nessa, if you prefer."

"I don't. Stillness suits you." Her smile made him wonder how he could have thought her plain.

She tilted her head. "Thank you. And what shall I call you?" This took Edward aback. "What do you usually call your patrons?" Her blue eyes twinkled, reminding him of light on water. "Whatever they wish. My lord or lady, sir or madam, mistress or master."

"Not that," he said sharply, though the word sounded so pretty from her lips and brought to mind memories of pastimes best forgotten. "You can call me Edward. Or sir, should you prefer it."

Stillness ducked her head briefly. "It's your preference that matters, sir. Perhaps we shall discover together which you like best."

There was that twinkle again, something he hadn't expected. A sense of humor. Her ease with him was perhaps meant to relax him as well, but all at once the entire situation had made him anything but.

"Must you kneel?"

"It's called Waiting." Her answer came with the air of someone who's answered the same question many times. "I find this position comfortable and easy to maintain while I wait to serve you."

"Surely you don't do it when I'm not around."

Stillness gave him that tilt of her head, the twinkle. "I do sometimes, sir, when I'm not dusting or straightening or making tea."

Damn.
The chit was clever as well. He looked around the room to hide the sudden gleam of interest he was certain flared in his gaze. "You've done that rather well, I see. The last girl rearranged everything. You've managed to rearrange nothing." She laughed, tipping back her head but not otherwise moving from her position, and Edward watched fascinated at the play of firelight on her skin and golden sheen of her braid. "It was no easy task, sir. You left me quite a challenge, but I suspect there are few who can truly achieve solace in squalor."

The room did have a much nicer air about it. His gaze swept around it once more, then to the cabinet at the back corner. Made of heavy, carved wood, it blended neatly into the woodwork while also managing to remain a focal piece of the room. Perhaps only to him, as he knew the contents of it. She'd polished the handles so they shone.

"You may have free reign in these rooms," he told her. "But not in that cabinet. Understood?"

"Of course. The Order chose me for you based upon the documents you filled out. I hope I'll be a good match for you, but if there is anything you desire, or anything you do not, you must let me know." She didn't question, didn't even look at the cabinet itself, but merely accepted his command as though it was inconceivable to do anything else. But then, was that not why he'd sent for her in the first place? He couldn't deny her appeal. Her serene voice and manner, the demure dress that nonetheless accentuated every supple curve, the shining braid of sunshine.

He put the cup on the tray. "I'd like that bath, now."

She nodded and got to her feet, again two steps behind him as he went through his bedchamber to the bath. He saw fresh linens on the bed, turned down invitingly, the pillows plumped and sprinkled with essence of gillyflower he could smell from the doorway. The tub of clear water steamed. She'd laid out towels and soap.

"You may—"
Leave me,
he meant to say, turning, but her fingers were already working the buttons at the front of his coat.

Stillness opened them as efficiently as she'd poured his tea, and something in her quick and easy movements allowed him to stand motionless while she worked.

"I haven't had anyone undress me since I was in short trousers," he murmured, looking upon her bent head as she tugged the coat from his arms and hung it neatly. She looked up, working next upon his shirt buttons and the laces at his sleeves. "If ever I should do something you don’t care for, all you need do is tell me and I'll stop at once. I shall endeavor to serve you so completely you need never want for anything so long as I'm with you."

She bared his chest, her small nimble hands cool on his warm skin. She eased his arms from the sleeves and hung his shirt next to the jacket. Next she went to the buttons at his waist, and Edward's pulse leaped. He hadn't had a woman's touch there in months.

"And you do this because you believe it will bring about the return of the Holy Family." He focused on words instead of how her hands felt against his belly and thighs when she knelt to pull down his trousers.

"Aye, I do so believe."

By the Arrow, at his feet, her face tilted upward to meet his gaze ... his cock twitched in the confines of his underdrawers. He could imagine too well how hot and wet her mouth would be. Yet she was doing nothing to entice or arouse him.

She got to her feet. "You're not a believer?"

The chance to discuss philosophy with her and keep his mind from his burgeoning erection made him answer more fully than he'd have done, otherwise. "The story of Sinder and the Holy Family was made up by the priests to order compliance and regulate the behavior of men who need fear to keep them from running rampant." She loosed the ties at his front and slid the final layer of linen down his legs as she touched the back of each calf, lightly, for him to step out. Then she stood again without so much as a curious glance at his nakedness and took his hand to lead him the two steps to the wooden grate over the floor drain.

"Only the men?" She waited for him to sit upon the bathing stool, then reached for the cloth and pail of soapy water.

"It's not often women who pillage and murder. A woman's crimes are theft or deceit." She scrubbed and rinsed him quickly and waited for him to step into the tub of heated-to-perfection water. Her hand nudged him back against the curved porcelain, and he couldn't help the sigh that leaked from him as the hot water caressed him. Her fingers went to the buttons of her gown. She wore a thin shift beneath, and unlike the gown that covered her from throat to toes, the shift dipped low enough to reveal the enticing globes of her full breasts and the smooth flesh of her arms. A slit gaped to show smooth, pale thighs and a hint of curls slightly darker than the hair on her head. She knelt by the side of the tub and lifted a cloth. "May I assist your

"Yes." Was this not why he'd sent for her? To assist him, in all ways? Stillness smiled and added scented oil to the cloth. She moved it over his body. The steam from the bath curled the tendrils of hair that had escaped from her braid. Her cheeks flushed as she leaned over the water.

"Nobody has—" Edward stopped at the rough sound of his own voice. She didn't pause in her ministrations. Her hand moved slowly over his body. She'd already cleansed him of grime. Now she soothed him. She nodded, her eyes fixed upon his.

"Nobody has touched you this way?" she murmured. "Taken care of you in such a way?" He nodded, lost in the blue depths of her eyes. Her hand moved across his stomach and his cock thickened, though she'd not touched it. He let out a small groan. If she'd smirked, he'd have ordered her gone without a second thought, but she didn't. Her gaze stayed on his, solemn.

"My lord Edward,, you are tense and fractious. Would you allow me to relieve you?" He waited for her to touch him, but she didn't until he nodded and breathed a hoarse,

"You may."

Then her hand closed around him and he closed his eyes to thrust upward into her hand. She stroked him gently from hood to base, dipping lower to caress his testicles with her palm. He'd wanted this from the moment he saw her waiting for him on her knees. Wanted her hand on him, that sweet pink mouth engulfing him, wanted to sink his aching cock deep inside her slick heat and fill her. He wanted to feel her writhe beneath him, feel her quim tighten around him, hear her cry out in ecstasy.

Edward opened his eyes, expecting to see the bored expression of a doxy but finding instead the face of a woman completely engrossed in her actions. Her breasts rose and fell with her rapid breaths. Water had turned the linen of her undershift transparent, her taut pink nipples clear beneath the fabric.

She smiled. "Does this please you?"

"Take . . . take off your gown." His voice had gone low and growling. She did, and he sat up, reaching for her. She entered the water willingly, straddling him as he positioned her and sank inside her. She gave a small surprised yelp, perhaps at the suddenness of being so impaled, but made no protest.