The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [124]
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I wasn’t asleep. I never sleep.” He shot her one of those heart-stopping grins. “Where are you going?”
“Up to the manor house. Gwynn needs me.”
“Not as much as I do.” He moved aside the covers and patted the mattress. “Come back to bed, love.”
“You know where that will lead.”
His smile was quick. “I didn’t hear you complaining through the night.”
She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and felt the rush of heat all the way to her toes. “I loved every minute of it. But now I have to get ready to work.”
“Work. What about me?”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to amuse yourself. Maybe you can walk up with me and try to frighten poor Gwynn and Duncan.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“Not in the mood to scare people?” With a laugh she touched a hand to his forehead. “Is it possible for you to have a fever?”
He surprised her by pulling her down on top of him.
“Woman,” he growled against her throat, “I’ve had one since you got here. You’re a raging fever in my blood. And I fear there’s no cure for it.”
All thought of resisting fled as she laughingly wrapped her arms around his waist and returned his kisses.
“I suppose I can spare a few . . .” The rest of what she’d been about to say died in her throat as he brought his clever mouth down her body, igniting little fires everywhere.
“You’re looking very smug.” Bree emerged from the shower to find Jamie lying in bed, hands under his head, his eyes watching her every move as she stepped into her dress.
“And you’re looking very tasty. Why don’t you come here and let me help you with that zipper.”
“Because I know where that will lead. And this time I intend to get to work.”
“Work.” He frowned. “Why would you want to work when we could spend the entire day at play?”
“One of us has to be sensible.”
“Just my luck to be stranded between heaven and earth with a beautiful, sensible mortal.”
She waved from the doorway, knowing that if she got too close, she might be tempted to remain for yet another round of lovemaking.
The manor house was teeming with people. As Gwynn had promised, at least a dozen women from the village were already hard at work cleaning, polishing, and stripping away years of dirt and dust that had settled over everything.
While one team of women removed the heavy draperies from the windows, another climbed ladders to polish the glass to a high shine, allowing sunlight to stream in, casting aside the shadows. Rugs were rolled up and carried into the fresh air while dull wood and marble floors were brought back to their original luster.
Bree moved through the rooms and was reminded of a hive of busy bees, and all of them taking orders from their queen, Gwynn, who proved to be a harsh taskmaster.
“You there, Claire. Lend a hand washing that crystal. And you, Sarah. No time for woolgathering. The silver needs polishing.”
Bree climbed the stairs to the second floor and watched as closets were emptied of whatever clothing and bed linens remained, each of them carefully marked before being carted away by brawny lads who cheerfully tipped their caps as they passed her.
When Bree started up the stairs to the top floor, Gwynn stepped away from a group of villagers and followed.
Bree found herself in a narrow, open gallery. As she peered over the balcony railing, she could see down the ornate staircase past the second story to the main floor far below.
“Such a pretty place, Gwynn. What purpose did this serve?”
“It was once a spot reserved for the laird of the manor to observe his guests from above.” She pointed to the ornate frames that hung in an orderly fashion. “Now it is a gallery that holds the portraits of the Kerr ancestors.”
Bree moved from portrait to portrait, studying the faces of Barclay’s ancestors, from bare-chested warriors in the fifteen hundreds to the most recent formally clad lords and dukes in ruffled shirts and kilts. And all of them