In the Spinster's Bed by Sally Mackenzie Read Free Book Online

bad, but surely his sister—
    No, she was merely putting on her bonnet. Perhaps she was off to the lending library to see Belle. Miss Hutting fancied herself a budding novelist and often asked Belle to critique her work.
    Belle.
    Oh, God.
    Belle was the problem, of course, the real reason he didn’t want to go back to London—and the reason he didn’t want to stay in Loves Bridge. The thought of leaving her tore his gut to shreds, yet seeing her daily, hearing her voice, hearing people talk about her—it was driving him mad.
    He shifted on his seat. It had been seven months since that disaster in her bedroom. He’d realized as soon as his damn cock had shrunk back to normal proportions that she’d been right—it would have been dishonorable of him to have had sexual congress with her while he was married to Hortense. Belle was not a whore whose profession was attending to men’s needs. She was a respectable woman. A confirmed spinster—
    Now there was a waste of passion. She was nearing forty, but her lovely body had hardly changed over the years, except perhaps to fill out a bit in the most delightful way. Her hips were a little wider, her breasts fuller. In fact, she was even more alluring now than she’d been as a girl. When he’d seen her—
    He should not be entertaining thoughts of Belle naked, especially in the vicarage.
    He would not have seen Belle naked if she’d managed to apprehend earlier that she didn’t want to have relations with a married man. He’d had a very uncomfortable time of it until he’d gotten back to his room and taken matters in hand, as it were.
    “Do you want me to play it again?”
    “Pardon?”
    “The piece. Do you want me to play it again?” Walter grinned. “Though I’m guessing you don’t, since you were fidgeting and groaning the way Papa does when Mama forces him to listen to me play. I keep hoping he’ll let me quit.”
    That would probably be doing the world a service, but he couldn’t very well say that.
    “You merely need more practice. So, yes, do play the piece again.” And this time he would endeavor to listen.
    Thirty painful minutes later, Walter played his last note and William was finally free—until next time.
    “Very good, Walter.”
    Walter pulled a face, which William decided to ignore. He stood, gathering his things. “I shall see you next week, then. Do be sure to practice.”
    Walter sighed heavily. “Mama will see to that”—he grinned—“unless I can sneak out after Latin. By the end of the day she’s usually too tired to kick up a fuss over music lessons.”
    “You would get better if you practiced more, you know.”
    Walter shrugged. Clearly mastering the pianoforte was not high on his list of hoped-for achievements.
    William was just reaching for the door latch to let himself out when Mrs. Hutting appeared at his elbow.
    “Would you care for a cup of tea, Mr. Wattles?”
    Damnation, the woman must have been lying in wait for him. This could not be good.
    “No, thank you, Mrs. Hutting. I really must be on my way.”
    “I see. Well, I just wanted to discuss Walter’s progress—”
    Couldn’t she hear Walter’s progress or, rather, lack of progress for herself?
    “—and see if you might be able to teach Prudence as well.”
    Thank God she wasn’t asking him to try to force some musical skills into Walter’s older brother, Henry. “How old is Prudence?”
    “Ten. And she’s quite bookish.”
    “Ah.” If he were truly a music teacher, he’d say yes. More students meant more money.
    No amount of money was worth taking on another reluctant student, however.
    “I don’t know, Mrs. Hutting. Perhaps we should wait until Mr. Luntley returns. I am only managing things for him in his absence, you know.”
    Mrs. Hutting frowned. “Yes, of course. But he’s been gone since June, hasn’t he?”
    “Yes. I’m afraid his mother is not recovering as quickly as he’d hoped.”
    “That is unfortunate. The poor man. Is there no