An Unlikely Countess (19 page)

She straightened, fussing with her clothes. “How long is our journey?”

“Twelve miles or so, but using the same horses and with the state of the roads, it could take us four hours or more. Better to take our time than to break a wheel or axle.” He tugged at an ivory bow on her bodice. “I can’t say I mind a slow passage.”

She slapped his hand away, but then felt guilty.

“Unless you want to go to Northallerton?” he said, tugging again.

She pushed his fingers away again, but it was a game, a delightful game.

“No, why?”

“I wondered if you wanted the three-legged dog.”

“Oh, Toby! I do miss him, but Susan believes a deformed animal will lead to a deformed child, so I left him with Hetty and the children. He’s probably content there now.”

He had one bow undone. “We can collect him if you want.”

“I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I misjudged him.”

“I can’t arrive at this grand Keynings with a dog like Toby.”

“You’re my wife. You may have any dog you want.”

“I’m a penniless nobody, Cate, and will need all the dignity and trimmings I can find. And an intact bodice!”

He disappointed her by saying, “True enough,” and abandoning the bows. He let down the window and called out, “We’ll stop at the next decent inn, coachman.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

“I don’t want to stop this close to Darlington,” Prudence protested as he closed the window. “And what good will it do? Do you not like my gown? I’ve nothing finer.”

“I adore your gown, especially the bows, but you need a better wedding ring.”

“You think to find one at an inn?”

“I think to find pen and paper so I can send a message to a friend.”

Prudence was remembering all too well his rash impetuosity. “He can produce a wedding ring on demand?”

“I don’t see why not, but I’ll ask for money.”

“Cate, don’t go into debt over this.”

“I’m already in debt to Tallbridge for this and that.”

“I loathe debt.
Please
, I’d much rather live simply.”

“Prudence, Prudence, desist. I’m not impoverished. Tallbridge will have his money in days, and Perry will only be sending me my own funds. For some reason, country inns and shops aren’t keen to accept promissory notes from passing strangers.”

“Perry?”

“Mr. Peregrine Perriam, a very good friend. He’ll adore you.”

“I doubt that.”

He simply shook his head, but she deeply distrusted this mad manner.

“Do you promise you’re not going into debt?”

“On my honor. You can apologize for doubting me with a kiss.”

“You want me to kiss you?”

“That would be utterly delightful.” He was teasing but challenging at the same time.

Very well.

Trying not to show any trepidation, she leaned toward him until she could press her lips to his. He remained as he was for a moment, but then his hand slid behind her head and he took charge, kissing her as she remembered, but then more than she remembered.

She was pressed to his body as she’d pressed to iron bars, but his hardness was warm, and his mouth was hot. A part of her was shocked again at open mouths and touching tongues, but most of her was wildly enthusiastic. This . . . this was the substance of half-remembered dreams. An excited heat rippled through her like a fever, making her press closer, taste more deeply.

She moved, seeking even deeper connection, but he drew away, ending the kiss, cooling the passion. Lord, they were in a coach, not a curtained bed!

As before, he gathered her into his arms.

And that, for now, was dream enough.

The rest would come later, but now, to be in his arms was heaven. His strength, his warmth, melted her, softening the lingering hard edges in her mind, and all those places calloused by years of hardship and recent battles.

C
ate enjoyed having his wife so close, a shapely armful in pretty silk, delicately scented, his forever, without urgency or danger. His blood still seethed with the passion that had flared between them, but he could bear it. It was a red-hot promise for the future. For now, they had many hours in which to grow used to each other, to learn and teach, to simply enjoy.

Many hours in which to find just the right moment to tell his wife that she was now the Countess of Malzard.

Not yet, not yet. She needed this time of peace and so did he.

He put a kiss on her simply pinned hair. “You have lovely hair.”

“It’s a dull color.”

“It’s honey on a sunlit morning.”

She stirred to look at him. “Poetry? I didn’t expect that.”

“You’ll find I’m full of surprises.” That came too close to the truth. He stroked a loose tendril at her temple. “Perhaps it’s the color of pale satiny wood on a sunlit morning. My mother has an escritoire of much this shade.”

“Are you calling me a wooden-head, sir?”

He chuckled. “Sometimes you’re stubborn enough.”

She looked at him again. “Your mother. She’s still alive?”

“Yes, and in excellent health.”

“When will I have to meet her?”

Was the moment upon him? He made a sudden resolution not to lie.

“Today. She’s at Keynings.”

She straightened, putting a hand up to tidy her hair. “Lord save me. What will she think of me?”

He pulled her hand down. “She won’t be concerned with your hair. My arriving with a wife will be a shock, of course, but she does very much want me to marry.”

“Thank heavens. A resentful mother-in-law could be disastrous. Will we see much of her?”

Another deadly question. “She lives in my house.”

“Lives in . . .” She sagged back against the squabs. “Oh, lord.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It wouldn’t have made me back out of the wedding, and it stands in your favor. You’re a good son.”

“If only she agreed.”

“She doesn’t approve of you?”

“Your astonishment is balm to my soul. It’s only that she compares me unfavorably with my brother.”

“Ah, I remember. The perfect son. My mother preferred Aaron to me. He was the male, the hope for the future. His charm and looks might have played a part too.”

“Begging for compliments? You are lovely.”

“And charming?” she challenged.

“No, but much more interesting. You’re worth ten of him.”

She looked away as if uncomfortable with praise. Had she received so little?

“You have a delightful profile,” he said. “No, don’t move. I’m enjoying it. I recognized from the first that you had the features of a Roman matron.”

“The sort who was in the habit of telling sons to return with their shields or on them?”

“That was the Spartans, I believe.”

She turned to face him. “Some of the Roman matrons shared the sentiment. Agrippina, for example.”

“On the contrary. She was excessively indulgent of her darling son, Nero. You’re well versed in the classics.”

She colored. “I was obliged to share some of Aaron’s lessons. To help him.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Why should I?”

“Draydale forbade me to mention it.”

“If you are to compare me with that specimen, we might come to blows.”

“Oh. I never meant—”

“Prudence, I’m teasing. But forget Draydale. He’s in your past.”

The coach changed directions and Cate looked out. “Ah, an inn. We are about to be embraced by the Monk’s Arms.”

“Do you want to stop here long, sir?” bellowed the coachman.

Cate opened the door and jumped down. “Not long at all. I merely need to write a letter. Unless,” he said, turning back, “you need a pause here, my dear?”

She assured him she was all right, so Cate told the groom to find out the details of their route from the coachman and went into the inn. One of his remaining shillings purchased writing materials and a desk to write at. He didn’t attempt an explanation, but simply asked Perry to send back funds with the groom, and to tell everyone that he was safe and would be at Keynings by nightfall. He didn’t use the signet ring in his pocket, but simply dripped the sealing wax into a blob.

He went back outside and gave the letter to the groom. “Ride ahead to Keynings with all speed and give this to Mr. Perriam, who’s a guest there. Give it into no one else’s hands, and don’t say who it’s from.”

“Very well, sir.” But the man’s look suggested that he thought him up to no good. “Should I await you there, sir?”

“No. Command a fresh horse and retrace the route with what Mr. Perriam gives you.”

“As you wish, sir,” the groom said with the same doubt, and set off down the road.

“Where’s he going, then?” the coachman demanded with bad grace. “What if I need him?”

“If you need help on the way, I believe I’m able.” Cate climbed back into the coach and settled into his seat. “A surly creature.”

“He drove me to church both times and probably doesn’t approve.”

“If he’s discourteous to you, let me know.”

She smiled quizzically at him. “You can be very lordly sometimes.”

Cate hoped he’d hidden his reaction. “Perhaps it’s officerly.”

“Ah, yes, the army. Where did you serve?”

That was a safe subject, so he told her about Brunswick and Hanover, keeping the army talk light, and not mentioning the irregular activities that had created his chaotic reputation. After another hour Cate called a halt for people and horses to take refreshments. Prudence amused him with the great fuss she made of getting her hat back on straight and of being in perfect order.

As if she’d never been kissed.

“What would you like?” he asked as they settled in an adequate private parlor.

“Tea,” she said. “It was an impossible luxury for so long, I’m addicted to it now. And to chocolate in the morning.”

“You shall have all the tea in China, and the richest, sweetest chocolate.”

“Extravagance again,” she said, but with laughter.

At ease, she was naturally gracious. She would need to learn a little more hauteur as a countess, but her manners were so excellent that she’d make the transition well. Perhaps more easily than he, who resented all the confinements and obligations of his position after living free.

Was this the moment to tell her?

Their refreshments came then, however, and he decided that it would be best to confess in the coach. He’d not be able to escape her anger, but she wouldn’t be able to storm off in a rage, possibly into trouble. He was aware of Draydale all the time. It was hard to imagine that the man would send people to attack the coach, but he might have people shadowing it, alert for a chance to strike.

Once they were on their way again, however, he still put off his confession. He’d never been such a coward in his life. But she was relaxing mile by mile and becoming more delightful with every moment. Then the coach turned off onto a lesser road and the coach jolted down into a deep rut.

“’Struth,” Cate said, bracing Prudence. “We’re like to break something.”

“A leg?” she asked, hat askew.

“I hope only a wheel, but that would be bad enough.” He opened the window and yelled for the coachman to be careful. “We’re in no hurry, man!”

“I’m doing me best, sir! If you want to get to Keynings, this is your only route.”

Cate settled back, shaking his head. “Would you have minded riding pillion? It would have been smoother and no slower.”

“I never have, and I confess, I’d rather not arrive at your family’s grand home with only the soiled and dusty clothes on my back.”

“I’d have hired a packhorse, but yes, you’d be travelworn. So we’ll endure this torture box. Where was I? Ah, yes, my brief time in Portugal . . .”

 

Prudence enjoyed his stories, but the jolting of the coach jarred her teeth, and her back ached from trying to resist the movement. When they stopped again to water the horses, she declined refreshment in favor of a walk.

“It’s a small inn anyway,” he said, handing her down. “I doubt it offers more than ale. I apologize for your wedding journey. It’s the lack of rain recently. It’s left the roads rock-hard.”

“Not for long,” she said, considering some distant heavy clouds that were already pouring down rain somewhere.

He looked and laughed. “Guaranteed to turn rock into muddy soup. Let’s pray it holds off until we reach Keynings.”

They strolled down the road, but she soon had to suggest they turn back. “These shoes were never intended for country walks.”

The coach was ready to go on. “The torture box,” she muttered.

“Rethinking pillion?”

She was. She’d only ever ridden a donkey, and never pillion, but it had to be more comfortable. “My possessions?”

“The coach will follow with your trunk, and we’ll go slowly, so you won’t be without them long.”

She thought again of dust and dirt, but decided she didn’t care. “Then yes, let’s.”

But the innkeeper had only one very sorry horse and no pillion saddle.

“I’m right sorry, sir, for the road’s rough, and no mistake. I’ve heard of many a coach broken down these past days, even on the toll roads.”

“Where’s the next place where we’re likely to find a pillion saddle?” Cate asked.

“Cawthorne, I reckon, sir. But I tell you, it’s like to rain. Your lady would be better in a coach.”

Prudence sighed. “I think he’s right. I’d rather arrive bruised than drenched.”

“The torture box it is, then.”

 

As they climbed back into the coach, Cate wished he could smooth the road for his lady. Alas, an earl’s powers stopped far short of that.

When it lurched forward, Prudence groaned. “I can’t imagine why anyone thinks travel pleasurable.”