Courting His Countess (A Historical Romance Novella) (6 page)

Breathing hard, she collapsed on top of him
and he looped his arms around her, trapping her precisely where she
wanted to be. She rested her head on his chest and listened as his
wild heartbeat slowed. She knew she must move away. The act was
over and she had promised herself nothing more would happen between
them. There would be no falling asleep in his arms this time, no
caressing or talking.

But she couldn't bring herself to move. He
was still inside her and perhaps that was important for making a
baby so she decided not to get up just yet. Besides, the white scar
from his shoulder to his chest was fascinating. She traced it with
her fingertip.

"How did you get this?" she asked.

"An Irishman's axe."

"Did it hurt?"

"Like the devil."

"I don't want you to go back there," she
said before she could stop and think. "Ever."

His arms tightened and he nuzzled her hair.
"I hope I don't have to. I did my duty there, some of it
unpleasant. Her Majesty and her advisers may change their minds,
however."

Tears pricked her eyes at the thought of him
leaving again but she forced them back and silently admonished
herself for her sentimentality. She always expected him to leave
again once they knew she was with child. Perhaps back to Ireland or
more likely to follow the court from palace to palace, and his
mistress.

Lady Mossdale was never absent from any of
the scenarios Rose could imagine for the future. In truth, she had
no reason to believe this affection from her husband would last
beyond the begetting of a child.

I have to get away from you.

His harsh words to her six years ago were
never far from her mind and her heart. She must never forget
them.

Yet she almost did forget. Lying atop him,
with his hand stroking her back and his warm breath in her hair, it
was easy to forget. She
wanted
to forget.

But she could not afford to be made a fool
of again.

"I'm sorry," he said huskily. "I wish I
could promise you that a return to Ireland is not in our future.
But I cannot."

He did not mention any of the other reasons
why he might leave her. Lady Mossdale, for example, or the fact
that he simply didn't want to be with Rose after she'd produced the
heir he'd returned home to make.

CHAPTER 8

Thomas found Rose in her breakfast room,
already dressed and her hair done. "Merry Christmas," he said,
holding out a small box.

She hesitated then opened it. Her gasp was
exactly the response he'd hoped for.

"Shall I put it on you?" he asked.

She shook her head and lifted the necklace
off its padded velvet nest and held it up to the window. The day
was dull but the large sapphire hanging like a teardrop from the
thick gold chain sparkled. "It's too extravagant to wear except at
a ball," she said. "I'll bring it to Richmond."

"Do you like it?" He was painfully aware
that she had not said so. Indeed, she seemed to be avoiding looking
at him, concentrating more than necessary on returning the necklace
to the box. She closed the lid and her fingers traced the twisted
leaf pattern carved into the wood.

"Thank you, yes. It's lovely." She stood and
signaled for him to follow her. "I have a gift for you in my
study."

He followed her into the adjoining room
which was mostly bare except for a small writing desk, chair and a
coffer sitting on the floor nearby. It had probably gone unused the
entire time she had lived at Lockhart since she preferred the
larger master's study. She placed the necklace box on the desk and
unlocked the chest using one of the keys attached to her girdle.
She removed a package wrapped in paper and handed it to him.

"I didn't know what to get you," she said.
"And since you seem to like writing letters..."

He unwrapped the parcel and opened the
polished wooden casket to reveal a brass inkwell and pen stand. The
inkwell sat on two hawk claws and the side was decorated with
engraved, interlinking swirls.

"Your initials have been woven into the
pattern here," she said, pointing out the T and A.

He lifted out the inkwell, inspected it, and
replaced it back in the casket. "It's a grand piece. Thank
you."

"But you don't like it," she said,
flatly.

"I do. It's a beautiful gift. It will get a
lot of use on estate matters, unfortunately. There'll be little
need for written correspondence between us now." He wanted to kiss
her but if her crossed arms were any indication, she didn't want
him near. "You couldn't have known I was going to stay when you had
it made."

"You may still leave," she said, turning
away.

Yes, he may, if the queen wished him to
return to Ireland. They'd already spoken of that, yet there seemed
to be something else troubling Rose. Something that had nothing to
do with Ireland and everything to do with his old affair with
Temperance.

It was becoming increasingly apparent that
he had not yet won her over. After they made love in the winter
parlor the day before, they had eaten supper together then gone to
her rooms and made love again. Slowly, passionately. But she had
become distant afterward and now...now she was still distant. He
would give anything to have her speak to him as a loving wife.

What would it take? Would she ever come to
realize how sorry he was for what he'd done that night?

He set the casket down and took her hands.
She suddenly looked up and he saw the ache in her eyes. But it was
fleeting, quickly replaced by that cool façade once more.

"Rose, about Temperance...Lady
Mossdale

"

She snatched her hands away. "Don't."

"I have to. Rose, whatever was between her
and me is long over. It never continued after...after that night. I
left England and she wed a viscount with more money than the queen.
We never communicated while I was overseas, and I soon realized I
didn't love her after all."

"Convenient."

"Rose." He sighed and rubbed his temples.
God, his head hurt. "I know it will take some time for you to
believe me, but it's the truth. I hope one day you will find it in
your heart to forgive me."

"Forgive you for what?" she spat. "For
sleeping with your mistress on our wedding night? Or for promising
to remain her devoted lover? You say you did not communicate after
you left, but I know that's not true. Lady Mossdale took great
pains to tell me so."

Oh God. It was worse than he thought. No
wonder she spoke with so much venom. No wonder she hated him. "I
wrote to her twice," he said. "The first was to explain why I had
requested the post in Ireland, the second was almost a year later
to tell her any obligation she felt toward me was ended. She had
married by then too and I no longer loved her. Indeed, I don't
think I was ever in love with her. Infatuation, perhaps, and lust.
I did not write to her again." He drew a deep breath into his chest
and held it, waiting for Rose to say something or at least give him
a sign that she believed him.

She made a miffed sound through her nose and
pointed her chin at him like a weapon. "Perhaps you should have
explained your change of heart to her in plainer language," she
said through white lips. "Last time I saw Lady Mossdale she seemed
to be under the impression you had left the country because you
were devastated that you had to marry me instead of her. She also
said you'd written to her several times in the last few years to
tell her you pined for her. She even produced a sonnet you'd penned
about her."

"A love poem! There's your first clue that
she's lying. I cannot write poetry. I don't have a rhyming bone in
my body."

"Poetry doesn't need to rhyme."

"See, I didn't even know that."

"This is not a jest, Thomas. Everyone
believes you have written letters of love to her." Her voice
cracked. "Everyone"

His heart ground to a halt. "I don't care
what everyone else believes. Only you."

She pushed past him, but not before he saw
her eyes shining with tears. Hell and damnation. It was all his
fault and nothing he could do or say would ease her sorrow and wipe
away six years worth of painful memories. He could see that
now.

Six years ago, after seeing a similar
bleakness in her eyes, he'd done what he thought would save her
further humiliation and left England, but instead he'd left her to
a pack of lions without a friend in the world.

At least this time he would be by her side
when they entered the lioness's gilded cage.

CHAPTER 9

Rose had never been to a court Christmas
before, despite living only a few miles from Richmond Palace, the
queen's favorite winter residence. The festivities were said to
last until Twelfth Night and were already well under way when Rose,
Thomas and her father arrived. The enormous hall was decorated with
a dazzling array of candles and garlands of ivy and holly leaves
swaddled the pillars, the tables and chairs. A mummery was in
mid-performance at the end of the room. From her position at the
rear of the onlookers, Rose caught glimpses of a makeshift hill
covered in green matting and festooned with white paper roses.
Morris dancers in white dresses danced gaily around the hill as a
young woman with long red hair descended slowly. She was supposed
to represent the queen with her crown of leaves and golden scepter.
The real queen sat on her throne on the dais at the opposite end of
the hall to Rose, too far away to know if she enjoyed the
mummery.

"Can you see?" Thomas asked her.

"Well enough."

"Let's go to the front." He took her arm but
she resisted.

"I think I'll retire. I have a
headache."

He frowned. "Can I get you anything? Wine?
Something to eat?"

She shook her head. "No, thank you. A little
rest will do me good."

"Let me walk you to your rooms. The palace
can be difficult to navigate until you're used to it."

So he knew his way around. How many times
had he come to court here?

He took her arm and led her through the
crowd of courtiers. One by one, heads turned and soon whispers
followed their progress. Some people paused to nod or greet Thomas
but he didn't stop, telling them he would find them later. It
wasn't until they were almost out that Rose saw Temperance, Lady
Mossdale.

The tall, dark-haired beauty didn't see Rose
but her gaze clamped onto Thomas. Rose felt his arm tense beneath
her hand. Lady Mossdale stood near the doorway and there was no way
around her.

"Thomas, darling," she said in a smooth,
silky voice. She curtseyed and he bowed shallowly. "I didn't know
you were back. When did you arrive on our soil?"

"A few days ago."

"In the middle of winter." She clicked her
tongue. "Foolish man, what are you traveling in this weather
for?"

"I wanted to get home to my wife."

"Who?" Lady Mossdale asked without missing a
beat.

Oh she was good. As good as the false queen
descending the hill. She'd not once looked at Rose, hadn't even
flicked those black lashes at anyone except Thomas.

"Stop the play-acting, Temper," he said.
"It's beneath you. You know very well the beautiful woman at my
side is my wife, Lady Avondale. It seems you two have spoken on
quite a number of occasions in the past."

Lady Mossdale unfurled her fan and flapped
it rapidly, but it didn't stop her cheeks flushing. No doubt she'd
heard the anger threaded through Thomas's words, and realized he
knew about her lies. Rose was quite certain that her husband had
told the truth on Christmas Day and that he had not written above
twice to his lover in the past six years. She also believed him
when he said he no longer cared for Temperance. This barely civil
exchange proved it.

Lady Mossdale turned a tight smile on Rose
and nodded a greeting.

"You should curtsey," Thomas said. "My wife
does outrank you."

The viscountess hesitated, her dark eyes
narrowed to slits. Finally, she gave them both a beaming smile and
dropped to the floor in a ridiculous parody of a curtsey. Several
onlookers smothered giggles.

Rose resisted the urge to run off and hide
in her room until New Years Eve. She would face up to Lady Mossdale
this time, and make her see she was not afraid of her. Her husband
may not be in love with Rose, but he certainly wasn't in love with
Temperance anymore. It didn't give Rose any more power, but it
meant Temperance had far less.

"Oh do get up, Lady Mossdale," Rose said.
"Anyone here might mistake you for a sycophant and I would hate for
them to think that of you."

Lady Mossdale straightened to her full
height which was considerably taller than Rose but a little less
than Thomas. She towered over all the women at court, making it
easy to spot her with her coal-black hair and creamy skin. She was
a true beauty. In many ways it was a shame she had to marry an aged
viscount who suffered from gout and bad breath. Rose almost felt
sorry for her.

"Now, if you'll excuse us," Thomas said.
"We're retiring."

"Already?" Lady Mossdale blurted out. "Both
of you?"

Thomas leaned in. "I find it's more fun with
two," he said so quietly only Lady Mossdale and Rose could
hear.

Lady Mossdale's face colored again and her
gaze drifted off.

"That woman has turned into a viper these
last six years," Thomas said when they were out of earshot.

"She wasn't always like that?"

"No. Her wit used to be funny, not bitter. I
don't know why she's changed so. Life has become easy for her since
she married. She never has to worry about money like she used
to."

"Maybe being married to Lord Mossdale is not
what she expected." Or perhaps she was more in love with Thomas
than he was with her.