Courting the Countess (10 page)
Read Courting the Countess Online
Authors: Barbara Pierce
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance
“That will always be debatable, since I cannot trust my own recollections.” He kept his back to her, broodingly staring into the fire. “Is that why you risked your neck coming here? To offer absolution?”
Brook was risking her neck in more ways than one. She had provoked the beast and waited for him to pounce. “No. That was not what you were seeking from me.”
He finally turned and faced her. The intensity rolling off him was overt. “What was I looking for, Countess?”
Emboldened by his lack of anger, she said, “Confirmation.
You wanted someone to speak aloud the inner whispers in your head.”
You wanted someone to speak aloud the inner whispers in your head.”
“Pray continue. What do these whispers say?” he lightly mocked.
Ignoring his attempts to intimidate her, she forced herself to hold his gaze. “They tell you, Mallory, that you always had a choice. No one coerced you into Mrs. Henning’s bed. You could not resist because you have always been a selfish, wanton beast. The pattern was set long before your arrival at the Hennings’ estate.” She counted off each offense with her fingers. “You chose your art above family duty. You wanted Mirabella and you took her. Bedding Mrs. Henning was just another indulgence, one in which your wife forfeited her life.”
Grim amusement seemed to ignite Mallory’s light blue eyes from within. “I see you have given my indiscretions some thought.”
“I thought of little else.” Her family had thought she was moping about London. She had been content to let them think she was considering their command. “At first I admired you.”
“Admired?” The corner of his mouth crooked up. “An odd sentiment.”
“No, truly, I found how you had continued with your life after your wife’s death admirable. Comparing it to my own, I found myself shamed that I had chosen a coward’s path.”
He peered over his glass of port at her. “It is rude of me, I suppose, but I happen to agree.”
“Then I realized I was wrong—”
“Imagine it.”
She refused to let him provoke her. Intent to have her say, she attacked, “There is nothing admirable about your life.”
“Thank you, m’dear,” he murmured, unfazed.
Brook shook a chiding finger at him. “You have been running away, too. You escaped the restraints of your overbearing father. You mocked polite society and all its rules. You
could not even be faithful to Mirabella when tested, and the life you have led since her death has been far from pious.”
could not even be faithful to Mirabella when tested, and the life you have led since her death has been far from pious.”
“You must find me loathsome.”
She exhaled noisily. “No, Mallory. You are the one who believes that.”
“Absurd,” he scoffed. “I am content with the life I have built.”
Brook studied his back silently while he wielded the poker with a little more enthusiasm than the fire warranted. “Are you? Then why are you here alone in this cottage, instead of London with two mistresses fighting over you?”
He chuckled. “Your imagination conjures a fascinating predicament. I almost wish I could confess it were true.” Setting the poker aside, he crawled over to her. “As for being alone, how can that be when I have you?”
The wind howled, reminding them both that she was his guest until the weather relented. She shifted to the side and reached for the satchel on the table. “I brought you something.”
“You said it was a peace offering.”
“After you left the beach, I believe nothing short of bribery would convince you to let me into your cottage.”
She untied the leather string and flipped open the top. Pulling out a drawstring bag constructed out of cheesecloth, she presented her gift. Tentatively he accepted her lumpy bundle. “My housekeeper does not possess Mrs. Whitby’s culinary magic. Still, she has managed to fatten me up with her sweets. These are a favorite.”
With undisguised delight, he tugged on the drawstring and worked his fingers into the bag. Looking inside, he said, “Sugar puffs?”
“Lemon,” she confirmed, thrilled he was genuinely pleased with her gift.
“My housekeeper in town serves them up with fruit fool,” he said, looking hopeful.
“So does Mrs. Gordy. Unluckily for you, I do not. I had enough to manage between the increasingly foul weather and the horse. Be grateful I was feeling guilty enough to filch sweets on your behalf. My housekeeper is a formidable foe. Who knows what diabolical punishment she will concoct for my crime?”
“So do not tell her,” he advised, shaking his head in disappointment that Brook had not come up with it on her own.
“There is no help for it. The woman has the sight.”
He popped the small sweet into his mouth. “Ridiculous.”
“So true,” she said, closing her fingers around the lemon puff he had placed in her palm. “When I am scrubbing dishes in the wooden sink alongside the scullery maid I will be certain to recall your sage advice.”
“Poor little countess,” he teased, getting up but not relinquishing his bag of sweets. “What you need is for someone to teach you how to shed some of that burdensome virtue.” He held out his hand.
“Are you offering me lessons in wickedness?”
He reached down. Seizing the hand she hesitated in offering, he hauled her to her feet. “You could do no worse, I wager.”
May listened to the storm outside battering the house. The wind yowled, feral and hungry. The tree branches near her window tapped persistently at the glass panes, making her think of skeletal fingers. She shrank down in the bedding trying to fight her rising fear.
She hated being alone in a strange place. Loughwydde lost most of its charm at nightfall. She pitied Brook for having endured this wretched place for two years. Once they returned to London and renewed acquaintances, her friend would never want to return to this isolated place.
Sitting up, May pulled one of the blankets off the bed. Wrapping it around her, she imagined that Brook was lying
awake in her bed, too. May doubted anyone in the house was sleeping through this nasty storm. She hopped off the bed, warming to the idea. While Ham was away, he would appreciate her looking after the woman he intended to marry. Oh, he was too private to share his plans, but May had observed them together. If Ham had not asked the widow, he was preparing to do so in London.
awake in her bed, too. May doubted anyone in the house was sleeping through this nasty storm. She hopped off the bed, warming to the idea. While Ham was away, he would appreciate her looking after the woman he intended to marry. Oh, he was too private to share his plans, but May had observed them together. If Ham had not asked the widow, he was preparing to do so in London.
With a lit candle in hand, May slipped out the door. She liked Brook. Her shy manner and intelligence complemented May’s brother rather nicely. Moving down the hall, she could imagine how much fun they would have in town. May could talk Ham into taking them to the theater. She muffled a gleeful giggle imagining how lovely it would be if Mr. Claeg joined them. Naturally, she would be spending a large amount of time with him while he painted her portrait. All of the
ton
soon would realize how taken he was with her beauty. May had noticed how he had stared at her. Those marvelous eyes had made her insides all buttery.
ton
soon would realize how taken he was with her beauty. May had noticed how he had stared at her. Those marvelous eyes had made her insides all buttery.
It was a shame Ham had asked Mr. Claeg to watch over Brook. A man who obviously had a keen sense of duty, he had remained by the countess’s side instead of playing with the girls on the beach. Well, once they returned to London, his obligation to Ham would be finished.
She knocked on the door softly. “Brook, it is May.” Pressing an ear to the door, she listened. The storm made it impossible to hear anything. Undeterred, she pushed down on the latch.
“Are you awake? I could not sleep and hoped we could talk.” Puzzled, she held the candle over the bed. It was empty and the bedding bore no sign of its owner. “Where is she?”
“I have something to show you.”
Lady A’Court locked her feet together and stalled. “Where are we going?”
“Little craven,” he affectionately ribbed. “This cottage is too small for a large painting room or a dungeon, so we will have to be content with walking across the room.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, finally noticing he had set up a small work area near the window. “The smell of your alchemy permeates the air. I had wondered where you worked when the weather fouled or the light waned.”
“This is less than I prefer,” he explained, missing his London town house. “However, I have learned to make allowances when traveling.”
She gestured at the picture perched on the easel. “Are you working on Miss Hamblin’s portrait?” she asked, approaching the picture from behind.
Mallory was nervous. He put the bag of sugar puffs down and wiped his damp, sticky hand carelessly on the front of his shirt. “This one is finished.”
Sending him a quick smile at his ambiguity, she walked around to view his work. Pleasure lit her face. “Why, this is me!”
“In spite of what was said, I could not burn it as you had suggested. Nor could I replace your likeness with another
woman’s face. Each time I sat in front of it, all I saw was bluebells and you.”
woman’s face. Each time I sat in front of it, all I saw was bluebells and you.”
He moved closer so he was standing behind her. She was quiet in her perusal, her somber eyes analyzing each detail. Straining his patience until he thought he might explode, she finally said, “Your efforts are remarkable, sir. You have succeeded in capturing the afternoon.”
“And you, Countess?”
“A credible representation, although you have improved upon your subject.”
Mallory felt the tension in his jaw first. “Explain yourself.”
He had flustered her with his demand. Her hand made a sweeping gesture at her image. “I meant no insult. All artists fall prey to flattering their patron.”
He took an intimidating step nearer. “Firstly, you are
not
my patron, Countess,” he said, shifting her chin so he had her complete attention. “I painted this picture because it called to me. Secondly, my work may provoke the viewer, but it does not flatter. Do I make myself clear?” He looked hard at her.
not
my patron, Countess,” he said, shifting her chin so he had her complete attention. “I painted this picture because it called to me. Secondly, my work may provoke the viewer, but it does not flatter. Do I make myself clear?” He looked hard at her.
“Yes.”
Women who did not recognize their own beauty baffled him. The vain Carissa Le Maye and the nonchalantly confident Miss Hamblin were the sort of women he usually preferred.
His own sister, Amara, had reacted in a similar fashion when viewing the portrait he had painted of her. He placed the blame on their father for treating her like an article of trade to be presented to the highest bidder rather than a daughter. Marrying for gain was not uncommon; however, it was not until recently Mallory had learned that at sixteen his sister had been trapped alone by one of their father’s approved suitors and raped.
Amara, too frightened of the consequences, had told no one in the family of her violation. Only Brock Bedegrayne
had known and guarded her secret. Mallory was still resentful that Bedegrayne had kept silent. Then again, he could hardly blame him. The man was in love with Amara. Her father had been in favor of Lord Cornley, so her defilement would have ensured marriage to her abuser. Mallory had abandoned his sister when he had run off with his mistress. Presented with those conditions, he could understand Bedegrayne’s reluctance in trusting Amara’s family.
had known and guarded her secret. Mallory was still resentful that Bedegrayne had kept silent. Then again, he could hardly blame him. The man was in love with Amara. Her father had been in favor of Lord Cornley, so her defilement would have ensured marriage to her abuser. Mallory had abandoned his sister when he had run off with his mistress. Presented with those conditions, he could understand Bedegrayne’s reluctance in trusting Amara’s family.
The countess also had trouble with trust. She had suffered at the hands of her husband. Mallory had treated her little better, even though hurting her had never been his aim. She had been surrounded by people who had flattered her for the sole purpose of taking something from her. The bitter experiences had left their mark.
He pushed aside his irritation. “Forgive me, Countess. Talking about Mirabella fouls my disposition. I confess it comes in second to people criticizing my work.”
“I was not criticizing your work, my lord.”
“Well, you were disparaging my model, and I take offense to anyone who is blind to the beauty that I see.”
She stared at the picture. “When you look at me, this is what you see?”
Mallory gently rested his hands on her hips. Pressing a kiss on her right earlobe, he murmured, “What did I get wrong? Your hair? The color is not a common brown. It is a rich blend of hues, reminding me of honey and caramels. And you know how much I like my sweets.” He swayed them side-to-side while he nuzzled her ear.
“Uh … ahhh, my eyes?” she asked, letting her eyes flutter shut.
“Mmm, your eyes. Azure.” He kissed her neck and moved so that he was blocking her view of the picture. Discovering her eyes were still closed, he lightly kissed each lid. “Inquisitive and yet wary. When you smile, I feel like I am soaring the cloudless heights of a summer sky.”
She opened her eyes when he pulled away. “And my mouth?”
He heard the invitation in her voice. Elation and need roared through him, similar to the whipping fury beyond the walls of the cottage. “Mouth? Right, your mouth,” he whispered inches from her face. “Tender. Plump, rosy petals that beg a man to nibble and suck.” He dipped his head closer.
Just a little taste,
he thought.
What harm would it do?
His blood heated and raced through his body and his cock twitched between his legs in response.
Just a little taste,
he thought.
What harm would it do?
His blood heated and raced through his body and his cock twitched between his legs in response.
“Damn!” Mallory groaned, chagrined at his unruly body. Squinting his eyes shut, he lowered his forehead to hers. “Does anyone know where you are?”
Unprepared for his question, Lady A’Court opened her eyes and blinked in confusion. “All that running about on the beach had tired the girls. Everyone retired to their rooms early. I saw no reason to disturb them, since I would have returned before my absence was noticed.”
The little fool! What was the purpose of having servants if she kept them from looking after her? She had been wandering about these lands alone for so long she had forgotten that the dangers had not diminished with familiarity. He would have never forgiven himself if she had had an accident on his behalf. Mallory drew back and gave her a shake. “You wild, mad girl. You have been running wild for too long. Someone has to rein you in before you get hurt.”
“On my own lands?” She snorted in disbelief. “You are being ridiculous and sounding like Ham. I like being by myself and refuse to change my routine to please two arrogant twits.”
A man was in a sad state when a lady’s huffiness aroused him. “It isn’t arrogance but common sense.” Desperate to make her understand the risks she had taken to soothe him, Mallory hauled her up on her toes. She emitted a tiny squeak when he backed her against the nearest wall. “Not all of the risks are outdoors, Countess. You are alone and trapped with
a true scoundrel. If the tale I told you earlier did not prove what a scoundrel I can be, then you are the
twit
!”
a true scoundrel. If the tale I told you earlier did not prove what a scoundrel I can be, then you are the
twit
!”
She laughed down in his face. His mouth went slack in surprise. “Oh, what a big, nasty scoundrel you are, Mallory Claeg,” she mocked in feigned terror. “I doubt warning off your victim is in the scoundrel’s handbook.”
“Mouthy little witch. You chew a man to bits for acting noble.”
“Did you actually
read
the handbook, sir?” she demanded, unperturbed that he still had her dangling off her feet. “Nobility is not part of a scoundrel’s code of ethics. In fact, neither are ethics!”
read
the handbook, sir?” she demanded, unperturbed that he still had her dangling off her feet. “Nobility is not part of a scoundrel’s code of ethics. In fact, neither are ethics!”
She was not afraid of him. If anything, she was goading him into action. Although easing her fears had been one of his goals all along, he found this side of her bedeviling. “You are correct. To Hades with my bloody nobility!”
He fastened his mouth to hers before she could take her next breath. Her lips tasted of the lemon sugar puff she had been nibbling on while she studied her picture. “Open your mouth.”
The second she relaxed her mouth he slipped his tongue inside and tickled hers. She recoiled, but he was not interested in coyness. Having seen how bold she could be when facing his temper, Mallory wanted to cultivate that courage in the sensual arts.
“Taste me, too,” he coaxed.
Lady A’Court licked her lips. “Like this?”
His groan was laced with humor when she stuck her tongue out at him and then leaned into his face for the kiss. The lady was a novice at love play, but he was a patient man if the reward was worth the effort. The Countess was deserving of his best effort. He captured her tongue and sucked on it, showing her how pleasurable her daring could be for both of them. Inexperience had made her content to let him guide her every move. He preferred being dominant.
However, he also wanted a partner in his bed, a woman who was as hungry for him as he was for her. Someone who was too impatient to lie passively for her gratification.
However, he also wanted a partner in his bed, a woman who was as hungry for him as he was for her. Someone who was too impatient to lie passively for her gratification.
He jerked his mouth away from hers. Aroused to the point of pain, he said, “There will be no going back for you tonight.” He meant the storm and much more.
“I know. I smelled the change in the air. I could have turned back,” she replied, assuming the burden of responsibility for her being trapped with him.
“Yet you did not.”
She smiled down at him. “No.” Lady A’Court wiggled in his arms. “This does not sound worldly, my lord, but could you set me down? Your grip is making my corset dig into my flesh and it is terribly uncomfortable.”
He did not return her smile. Mallory was so unused to the fresh sincerity that was an essential part of her character that he considered it something to treasure, not mock. “I can do one better,” he promised as he set her down and scooped her into his arms. The wind attacked the cottage again, making the glass shudder in its wooden casings. “You are safe with me.”
Mallory Claeg promised safety and then carried her away from the warmth and the light. Perhaps she was lacking common sense, because if he had been any other man she would have started screaming. The fact that she had not gave her pause. When had she begun to trust this gentleman and, graver still, want him? The quick pecks Lyon had pressed on her lips during their brief courtship had been abandoned for the other amusements he had gained by taking her body. Once she had naively viewed those tight-lipped kisses as feverish longing. The recollection made her feel silly now. Mallory might not crave a lady’s heart, but he had proven that he wanted her body, her mouth on his.
Cradling her, he carried her up the spiraling stairs and into
the closest bedchamber. She clutched him tightly, the darkness and the unfamiliarity of where he was taking her making her anxious.
the closest bedchamber. She clutched him tightly, the darkness and the unfamiliarity of where he was taking her making her anxious.
Lifting her head from his shoulder, she noticed that the steady glow of the fireplace provided some light. “I am about to drop you on my bed,” he warned before the gentle landing onto softness. “I will light a candle.”
She thought about the ugly marks Lyon’s possession had left on her pale body.
If Mallory saw them
—her mind snuffed the appalling thought. “No. Please, the light from the grate is enough.”
If Mallory saw them
—her mind snuffed the appalling thought. “No. Please, the light from the grate is enough.”
Even in the dimness, she could sense he was attempting to discern her reasons for refusing his offer to light a candle. A quick nod and he returned to the bed. She supposed he had assumed it was shyness that prompted her odd request, and she was content to let him think thus.
He climbed onto the bed. “I recall you were here.” He pushed her onto her back. Before she could sit back up, he crawled on top of her. “And I was about here.” He adjusted his position several times, aligning them so that his mouth was just above hers. “Yes, exactly right.”
With him so close, she saw the determined gleam in his light blue eyes and then she saw nothing at all. This man’s kisses made a mockery out of her husband’s miserable efforts. Mallory moved his mouth over hers with the easy glide of silk over silk. Brook sighed and let him explore her mouth. Well, mayhap
let
was not correct. He claimed what he wanted and she did nothing to hinder him.
let
was not correct. He claimed what he wanted and she did nothing to hinder him.
“Are you tied into this dress?” he asked, kissing her ear. What was it about her ears that he could not seem to resist? He nibbled the tender flesh of her earlobes and tickled the inner recesses with the tip of his tongue. She shivered in his arms.
“My maid assists me,” she weakly explained.
“Roll over,” he commanded, turning her over himself. As
he straddled her buttocks, she felt his hands move over her back. After a muffled oath, he murmured, “A candle would hasten my work.”
he straddled her buttocks, she felt his hands move over her back. After a muffled oath, he murmured, “A candle would hasten my work.”
“I thought all scoundrels could undress a lady blindfolded.”
He lapsed into silence. The partial weight he held her down with shifted. She heard a drawer from a small table near the bed open. Brook heard him search for something within the contents of the drawer and utter a soft exhalation of satisfaction. “Countess, I will show you what real scoundrels do with cheeky wenches.” His weight returned. She felt a tug at her back and then another. It took her a moment to guess what he was doing.
“How dare you cut my laces!”
“Oh, I always dare when provoked,” he growled in her ear. “Now hold still. I do not want to slice a finger off.” A forceful tug and the dress parted for him.
“Not my corset, too,” she complained, already feeling the dull side of the blade slide against her chemise. How did the man expect her to return home with her clothing in pieces?
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