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Authors: Barbara Pierce

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance

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BOOK: Courting the Countess
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“You are too slight to need such a confining device.”
Suddenly she was free from her bindings and the relief she felt was immense. She twisted her head back and glared at him. “You have ruined my dress. How will I get home? Wrap myself in a blanket?”
“I will think of something,” he replied, unconcerned by the predicament in which he had placed her.
She pushed up on her arms and her dress slid down to her wrists. Brook removed her fabric cuffs and tossed them to the end of the bed. Most of her body was covered by the loose-fitting chemise, and that gave her comfort. “I cannot fathom why you felt it was necessary to cut off my clothes,” she muttered.
“A fancy I had always wanted to indulge,” he said, immune to her annoyance.
“Truly? Perhaps I should brandish a knife near what you hold dear and see how cheery you feel afterward, Mr. Claeg.” She froze when he cupped her face in his large hands.
He did not bother correcting her slip. “You do not have to fear this. I will not hurt you, Countess.”
To see him distinctly, she had to get nose-to-nose. He kissed one cheek and then the other. Mallory seemed to believe what he was telling her. “Are you speaking of the act? I am no longer a virgin; that sort of pain has passed.” She could not begin to explain to him that there were other kinds of pain that lasted far longer than those of what was done to her body.
He unfastened the tiny buttons on her chemise. She was grateful he had lost interest in the knife. “The act,” he mused. “What a pitiful phrasing for something so wondrous. I think for that alone I could strangle your dead husband.”
It was strange how a declaration of murder could fortify her. “I was not—”
“The former Miss Bedegrayne,” he said, finishing her sentence. “Your friend is a lovely lady. Nevertheless, so are you, Countess.” He kissed her softly on the mouth. “Definitely worthy of an obsession,” he murmured, nipping her lower lip. “Your husband was an utter ass for not appreciating you.”
“Are you—” she said, and then tried again. “Will you appreciate me, Mr. Claeg?”
“Mallory,” he implored. “Oh, most thoroughly and most definitely.” He lifted the hem of her chemise.
She stopped his movements. The notion of being stripped of her clothing and laid out on the bed like a virginal sacrifice for a pagan god disconcerted her. “What about your clothes?”
He rubbed his nose against hers. Kissing the tip of hers playfully, he said, “I was not certain if seeing a man’s body would frighten you.”
The notion that he had considered her fears loosened the knot in her chest. She shook her head in denial. Brook was
with him on the bed. She preferred not discussing Lyon’s odd predilections with a man who genuinely wanted her. That concept alone was something she was still struggling to grasp. When Mallory gazed at her, he made her feel desired for herself, not what she could pretend to be.
“Allow me to assist,” she offered, reaching up to unfasten his buttons before she completely lost her daring. He had never bothered putting on a coat, so her task was over too quickly. Together they lifted and removed his linen shirt. His physique was as spectacular as his face. Unable to resist, she stroked his muscled chest. “No wonder the ladies whisper about you behind their hands. You are a beautiful man.”
Instead of preening, he looked ill at ease at her praise. He captured her stroking fingers and kissed each one in turn. “I am not interested in other women, Countess.”
She understood his meaning. He was hers for now. That was more than she had expected from him. Grateful, she gave in to one of her yearnings and leaned forward to lick his flat pap. He moved his hands to her head and encouraged her exploration by guiding her. She felt the flesh under her tongue react to her caress. It was a heady feeling, discovering she had the power to make his lean body respond.
“Enough,” he groaned, pulling her face up to his and kissing her. “You will have me rashly spilling my seed in my breeches again.”
“Again?”
“Yes, you potent witch,” he said, pushing her down on her back. “I had my hands all over you, my fingers inside you. Your response pushed me beyond my limits. Rubbing myself against you, I peaked like some inexperienced lad. What did you think, Countess? That I was impervious to you?”
His control had seemed formidable. She had wondered several times since their encounter if he had not been trying to manipulate her. The ends of his long, dark hair tickled
her nose. Brook twitched it, resisting the urge to scratch.
“Silly woman,” he chided. Reaching between their bodies, he unbuttoned the falls on his breeches. Taking her hand, he slid it down his torso until her fingers closed around the rigid length of his manhood. It felt hot beneath her fingers. Covering her hand, he encouraged her to squeeze the velvet flesh. “This is proof of my desire. Interest cannot be faked.” He flexed, displaying his strength in a different manner.
Brook wanted to argue, but Mallory extinguished her protests by sliding his hand under her chemise. She tensed when his hand glided up her thighs seeking the soft nest between her legs. His thumb pressed into her womanly cleft.
“We have barely begun and already your body is preparing itself for me,” he said, appearing as surprised as she was. His gaze locked with hers. “Take off your chemise. I want to see all of you.”
Brook sat up partially and with his assistance removed the remaining barrier concealing her from his hungry gaze. The air was cool on her overly warm skin. She glanced down at her legs. “My stockings.”
Mallory saw humor in her quandary. “With your permission.” He untied each garter above the knee and slipped off her stockings. Once she was completely vulnerable to him, he stood and appreciated the tableau she presented. “You are exquisite, Countess,” he said, his voice husky with awe. “I could spend the rest of my days painting you like this and never be bored.”
“A lovely sentiment,” she replied dryly, imagining her family’s horror on viewing in public dozens of pictures of her sans clothing. “The artist will have to be content with the man’s good fortune. I will never pose naked for you.”
Undefeated, he inclined his head. “A pity, truly. Your breasts are inspiring.”
“You must find your inspiration elsewhere,” she said,
regretting her thoughtless words. She did not want to think of the other women who displayed their bodies for him without fear or coyness.
Misunderstanding her suggestion, he stood and shucked his breeches. Aggressive as his nature, his manhood jutted from its dark nest of hair. “Oh, I shall, my lady.”
He covered her with his heat. Parting her legs, he made a place for himself there. Mallory curled his hand around one of her breasts while he nuzzled the other. A moan escaped her lips when he sucked vigorously on her nipple. He was rapidly mastering her body, gauging the degree of her pleasure by occasionally testing the moisture between her legs.
“You must stop?” she begged.
He mischievously bit her stomach and gazed up at her. “Why?” To prove his point, he slipped his fingers into her soft, womanly channel.
“I cannot take it. These feelings.” She could not understand the tension he was building in her body. Her flesh felt taut and close to bursting. He had succeeded in making her want him, that part of him she had thought she would never crave from a man. She moved restlessly against him.
“Easy. I can help you,” he crooned, sliding lower down her body.
He parted her feminine cleft with his fingers and put his mouth on her. His mouth was even more devastating than his fingers had been. She dug her fingers into the bedding, trying to fight back the sensation he was cleverly building.
“This is wrong. You must stop.”
Mallory sucked on the swollen nubbin of flesh. If he had heard her frantic plea, he ignored it. Slipping his hands under her buttocks, he pulled her closer. She unthinkingly opened herself to him, granting him deeper access, and he readily claimed it. Brook arched back against the mattress while his tongue lapped the intimate core of her.
“Mallory,” she said, his name a plea upon her lips.
Gliding his tongue in a tantalizing pattern, he responded to her plea by plunging his fingers into her wet feminine channel, ruthlessly driving her toward the pinnacle she was unknowingly beseeching him for.
The wild wind of the storm was suddenly within her. It spiraled, battering her insides. Rising, she shook from its questing intensity for release. Helpless, Brook opened her mouth and surrendered, freeing the storm with her scream.
She fell back into the bedding. She was so shaken by her experience, her eyes filled with tears. Mallory rose up between her legs. He appeared grimly satisfied with what he had accomplished until he saw her tears.
“There, there.” He crawled up and covered her back with his body. She sank against his overheated flesh, needing his warmth. Concern furrowed his brow as he pulled the blankets over them.
“Why the tears, Countess? Did you not enjoy my pleasuring?” he murmured in her ear. He stroked her hair, trying to soothe her.
“It was beyond anything I have ever experienced,” she whispered, choking on a sob. “I thought I might die of it.”
He kissed her hair and snuggled her closer. Neither spoke. Brook listened to the wind and realized Mallory had kept his promise. She was safe with him. Weary, she closed her eyes and let sleep claim her.
Mallory awoke with an undefined sense of urgency.
Opening his eyes, he realized his arms were wrapped around the source. Brook was still tucked close. He pressed his nose into her hair and inhaled her scent. The subtle shift in position made him painfully aware of something else. During their slumber, his rebellious body had ruined his noble intentions of giving her pleasure while taking none for himself. His defenses weakened in sleep, he had instinctively buried himself deep in the countess’s welcoming heat. How long they had been joined like this Mallory could only guess. Her rhythmic breathing subtly massaged the engorged head of his cock and he groaned at the exquisite torture. He flexed inside her and the easy glide revealed that the sleeping widow was as aroused as he was. Unbeknownst to her, her body had accepted his penetration and on some level wanted the completion he craved.
Mallory had resisted because he understood Brook had never been given the proper loving she deserved in her marriage bed. Lyon, her bastard swine of a husband, had shown her only the selfishness of a man’s lust. Overcoming his need to lose himself in her, Mallory had wanted to gently lure her into passion. The notion of
her
demanding that he pleasure her had aroused him immensely.
There was torment in stillness, he decided as sweat
gleamed on his brow. He was already half-mad from his restraint. Awakening to the discovery that he was inside, actually inside, her was enough to make him shed his veneer of civility and take her like a mindless rutting beast.
His nostrils flared taking in their combined scent. It was a heady aphrodisiac. Quivering with need, he flexed again. A tiny murmur passed through her lips. She shifted and took him deeper.
The dam of restraint broke at her unspoken invitation. Moving his hands lower, Mallory clasped her hips and guided his cock deeper into her silken passage. Quickening his short thrusts, he used her hips to keep him anchored. He felt Brook’s subtle transition from sleep to awareness. Her breath caught in her throat and her body tensed. He took hope when she did not fight to get away.
“I need you, Countess,” he said, his rough voice almost guttural. If she asked him to pull out when he was so close, he was afraid he was about to prove to her that he was just as selfish as her husband.
Getting over her initial shock, she reached back and touched his face. “Need me, Mallory,” she offered.
He needed no further prompting. Pulling out of her long enough to roll her onto her back, Mallory fitted himself against her opening and let her take him. The depth of the penetration after countless shallow, inadequate strokes shattered his control. Hammering himself into her, he gritted his teeth and threw back his head against the fury of his orgasm. He surrendered to the onslaught zealously, holding himself deep as his cock rhythmically pumped his seed into her womb.
Mallory blinked, stunned by his recklessness. He had always taken care not to leave his seed within a woman. Although he enjoyed numerous women, he had no desire to populate England with his bastards. He had even denied Mirabella his essence, since they had not desired children so soon after their marriage. Somehow Brook had destroyed all
his good intentions and years of rigid restraint in one cataclysmic moment. As he stared down at her sweet face, it was not the stirrings of regret that thickened his voice.
“I have never awakened so perfectly. I am of the mind of never letting you return to Loughwydde.”
The countess was also struggling with her composure. Mallory was not certain, because he had been too focused on his own release, but she had the look of a woman who had found completion in her lover’s arms.
“The storm has passed on and dawn is almost upon us. You know I cannot stay,” she said, softly reminding him of their impropriety.
His body was feeling too good to dwell on the troubles an affair with her would create. Mallory had wanted her almost from the beginning. Claiming her had only intensified his hunger. “We have a little time left before I have to take you back.”
The walls of her feminine passage had thickened around him as if trying to keep him lodged within her. He retreated slightly, reveling in the snugness of their fit, and then surged upward. Her eyes widened in pleasure and she lifted her hips to meet his thrust.
“Yes, there is time.”
 
Brook felt like a thief in her own house.
A very daring criminal,
she mused as she walked through the front door. The advice had come from Mallory when he had escorted her home and taken care of her horse. They had encountered no one in the barn. Before he had departed, he had told her that most of the servants would be eating or going about their duties at the back of the house. No one would be watching the front door. It was a very clever plan.
She moved quietly from the entrance hall to the stairs. The first step had the tendency to squeak, so she stepped over it and pulled herself up with the railing. Her dress and
corset had caused her some concern when she recalled how he had cut the garments off her. Mallory had kissed her soundly when she complained. They had just staggered out of his bed and he was far too pleased with himself to allow her to dampen his outlook with tedious details. He had teased her out of her sulks by tickling her mercilessly and then searched the cottage for some kind of cording to temporarily hold her dress together. Although the cloak she wore concealed his handiwork, she felt completely indecent. He had not bothered securing her corset. Mallory had even suggested initially that she forget the unnecessary contrivance. She had flatly refused. In the end, she had put on the corset and used the lacing of her dress to hold everything in place. He had deliberately kept the lacing loose and the ties within reach so she could undo them herself. If she made it to her room undiscovered, no one would ever know she had left the house.
It was not until she had closed the door to her bedchamber that she dared to breathe again. Relieved, she unhooked the clasp of her cloak and discarded it on the chair. Reaching for the ties at her back, she untied the strings and slipped out of her dress and corset.
Brook glanced down at her bare legs. Dear heavens, she had forgotten her stockings. Or had she? Mallory had helped her dress. Perhaps his odd humor this morning had encouraged him to hide them. He probably laughed on his return walk to the cottage thinking about how she would react. Oh, he would pay later for his mischief.
Leaving her chemise on, she pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. Weariness weighed her eyelids down as she laid her head onto the pillow. She did not regret her night with Mallory Claeg. He had treated her with tenderness and his skillful touch had caused her to transcend to such enchanting heights. Keeping her eyes closed, she smiled. He thought she was beautiful. When he said the words, he made her believe them.
The pleasure he had given her was so dizzying and wondrous, she would have granted him anything. Letting him rut upon her body had seemed inconsequential. He had held her while she had cried in response to the joy he had given her. Afterward, she had expected him to slake his own needs. Mallory, instead, had curled himself around her and had promptly fallen asleep. She had lain there, confused and hurt by his disinterest. Eventually, she had fallen into a dreamless sleep.
When she awakened, he had managed to once again confuse her. Not only had he remained in the bed through the night, but he had seduced her while she had slept. It had been disorientating to awaken with his breath hissing in her ear and his arousal warming her from within.
I need you, Countess.
His husky plea had touched her. She was not about to turn him away when he had awakened the hunger within her, too. Brook touched the sensitive flesh between her legs. Her insides constricted with desire as she recalled how he had clutched her desperately to him and she felt the warm flood of his release. She squeezed her legs tightly together, feeling an echo of her earlier response. The gentle pulse of his completion had triggered an answering need. The velvet muscles within her had milked his manhood, taking his seed deep into her body as he willingly emptied himself into her.
Both of them should have been satisfied.
She should have gotten up and quietly dressed as Lyon had always done after he was finished. Mallory should have wanted her to go. Neither had climbed out of the bed. Instead of softening, his manhood had remained firmly lodged within her. He began stroking her slowly, rekindling the waning passion, and her body had responded. The darkness in the sky had been creeping toward dawn when they had clung to each other and surrendered to a second release.
Slipping into sleep, she was too practical to believe her
dubious charms would keep him near Loughwydde forever. She was already missing him when she finally let go and drifted off.
 
Mallory was in excellent spirits and he owed the beautiful widow his thanks. Walking along the shore, he picked up a section of driftwood blown in by the storm and swung it back and forth merrily.
He had remained at Loughwydde until he was satisfied Brook had slipped into the house unnoticed by the other residents. Since he did not hear any screaming accusations coloring the air, he had returned to the cottage. His muse had called to him this morning. A night holding the mortal incarnate of Aglaia, the goddess of splendor, in his arms had stimulated his creativity. Mrs. Whitby had arrived around nine, expecting him to still be in bed. He had flirted with her outrageously while she fixed his breakfast. His joviality had been contagious. Laughing, the flustered old woman had shooed him out of the cottage so she could do her chores.
Mallory took up his chalks and sketching book and chose to spend part of his day at the beach. Later he would return to Loughwydde on the pretense of working on Miss Hamblin’s picture. Who he truly wanted to see and if he could arrange it put his hands on was the countess. He had never guessed the generosity and passionate fire she had hidden from herself and the world. Mallory had tapped that wellspring and tasted the pure, sweet water of her ardor. God, he wanted her again. One sip and he was thirsting eternally for his next swallow. If that was his price for bedding his earthbound goddess, he was willing to pay.
“Mr. Claeg,” a disembodied voice called down to him. “Mr. Mallory Claeg.”
He shielded his eyes and searched the cliffs. He spotted the corpulent gentleman slowly making his way down the stone steps. Mallory acknowledged the stranger with a wave.
There was no point in having a conversation from a distance, so he reversed his direction to shorten the man’s walk.
“Good day to you, sir. Your servant told me that I might find you here. My name is Stand. I have come from Truro. Mr. Claeg, you are a difficult man to locate,” the man confessed earnestly, his plump face suffused with pink from his exertion.
“I was not trying to be found, Mr. Stand. How may I help you?”
“Two riders arrived in Truro eight days ago. Each carried a missive with orders to find you. One continued east. The gentleman who intended to ride here fell from his horse three days earlier. I am a cousin of the surgeon who was summoned to his bed. He was so certain that you were residing and painting somewhere on this section of coast that I offered to assist him in his quest.” The harried explanation left him winded.
Mallory could not think of anyone, except Amara, who cared where he wandered. How the devil had she found him? “The letter?”
“Oh yes, quite right.” He dug into the inner pocket of his coat. “Here it is,” he said, handing it to Mallory.
Mallory stared down at the wax impression of the Keyworths’ seal. “You must be parched, Mr. Stand. If you return to the cottage, Mrs. Whitby will give you something to drink. Do not offend her if she insists on filling your belly. She is an excellent cook.”
The man tugged on his hat. “Your generosity is most welcome, Mr. Claeg. I pray you are the recipient of good news.”
He stared out at the sea, observing a ship in the distance. The letter remained clutched in his hand unread. What news was so important that his father had sent two riders to find him? He glanced down in resignation. If the pompous Lord Keyworth had exerted himself to locate his errant heir, Mallory was certain the news in the letter was likely to douse his
good cheer. The man had often done so, with ruthless efficiency.
 
“G’morning, my lady,” Morna said, rousing Brook from her deep slumber. The maid opened the curtains and the window, letting in the morning air to clear out the staleness of the room.
Brook did not open her eyes. “The time. What is the time?” she asked groggily.
“Eight or thereabouts,” the young woman replied, gathering up the discarded clothing. “Lo, what a beastly storm we had last evening. Though it certainly cleaned the air.” She paused, shifting the bundle in her arms to get a closer look at the dress. “Here now, what happened to your dress? And corset?”
The stunned amazement was as effective as cold water on Brook’s face. She sat up and rubbed the corner of her right eye. “The storm kept me up. I had retired so late, I did not want to disturb you. Since I could not manage the lacing myself, I simply cut them.” The blatant lie came easier than it should have.
BOOK: Courting the Countess
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