Courting the Countess (19 page)

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Authors: Barbara Pierce

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance

BOOK: Courting the Countess
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The hours Brook had spent with Wynne and her daughters had been healing. Her friend had been correct. They had both survived Lyon’s cruelty. The fear Brook had carried around her had lessened, with her knowing that Wynne did not blame her. She was less certain of Mr. Keanan Milroy. There was nothing she could fault in his speech or manners toward her. It was only a feeling. When he had joined them later after visiting his half brother, Drake Fawks, the Duke of Reckester, she had caught his indigo gaze measuring
her. Brook had found his size and judging silence intimidating. The lateness of the hour had given her a valid excuse to leave. Wynne had tried to talk her into staying the night; however, all her invitations were refused. Mr. Milroy ordered a coach and bundled Brook into it. She left the Milroys’ town house with the promise that she would return. Oddly, in spite of Mr. Milroy’s lukewarm enthusiasm toward her renewing her acquaintance with his wife, Brook did want to see her friend again.
Bidding the coachman farewell, Brook watched the coach continue down the street. She had forgotten how London sounded at night. The scent of food and sound of faint music drifted on the evening air; the clopping of hooves on cobblestone and the rumble of coaches as they raced down the narrow streets blended with laughter from a nearby tavern and the cheerful greeting of a drunken gentleman. Unlike rural Loughwydde, the town never seemed to sleep.
The notion of sleep suddenly appealed to her. Turning her back on the street, Brook strolled up the short path that led to the stairs. A noise to the left startled her out of her fanciful musings about London. Peering at the bush where she had heard the scuffling sound, she squeaked in terror and stumbled backward when a scrawny dog darted past her and into the street. The encounter left her heart pounding in her chest. Feeling silly, she straightened and checked the windows of the house for some sense of who was still awake. If she was fortunate, her family had grown weary of waiting for her return and retired.
As she took a step forward, the firm hand clamped over her mouth deprived her of breath and of movement. She clawed at the immovable fingers, but her kid gloves rendered her nails useless. She moaned as her captor dragged her away from the house. Her lungs demanded more air as she struggled. The tight corset she was wearing combined with
fear were denying her the precious resource. As her vision grayed, she felt herself being lifted. The sensation reminded her of flying. Too light-headed to resist, Brook floated into the mist.
Brook felt something wet on her face. She turned her head away wondering how she was going to convince one-year-old Anna Milroy that her soggy fingers were no longer amusing. The stinging slap on her cheek had her eyes opening.
“Bastard!”
“The last time I woke you up, you were more pleasant,” Mallory said in lieu of a greeting.
“The last time I was not recovering from being smothered.” Coatless, he still wore the evening clothes he had donned for the theater. Sitting up, she realized her head had been resting on the crumpled remains of his dress coat.
“Quit exaggerating.” He sat next to her, his hands resting on his knees. “You just became faint with all of the excitement.”
For a kidnapper, he was not very resourceful. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, she recognized her whereabouts. When she had fainted on him, he had carried her to the back of the house and into the gardens. At the back of the property the owner had built a small greenhouse. In the center of it a fountain had been installed to provide water to the tender plants and create a tranquil environment. The greenhouse was a pleasant retreat from the frenzied activity of the household.
“What were you doing grabbing me like … like you were planning to murder me?” she demanded, her spirit reviving now that she knew she was safe.
“If I had known having a private discussion with you in London would be so difficult, I would never have asked you to join me.”
“Asked?” Her voice had raised an octave. “There was no asking. There was only demanding and insults, you lout.” She punched him in the heart.
“Ow, what was that for?” He rubbed his injury.
“Do you want me to make a list? Oh, why do you care? On second thought—” She punched him again. “—that is for
not
caring.”
He eyed her warily. “You are insane. Next time I am hitting back, do you understand?”
“No, I do not understand. What is this all about? Why am I here, sir? Does it amuse you to seduce one woman and then have her watch you move on to the next?”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed at the laugh blended with his denial. Maybe she had not worked out all her problems, but she was not allowing another man to manipulate her.
“No? No, there is no pleasure in it, or no, there is no woman?”
“You are jealous.”
It was absolutely the wrong thing to say. Screeching, Brook launched herself at him. Not bothering to hide his laughter, he wrapped his arms around her as she tried to pummel him. Landing on his back, he winced. “Calm down, Countess. You have had your revenge. Damn, I think I hit my head on a rock. Does not anyone clean up this place?”
“I hope you have split your skull open on it. You deserve nothing less for scaring me half to death!” She despised feeling helpless, and his surprise attack, albeit harmless, had stirred up some old fears.
Mallory was quickly losing his good humor. “I wanted to see you,” he said through clenched teeth.
“If you recall, Mr. Claeg, you encountered me twice at the theater. Then you flirted with Lady Haslake’s daughter and, oh yes, ran off after some mysterious woman. Who was she? A new mistress or one of your careless discards?”
“Allow me to clarify: I wanted to see you alone.”
She let some of the anger drain out of her. “Now you have.” She tried to stand but discovered her skirts were tangled with his legs.
“Not so fast, Countess.” He tumbled them so that he was on top. “Let us address some of your other accusations.”
“I would rather not,” she primly replied.
“Stop being childish,” he ordered. Grabbing his wrinkled coat, he belied his angry command by stuffing it under her head. “To begin with, I was not flirting with Lady Laurette Omant. The young lady has never been overly impressed by my charms. Second, I am not searching for a new mistress. Why would I, when I have you? Although, I confess, as a lover you are a maddening one.”
She might have been appeased if he had not tacked on the last part. “You do not have me, Mr. Claeg.”
“Hmm, don’t I?” he purred, his husky voice doing crazy things to her insides. His hair had come undone and was a dark curtain around his face. “You constantly provoke me into proving myself. Fortunately for you, I happen to feel the predilection to accommodate you.”
“Enough. Let me up before someone hears us and decides to search the greenhouse.”
Mallory bent closer so his long hair covered her face. He nipped her earlobe. “Then we best be quiet. You have proven to be a screamer when aroused, so I will have to think of something. I swear not to smother you. If you faint, it will be from the pleasure of our lovemaking.”
Fainting from pleasure. The idea had merit.
No,
she
thought, letting common sense intrude upon the fantasy. She was not going to let him seduce her on the floor of a greenhouse. “I cannot see this benefiting either one of us.” She turned her head, giving him access to the curve of her neck.
“Then I need to work on my persuasive skills.” He licked her neck and she shivered. “It is only fair that I be allowed to practice on you.”
 
Mallory had vowed himself that if he caught the countess alone he would woo her gently. The oath had been declared hours earlier when he was still feeling guilty over breaking his promise to Amara. Once he had his hands on Brook, all his good intentions evaporated. He did not understand how this noble woman had the power to turn him into a howling beast craving the delicious heat of mating. Although she had yet to admit it to him or even to herself, he sensed the wildness in her. It was his absolute pleasure to incite her hidden nature.
“There is no reasoning with you.”
“None,” he heartily agreed, and kissed the skin exposed above her breast. His hand expertly slipped beneath her skirt and skimmed over her stocking-clad calf. The flesh under his hand quivered as he trailed his teasing fingers upward.
“You are the worst sort of libertine,” she accused, fighting to maintain her composure even though her body was softening at his touch.
“Definitely wicked. You might as well surrender.”
“You—” She bit her lower lip when he lightly tickled the soft nest between her legs. “You cannot be trusted.”
“You can trust me, Countess,” he whispered in the darkness. He glided his thumb seductively along the soft, yielding flesh. “Your body already does.” He demonstrated by using her wetness to draw a teasing spiral on her inner thigh. She lifted her leg up, silently inviting him to indulge his hunger. “Cracking through that stubborn brain of yours will take some work.”
Mallory quieted her parting lips with a kiss. For some unfathomable reason she was determined to talk him out of making love to her. He refused to let her deny both of them. There was no doubt she inflamed him. She simply had to brush against him and his unruly cock hardened. He nibbled her lower lip and tasted the coppery flavor of blood from when she had bitten it earlier.
She gasped and turned her face away. “This is insane.”
“Denying ourselves is insane.” He tugged on her bodice, exposing as much flesh as he could without ruining the dress. She surprised him by pulling his head to her breast. Pleased that she was getting into the spirit of being deliciously ravished, he suckled her nipples in turn. She groaned, holding his head to her bosom as he plumped her responsive flesh with his tongue and teeth.
Brook shook her head, overcome by what he was building within her. “I can—I cannot.”
He laved the cleft between her breasts. His fingers felt clumsy as he unfastened the buttons on his breeches. “With us, everything is possible.”
Since lighting a candle might summon an audience at an inopportune moment, Mallory relied on his other senses. He anointed his fingers in her wetness and she moaned softly. The scent of her arousal triggered all manner of primitiveness in him. Rolling on his side, he frantically worked his breeches down his hips and legs. He kicked them into a dark corner.
In his heightened awareness, his head lifted at the sound of rustling fabric. Mallory did not know if he could trust himself if she was about to refuse him. His hand shot out to catch her before she moved away. Instead of grasping fabric, his fingers curved around her thigh.
The countess wanted him.
The knowledge was an intoxicating chemical in his brain. Cupping his scrotum, he moved and positioned himself above her. His hand stroked and then encircled his rigid length,
anticipating the claiming. She fit against him perfectly. He groaned as her wetness coated the head of his cock, coaxing him deeper into her core.
Mallory held himself back. “Say the words, Countess.”
She hesitated. He sensed she was puzzled by his command. Even in the gloom her eyes were a beacon for him. He stared down at her, willing her to speak. She lifted herself up on her elbows and the motion had him sinking deeper into her. He could feel himself expanding within her. In a few minutes, he was no longer going to care about words. The countess tilted her face up to his. He accommodated her by lowering his so she could kiss him. She was not interested in a kiss. Instead she moved her mouth and shyly whispered into his ear.
“Fuck me.”
His body jolted at the unexpected vulgarity. The beast she often accused him of being awakened. Fully aroused, he speared his cock into the heart of her. They both cried out in ecstasy. Mallory’s mind blanked as he surrendered to the pleasures of a willing woman beneath him. Wildly he battered himself into her. There was no resistance. Her slick, hot feminine core took him deeply, encouraging speed and less finesse. The countess’s hands roved over his back as if searching for purchase. Finally clasping his hips, she disrupted his frenzied rhythm by forcing him to slow down and linger, as her impending release grew nearer. Crying out, she lifted her hips, demanding more. Mallory blindly obeyed. Cupping her buttocks, he shortened his thrusts, letting her orgasm pulse against him. As he took her, he allowed himself to be taken. As he was grinding against her, the violence of her release milked his cock. Claiming her in the most primitive manner was impossible to resist. He did not even try. As he muffled his shout of completion into her shoulder, the streaming of his seed seemed never-ending.
Only when his head cleared did he recall their parting words to each other at Loughwydde.
The choice is yours.
Choice, you black-hearted villain … what choice?
The choice of whether you are my woman or some pitiful lonely widow I fucked for sport.
Still deep within her and panting into her hair, Mallory realized now that the countess had never believed he had been offering her a choice. She had never trusted him of being capable of offering her more.
Fuck me.
Black-hearted villain. He had been so bloody obliging.
 
She was getting rather apt at slipping into houses unnoticed, Brook decided as she prepared for bed. There was no doubt it was Mallory Claeg’s wicked influence. Dressed in a night rail, she climbed into bed. She groaned in pleasure. Her back felt bruised from Mallory’s frenzied lovemaking. His impulsive nature created some interesting predicaments, she mused, but next time she preferred that they make love on a soft bed instead of the stone flooring of an old greenhouse.
Perhaps that explained his odd mood afterward. As she was used to his teasing chatter, he seemed too quiet. He did not speak until they had straightened their clothing.
“We have been reckless, Countess,” he said, coming over to her. He smoothed the hair from her face.
“We were quiet,” she said, lowering her voice just in case she was wrong.
Mallory smiled at the horror in her tone. “I was not speaking about the sounds we made but rather the fact that I have been treating you more like a wife than a mistress.”
Blinking at him, he thought she was being deliberately obtuse.
“I have spent my seed in you on numerous occasions, Countess. You could be breeding.”
A child. She had long given up the hope that she might be blessed with another. Holding Wynne’s little girl had
resurrected those old needs. Bitterly she met his gaze. “I knew something was troubling you.”
“A woman who knows her lover usually commits her heart as well.”
She sensed he spoke more to himself than to her. “Are you worried about it? There is no need. My husband had his revenge on me. Losing his son has left me barren.”
Mallory’s silence as he contemplated her confession unnerved her. “Do you know this as fact?”
Brook shrugged and stepped away from him. She was careful to remain close because she had no desire to crack her head on the fountain. “There was a great amount of blood, I was told. Tipton warned me that I might never completely recover from the damage done to my womb. So you see, you have worried needlessly.” It was so painful for her to speak of it to anyone. Saying it aloud made it real.

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