Courting the Countess (23 page)

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Authors: Barbara Pierce

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance

BOOK: Courting the Countess
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“No,
mon cher,
” Mrs. Carissa Le Maye announced from the doorway. As she had heard his question, her brandy-colored eyes narrowed dangerously. “If you desire a widow, then I should do,
ouì
?”
 
“It is not like you to be so difficult about a dress fitting.”
“If given a choice, I would prefer that the chore be accomplished at the house,” Brook said to her mother as she waited for the groom to assist the other woman descending from their carriage. Patronizing the shop of the well-known dressmaker in the afternoon was akin to parading about Hyde Park in half dress. She had been highly selective regarding her amusements and the timing of her errands. According to her mother, Brook had been too discriminating.
“Madam Courroux’s skills are in high demand this month,
and we cannot have her tarry on your dress. The Haslakes’ ball is one of the highlights of the season. It is not to be missed. Not receiving an invitation can be likened to being refused a ticket to Almack’s.”
“Mama, I was not given admittance to Almack’s,” Brook said dryly, pretending not to feel dejected. It had hurt more than she had expected when tickets had arrived for her mother-in-law, Lord A’Court, and his sister. The earl had been outraged by the patronesses’ intentional slight toward Brook and had offered to ignore the coveted invitations. His sister had threatened never to eat again if he tried. Elthia, Lady A’Court, added weight to May’s view by reminding the earl of his position in polite society. In the end the trio had attended without Brook.
Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow had also been refused tickets because of their connection to Brook. Her mother had been humiliated by the omission. “Gaining a ticket to Almack’s would have been a sterling stamp of approval on your character, my dear. The
ton
respects the opinions of the patronesses. Their support would have assisted us immensely.”
“I do not care about Almack’s, Mama. Nor will I truckle to a gaggle of females who think they are better than the rest of us.”
Mrs. Ludlow fluttered her hands, checking all directions to make certain her daughter’s contumely had not been overheard.
“Do you know what I do miss?” She sighed wistfully. “Being worthy of belonging. I am not one of them anymore.”
“You will be again, my dear. The Haslakes’ ball is just the beginning for you,” her mother said soothingly.
“Is it?” Or had her beginning started with Mallory on the cliffs in Cornwall? “This is pointless, Mama. I should have remained at Loughwydde.”
“Drivel. Once you see what a lovely ball gown Madam
Courroux has created for you, your melancholy will lift. Just wait and see if it does not.”
 
“What are you doing here, Carissa?” Mallory asked, deliberately keeping his gaze fixed on her face as she unbuttoned her striped spencer and revealed the low-cut bodice of the dress beneath. She handed the garment to his manservant.
“Is this how you greet an old friend, I ask?” She pouted her painted lips. She untied her bonnet and placed it on top of her spencer. “Messing, be a good man and take care of my property.”
“Sir?” the servant queried Mallory for confirmation of his guest’s dismissal.
Sensing an audience would add to the dramatics, he said, “I will summon you when we need you.”
“Very well, my lord.” He closed the door behind him.
Before Mallory realized her intent, Carissa jumped into his arms. His arms closed around her to prevent her from falling. “Bastard! You have been in town for days and still you make me come to you. I should not be rewarding you for your arrogance.” She let her head tip back so she could bestow a kiss on his waiting mouth.
His body stirred at her womanly scent. Mallory pulled her upright abruptly and stepped aside. “More than half a year has elapsed, Carissa, since either one of us has been concerned about the other.”
“Poof! A man who counts the days is one who has been missing me. I have missed you, too, lover.” She teasingly counted the buttons on his waistcoat.
He grabbed her hands and squeezed them to gain her attention. “I am no longer interested in playing games.”
She burst into laughter at the obvious lie. He was a man who adored games, and she had known him long enough to understand some aspects of a man never changed.
“Games with you,” he clarified.
“Ah, you have found someone else to play your bed games with, no?” she asked. There was brittleness to her merriment that she could not conceal in her eyes.
“Kissing and telling was one of your favorite games, not mine,” he coolly informed her.
 
“Lady A’Court, how kind of you to grace my shop with your presence.” Madam Courroux approached them. Her genuflection was greatly exaggerated. She clapped her hands together and two assistants appeared at her side. “Bring me the Countess of A’Court’s ball gown.”
Brook glanced around, anxious at all the attention the other patrons were giving them. “Perhaps we should retire to a private room for the viewing.”
The suggestion wounded the dressmaker. “My lady, I am not ashamed of my work. A dress by Madam Courroux is of the highest quality.”
The woman was working herself up into a state of agitation. Brook exchanged helpless looks with her mother. “I am positive the dress is lovely. I just wanted some priv—”
The dressmaker fended off her protests with a hand gesture. “Even on an unfinished dress, the skills of my seamstresses are unmatched. No one is ever cheated in my shop.”
“Your reputation precedes you, madam,” Brook said, pulling her aside. “It was one of the reasons why I insisted to Lady Haslake that only a dress from your shop would satisfy me. Your establishment provides excellent workmanship and respects the confidentiality of your more distinguished clientele.”
Madam Courroux’s eyes rounded. “Of course, my lady.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You desire to make an entrance at the Haslake ball. This I understand. You want everyone who sees you to wonder where such a splendid ball gown was created.”
Brook would consider herself fortunate if that was the
utmost question on the tip of everyone’s waggling tongues. “Naturally, I will be proud to tell everyone who created my wardrobe for the season.”
One of the assistants approached them carrying a gown. Madam Courroux gasped. “Idiot! What are you doing?” She made a tsking sound. “Lady A’Court is accorded all the courtesies of a respected patroness. Where did you intend for the countess to change into her new ball gown? The street?” She smacked her forehead, aggrieved with her staff. She gave her assistant a shove in the direction she required. “Go … go!”
 
“Now, now,
amoureux,
” Carrisa chastised, gliding away from him. She eased onto the sofa. Her movements were a seductive invitation. “How you have changed if this is how you treat your very good friends.”
Mallory stared down at her. The woman was trouble. He did not know why he was hesitating when the logical action would have been to have Messing toss the exotic witch into the street.
“Were we friends, Carissa? So many months have passed, I cannot recall.”
“Typical man,” she said, sighing, letting her fingers dance across the back of the sofa. “I, on the other hand, do not suffer the lethe a discarded lover often induces.”
“Strange, considering the legions of men who have fallen for your impressive charms only to find themselves abandoned for someone new.”
“Mallory, you speak as if I was the one who ended our affair.” She teasingly traced the edge of her bodice. Like all fools, he fell for her flirtation. Encouraged, she said playfully, “Then again, you and I both know which one of us was the callous villain.”
Picking up a chair, he turned it backward and straddled it. He rested his chin on his hands and admired the little performance she was giving. Shaking his head, he said, “You are a
passable actress, Carissa, but you will never convince me that you shed a tear over me.”
Her passionate nature ignited into a spectacular storm of outrage. Rising off the sofa, she paced in front of him. “Bloodless swine!” she exclaimed, losing the French accent she preferred to affect. “You touched me. Your mouth tasted my flesh as your rod pierced the very heart of me. I closed my eyes afterward with your musky scent stirring my senses. I awoke with your hungered panting teasing my ear. Our coupling was unparalleled. How could you know my body and not know me?”
“Can any man who has lain in your bed answer your question truthfully?” he countered, trying to keep hold of his temper.
“Damn you for your cruelty, Mallory Claeg,” she said, her eyes brilliant with tears.
Hating himself for being the cause of her tears but not fully trusting them, he warily approached her trembling figure. “Carissa, neither one of us was seeking a permanent arrangement when we tumbled into bed.” Needing to soothe, he gently clasped her shoulders and massaged. “It is unlike you to look back. You were fine when we parted. The last I heard, you were dallying with a Prussian nobleman, or was he a spy?”
She laughed at his puzzled expression, as he had hoped she would. “And what if I told you he was both?”
“If there is such a man, leave it to Carissa Le Maye to discover him in London. Did he break your heart, minx?”
“
Non
,” she said, sliding her hand up to his nape. Her damp lashes fluttered up and she held his concerned gaze. “It was already fractured when you left me.”
“What we had between us was not about hearts.”
“You are quite right. It was about
le feu
. This.” Before he grasped her purpose, she pulled his face down to hers. Latching on to his mouth, she poured all her anger and desperation
into the kiss. Their lovemaking had always been tempestuous. His body reacted from recollection rather than actually being aroused by her kiss.
Despite her catching him unawares, Mallory did not want to hurt her. As he struggled against her, she had the agility of a snake. Her tongue pushed into his mouth, demanding that he respond. Whipping his head back, he took an unsteady step backward. The indulgence he had felt because of their past had been purged with his humor.
“My lord, are you there?” a cheerful feminine voice said from the other side of the door. “Good news.” His new visitor managed to open the door. It swung open, carrying the flowery scent of her on the breeze. “Lady A’Court is occupied this afternoon, so we must carry on without her …” Miss Hamblin paused when she noticed he had a visitor. “ … alone.”
An innocent, perhaps, but the lady was shrewd enough to notice Mallory’s wrinkled shirt and Carrisa’s swollen, wet lips. His gut chilled at May’s false smile.
“Forgive my intrusion. Your man told me you were working. When he kept me waiting in the drawing room, I did not think you would mind me sneaking a peek.”
Carissa’s smile revealed plenty of teeth. “You are welcome to watch,
petit agneau
. Neither Mallory nor myself has been troubled by modesty. Who knows? You might even learn something that your prudish governess never taught you.”
Miss Hamblin was a weak opponent for the experienced courtesan. She blushed; the confidence she had shown when she entered the room began to waver. “I-I thought … you said something about meeting again to finish my portrait.”
The situation was damnably awkward. Furious at being caught at doing nothing but looking guilty all the same, Mallory said with an edge to his voice, “There was no need to trouble yourself on my account. I was able to finish the picture in your absence.”
He had never needed her. The invitation had been a ruse to see the countess. Mallory closed his eyes in agony. The sensation he was experiencing took a second to recognize. It was fear.
Messing rushed into the room. Blast his bloody hide for being less diligent about Miss Hamblin.
“Good. There you are, Messing. Why do you not escort Miss Hamblin to the drawing room?” Not caring if he was rude, Mallory took the meddlesome miss by the elbow and literally pushed her at his manservant. “Miss Hamblin, you deserve to view your portrait in the proper setting.”
She opened her mouth to argue.
“I will join you shortly. It is there you may thank me for immortalizing your beauty. Though the pleasure was all mine.” He shut the door on her and leaned against the wood.
Carissa clutched her heart and laughed. Spinning once, she could not seem to contain her amusement.
“Thank you,” Mallory snarled. “I am thrilled my thorny predicament amuses you so. Do you know what kind of tale that young miss will spin? Or how many people she will tell?”
Laughing heartily, she said, “Oh, I can fathom a wicked guess or two.”
His mind was already moving on to the countess’s reaction to Miss Hamblin’s version of what she had witnessed. “I am blameless, madam. You threw yourself at me!”
“Quite true. I will tell everyone that I instigated the kiss.”
“No!” he said, even more horrified by what his former mistress might concoct. “Swear on all of your dead husbands’ souls that you will not entertain anyone with the tale. The less said the better.”

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