Courting the Countess (5 page)
Read Courting the Countess Online
Authors: Barbara Pierce
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance
Not meeting her sharp gaze in the mirror, Brook said, “I have spoken with Mrs. Gordy. She will return shortly with your water. I hope it will be more to your liking.” Conversing with her mother-in-law had never been easy, especially since Brook was treated like a servant who had transgressed.
“Your household is a mess, Lady A’Court.” The dowager let her head fall back while her servant massaged her scalp. For practical reasons her graying hair was cut short as a gentleman’s. “Your servants cannot carry out even the simplest orders, and one or two of them border on insolent. That housekeeper of yours must go. I suppose it is difficult to find competent help in these remote areas.”
Brook and her maid exchanged looks. On Elthia, Lady A’Court’s last visit she had suggested that Morna should be sacked. Brook had naturally ignored the dictate, because her maid was clean, pleasant, and had served her well. If she had
listened to the dowager’s commands she would have replaced the entire household staff three times over.
listened to the dowager’s commands she would have replaced the entire household staff three times over.
“It is good of you to worry about the management of my household, madam. However, do not trouble yourself on my account. I will handle the matter.” She gracefully inclined her head. “I will bid you good night. Rest well.”
“I know one or two families locally who might be able to assist you in this area. Let me think on it and we will discuss it tomorrow.”
Sometimes Brook wondered if the older woman could hear her. She looked into the mirror half-expecting to see nothing. “Till tomorrow then.” She quit the room feeling no better than when she had entered.
Brook passed her parents’ room, barely pausing at their threshold. Since she heard no sounds from within, she assumed that they had already retired. Heading for her own bedchamber, she considered her duties concluded for the night. She had already spoken her “good nights” to the earl and his sister. Brook needed her rest for the arguments she would face tomorrow. Her family had not given up on the notion of her returning with them to London.
They had respected her decision to remain in Cornwall for two years. Elthia, Lady A’Court, should have been thrilled with the idea of her beloved son’s widow spending the rest of her life mourning him. She had been less than satisfied with the match; however, Lyon had had his way. Brook closed her eyes, letting the pain flood her. Why had she not seen past his handsome face? He had seduced her with poetry and compliments and she had foolishly believed him. The sting of tears burned her eyes, but the tears never fell. She had not cried since the day Lord Tipton had told her that her husband had murdered the child in her womb.
Walking into her bedchamber, she placed the lamp on the table along the wall. Her maid was not likely to return anytime soon. Resigned, Brook began the task of removing the
pins from her hair. Sensing that she was not alone, she turned toward her bed and blinked in surprise. May Hamblin was sitting on her bed.
pins from her hair. Sensing that she was not alone, she turned toward her bed and blinked in surprise. May Hamblin was sitting on her bed.
“Forgive me, Cousin. You seemed so lost in thought that I did not want to startle you,” she said, hopping off the bed.
Like Brook, she had not dressed for bed. “Do you need me to summon a maid? Mother A’Court should be finished with Morna by now.” Brook reached for the lamp.
“No, the maid can tend me later. That is not why I am here,” May said, fidgeting with the ribbons at her waist. The nervous gesture seemed contrary to her nature. “I wanted to discuss Mr. Claeg.”
He was the last person Brook wanted to think about before she climbed into bed. Nor did she want to listen to May romanticize the scoundrel. As she removed one of the last of the pins from her hair, the heavy blond length cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Brook did not consider herself a vain creature, but she thought her hair was her crowning beauty. Lyon had often complimented its thickness and color. Blindly in love with him, she did not suspect early on that he was thinking of another woman when he reached for Brook’s hair. Later he had shown her that the one thing she prized could be wrapped around his fist and used to subdue and punish her.
“My goodness! You are plucking more hair than stray pins out,” May said, coming up behind her. She guided Brook into the chair in front of her dressing table. “Here, let me play maid for you.” Biting her lower lip and with more care than Brook had been managing, May removed the remaining pins that had been concealed in her hair.
“Mr. Claeg just recently leased his cottage. I am not certain I can tell you much about the man,” she said, feeling obligated since May had been kind and helpful.
Reaching around her and picking up the brush, the young woman began the task of smoothing out the snarls left behind
from Brook’s rash pin search. “Oh, he explained all about coming here to paint the cliffs. Mrs. Ludlow was telling me that Mr. Claeg has been visiting you on and off this past year.”
from Brook’s rash pin search. “Oh, he explained all about coming here to paint the cliffs. Mrs. Ludlow was telling me that Mr. Claeg has been visiting you on and off this past year.”
Brook and her mother were going to have a talk about her lack of discretion. She managed a small shrug. “He is not the first artist who has come to sketch and paint the landscape.”
From May’s frustrated expression, it was not the explanation she had sought. “When he comes here, he always calls on you.”
“True. Being a gentleman, he feels obligated,” she said, not even believing her own words.
The other woman laughed. “Have you not heard what they say about him? From all accounts, the man shirks duty. Gracious me, the man actually married his mistress!”
Being friends with his sister, Amara, Brook had learned bits and pieces about Mallory Claeg’s life in the extraneous manner one does about a stranger. She could recall that she had sympathized with the family, since they had been scandalized by his actions. “I heard it was a love match. Besides it being none of our concern, the lady in question died many years ago. Tragedy can change a person,” she said, thinking of her own losses. Odd, she had never considered that she and Mr. Claeg shared that in common. “Why are we discussing this?”
May had ceased brushing Brook’s hair. Clutching the hairbrush to her breast, she said, “My brother has spoken to me at length regarding Mr. Claeg’s presence at Loughwydde. He worries that the gentleman’s attentions toward you might be less than honorable. You have been so fragile since your husband’s death.”
Considering she had watched May flirt with Mr. Claeg all afternoon and evening, Brook thought this lecture on her behavior reeked of hypocrisy. However, May was only the messenger, she reminded herself. It was the new Lord A’Court who was overbearing.
“You may tell your brother that Mr. Claeg has never behaved in a questionable manner.” There was no need to point out that he had almost kissed her in the front parlor. “He also happens to be the older brother of one of my dearest friends, someone whom I have neglected since I departed London. His sister would never have forgiven him if he had not paid me a call or two.”
The explanation was reasonable if Amara had known where Brook was. Only Mr. Claeg had discovered her small sanctuary, and he had kept her whereabouts a secret. He had not asked her why or even mentioned his sister since his return to Cornwall. Perhaps because of the promise she gained from him, he had deduced that speaking of Amara would be too upsetting. Did he, like Ham, believe Brook was too fragile? The thought was mildly irritating.
“Please forgive my prying,” May begged. “Our connection is not of blood; nevertheless, when Ham inherited the A’Court title your well-being also became a matter of interest to him. He is a good man. You have been through so much and deserve a little happiness in your life.”
Brook rose and twisted in the chair until she was facing May. She offered her hand and the other woman clasped it within her own, accepting the silent apology. “I treasure your friendship. Please convey to your brother that his fears about Mr. Claeg are groundless. Like you, he will be returning to town for the season.”
“I am not so certain.”
She managed a small smile. “Of course he will. He came to paint. Once he has finished his task, he will move on.”
“You misunderstood me. I was referring to Mr. Claeg’s interest in you. My brother was not just being overprotective. On more than one occasion, his gaze strayed in your direction.”
Brook parted her lips in surprise. How could the man
make her feel flattered and annoyed in the same moment? “You are lending credence to coincidence.”
make her feel flattered and annoyed in the same moment? “You are lending credence to coincidence.”
May put the brush down on the dressing table. “Possibly. Just be careful, Cousin. Mr. Claeg has the notorious habit of choosing widows for his mistresses.”
The countess was altering her daily routine. He would be flattering himself to think she was deliberately avoiding him. Mallory did not mind her edginess. Nonetheless, he was guessing her family was distracting her. The new Lord A’Court did not trust him, and with good reason. The pompous earl sensed from the very beginning what Mallory wanted from the lovely widow because he wanted her, too. How ironic the recipient of their mutual lust was blissfully ignorant of the chaos she was causing.
Then again, maybe she was not so blind. There had been awareness in her eyes when Mallory had hauled her slender body against his. She may prefer that he seek his affections elsewhere. Miss Hamblin was a sweet, fine-looking woman who hinted by her actions the other day that she would have welcomed a brief dalliance. It was a pity her classic beauty did not stir him. One day he might immortalize her on canvas, but she would not grace his bed.
He had risen early. Mallory used the morning light to appease his muse. He had finished several watercolors of what he considered the countess’s cliffs and one stark seascape. It was not his favorite medium. He preferred working in oils. However, watercolors were advantageous for outdoor work because he required fewer supplies and there was a quicker drying time. Satisfied with his morning work, he returned to
his thatch-roofed cottage and dropped off his supplies. He had hired a local woman who tidied up after him and prepared his meals. Mrs. Whitby arrived late in the morning. She remained there as long as it took to clean up, restock his pantry, and leave him with enough food so he would not starve to death. He tried to explain that he required very little when he was painting, but she was determined to earn the generous wages he paid her. Mallory grabbed the small basket of food she had assembled for him and waved farewell to her. More out of habit than plan, he retrieved his sketching book and a few black lead pencils and tucked them into the basket.
his thatch-roofed cottage and dropped off his supplies. He had hired a local woman who tidied up after him and prepared his meals. Mrs. Whitby arrived late in the morning. She remained there as long as it took to clean up, restock his pantry, and leave him with enough food so he would not starve to death. He tried to explain that he required very little when he was painting, but she was determined to earn the generous wages he paid her. Mallory grabbed the small basket of food she had assembled for him and waved farewell to her. More out of habit than plan, he retrieved his sketching book and a few black lead pencils and tucked them into the basket.
The walk to Loughwydde was not arduous. The cottage’s proximity suggested that it might have once been part of the property. Perhaps some of the surrounding land had been sold off at the baron’s death. Whistling a tune, Mallory strode across the open area past the stone barn. From the corner of his eye he saw a blur of muted hues coming at him. The impact was not particularly painful. Dropping the basket, he wrapped his arm around his prize to steady himself. Mallory was pleased with his good fortune.
“Countess, there is no need for these outrageous stratagems,” he said into her shocked face. “If you want me to touch you, all you have to do is ask.”
Sputtering incoherent denials, Lady A’Court placed her hands on his chest and shoved. Hard. “I was not trying to touch you, oaf! What are you doing skulking about on my lands?”
Her straw bonnet had been dislodged and dangled by its ribbons down her back. The careless knot she had twisted her hair into was coming undone around her face. She wore a lilac spencer trimmed with swan’s down at her wrists and across her bosom over a practical brown dress. Mallory gave her feet a passing appraisal and was pleased the ankle-length skirt revealed half boots.
“Good, you have something sensible on your feet. Let us go,” he said, taking her by the hand and leaning sideways to grab the basket in the other.
“I am not going anywhere with you, Mr. Claeg.”
“Of course you will.” He nodded at the house. “You have the choice of walking in the woods with me on a fine spring day or returning to the house and allowing your family to badger you into something you do not want to do.”
She resisted his subtle tug by keeping her feet firmly locked in place. “And why do you presume you would be the better choice?”
He took a step toward her and leaned close so that she could feel his breath on her face. She shivered in reaction, confirming what he had sensed. Beneath all that ice, the lady hungered. “Because any sensible lady would rather spend the afternoon with a handsome scoundrel than being lectured by disapproving relatives.”
Mallory Claeg was correct. She had been delaying her return to the house for that very reason. Not that she would admit it to
him
. He already looked so pleased with himself, smiling down at her with those sorcerer eyes, daring her to defy convention for a few hours. Oh, she was tempted! Brook was biting a hole in her tongue to keep from giving her consent.
him
. He already looked so pleased with himself, smiling down at her with those sorcerer eyes, daring her to defy convention for a few hours. Oh, she was tempted! Brook was biting a hole in her tongue to keep from giving her consent.
Her inner turmoil must have been apparent on her face. His jaw tightening in determination barely registered as a warning before he bowed low and threw her over his shoulder.
She clawed at his back seeking purchase in her upside-down circumstances. “Put me down!”
He shifted her with a series of bounces, trying to find a comfortable balance. She groaned, losing her bonnet. Her stomach roiled from the abuse. “Settle down, Countess. I predict things could become awkward if you alert anyone.”
Awkward was the least of her worries. He spun them once around, testing his balance. She covered her mouth with her
hand to silence any sound. It might have been laughter, but her corset was digging into various parts of her and it was making her a little queasy. Mr. Claeg had a firm hand on her backside. The pressure kept her in place, although she could have sworn he had caressed the round curve of her bottom. His gait should have been unsteady with her on his shoulder and the basket in his other hand. Somehow he managed both. He did not appear to be overburdened with muscles and yet he felt hard beneath his clothes. No one noticed as he carried her away from the house and toward the woods.
hand to silence any sound. It might have been laughter, but her corset was digging into various parts of her and it was making her a little queasy. Mr. Claeg had a firm hand on her backside. The pressure kept her in place, although she could have sworn he had caressed the round curve of her bottom. His gait should have been unsteady with her on his shoulder and the basket in his other hand. Somehow he managed both. He did not appear to be overburdened with muscles and yet he felt hard beneath his clothes. No one noticed as he carried her away from the house and toward the woods.
One of them had to be sensible. “You have had your jest. Enough, Mr. Claeg. Put me down.”
He twisted his face toward her and pressed a kiss into her corseted side. “I like where you are. Besides, Countess, I thought you would enjoy having me be your beast of burden.”
The journey had shaken out many of the pins securing her hair. The loose knot bounced against the side of her head. “What do you hope to accomplish with this nonsense?”
He did not answer her straightaway. When he spoke, he said, “I was looking for someone to share the sun with and I thought of you.”
Brook did not have an acerbic rejoinder for what on the surface seemed like a reasonable, if not sweet, explanation. She winced, instinctively ducking when a low branch snagged some of her hair. Her hands clutched fistfuls of his coat. “Another minute like this and I shall lose my breakfast, Mr. Claeg. I demand—”
Her world twirled again as he set her on her feet. The remaining pins could not support the weight of her hair. It tumbled free down her back. He had to hold her upright until the dizziness subsided. Brook glanced around, noticing that the woods concealed them.
“Feeling steady?” he asked, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “I have you until some of the blood leaves your face and pumps back into your limbs.”
She shook off his hands and staggered back a step. “You most certainly do not have me.” Brook gave her spencer a furious jerk. There was nothing she could do about her hair. It was hopeless to try to fix it without her pins.
“Well, not in the manner that first comes to mind,” he conceded, grinning at her useless attempts to rectify her disheveled appearance. “Then again, my hand was on your rump. You cannot imagine my delight, Countess, to discover that you were hiding a bit of flesh under all that fabric and whalebone. At first glance, you have the build of a boy.”
A boy! Oh, the nerve of the man. She had always been slender and, in truth, had lost too much weight after she had lost the baby. However, she had slowly recovered and likely weighed slightly more than she had before her husband’s death. Pure feminine ire radiated throughout her body. “I refuse to remain another minute and discuss my inadequacies with you, Mr. Claeg.” Expecting resistance, she charged him.
“Hold, you little fury,” he commanded, picking her up off her feet. The indulgence in his expression faded when she kicked him. Dropping Brook onto her feet, he backed her up against the nearest tree. He blatantly used his body to keep her from escaping. “I used to believe you were a sweet little thing. All fancy lace and meringue … .” He let his words trail off. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have the devil’s own temper?”
She could see his pulse beating in his throat. During their struggle, his hair had come free from its queue. The luxuriant mass with rich hues of browns threaded with honey curled slightly as it rested on his shoulders. She was amazed by how much she wanted to reach up and touch his uncivilized mane.
“I have been complimented countless times for my agreeable nature.” Mr. Claeg snorted in disbelief. “I speak the truth. If you find me disagreeable, you can blame your uncanny ability for provocation. You could goad a saint into committing violence.”
He was looking at her with that brooding intensity that seemed to penetrate her skin. Inside her half boots her toes curled. “Ah, that explains it,” he said, pulling away from her.
It was immediately apparent that their proximity had inflamed him. The impressive length of his manhood swelled notably despite his snug breeches. Brook remained against the tree as if he still held her in place. She could barely breathe, wondering what he was planning to do to her. They were alone in the woods. Encumbered by her skirts, she could not hope to elude him. Would he throw her down onto the leafy loam and slake his lust?
Lyon had explained to her that a male could not control his reaction to a willing female. On the eve of their wedding, dressed in a white nightgown, she had expected a night of gentle touches, whispered assurances, and passionate declarations of love. Instead her new husband had come to her drunk on whatever spirits he and his friends had been toasting their nuptials with. Without ceremony, Lyon had unfastened his breeches, pushed up the fabric of her nightgown, and forged himself into her virginal body. She had sobbed during his rough invasion. Afterward, he had told her that she was to blame for his fierce ardor. She had looked so beautiful waiting there so patiently for him to pluck her virginity that he had succumbed to his baser instincts. He had accused her of trying to manipulate him with her tears. Angry, Lyon had stormed out of their bedchamber. She had spent the rest of her wedding night alone.
“I pray I am not the reason for that sorrowful look.”
Startled, Brook wondered how many minutes had passed while she stared through him into the past. “I beg your pardon.” Had she been gazing at his crotch all this time? If she could expire from embarrassment, she would have happily surrendered.
She flinched at the hand he offered her. Muttering something under his breath, Mr. Claeg said, “We have tarried here
long enough, Countess. Besides, I have a better spot in mind.”
long enough, Countess. Besides, I have a better spot in mind.”
Numbly she put her hand in his larger one. He led her farther into the woods, obviously comfortable with his surroundings. Why was he waiting? Mr. Claeg strolled with her hand in hand as if he were blissfully ignorant of his arousal. He was not demanding that she ease his pain, nor was he railing at her for placing him in this awkward predicament. The man had a notorious past and a string of mistresses. He was not the sort of man who denied himself anything. Her back was so stiff she hardly needed a corset. She felt like she was bracing for an expected blow that was never delivered. The anticipation was making her crazy.
“We’ll stop here,” he said, abruptly snapping her out of her private musings.
“Here,” she echoed, looking at where he had brought her. It was a small clearing, not unlike countless others, with the exception that spring had added color to the landscape. In this section of the woods, bluebells had created a fragrant carpet for them. “I had not realized the bluebells were blooming. It is a lovely spot, Mr. Claeg.”
Brook tried not to panic when he set down the basket and began to remove his coat. He shook it out and laid it on the bed of flowers. Mr. Claeg looked up sharply. She was terrible at subterfuge. Everything she was feeling was there for him to read.
“For you,” he gently explained, motioning for her to be seated. “I do not mind a little dirt.” At her hesitation, a wistful quality dimmed his natural exuberance. “Nor do I invite a lady I admire out into the woods so I can cruelly ravish her.”
Lady A’Court sank onto his coat. Her rapid descent hinted that her compliance was dictated by a slight fainting spell more than her willingness to please him. Mallory wished he had not spoken his dark musings aloud. He had just grown weary of her staring at him ever since she had noticed his inopportune
arousal like he was a vile debaucher of virtuous widows. Was it his fault that bumping up against her sped up his heart and pulsed his blood into his nether regions? The countess was a prickly lady, but he had no desire to terrify her.
arousal like he was a vile debaucher of virtuous widows. Was it his fault that bumping up against her sped up his heart and pulsed his blood into his nether regions? The countess was a prickly lady, but he had no desire to terrify her.
Mallory crouched down beside her. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and braced himself upright with his arms. From his side view he could see that her color was improving and she was not dragging in air like a winded horse. He was content to listen to the birds and the soothing creaking and rustling of the trees.
“I have been behaving horribly. Will you accept my apology?” she quietly asked.
“I am afraid not, Countess.” She gasped at his rudeness, extracting a rueful smile from him. “I meant that you do not owe me one. I am an impassioned, sometimes selfish man who shares my joys and sorrows with whoever happens to be around. I understand bad temper,” he said, keeping his demeanor friendly. “We can discuss what upset you earlier if you like.”
Other books
Dreamer by Steven Harper
Strokes Vol #3 by Delilah Devlin
The Playboy Prince by Kate Hewitt
The Silver Dragon by Jean S. MacLeod
Murder at the Spa by Stefanie Matteson
Toss the Bouquet by Ruth Logan Herne
Backstreet Child by Harry Bowling
The Circle: Rain's Story by Blue, Treasure E.
Goldilocks by Ruth Sanderson