Read Courting the Countess Online
Authors: Barbara Pierce
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance
Courting the Countess (8 page)
“Oh, Ham, so am I,” she said, her face poignant with regret. “If you both will excuse me.” The countess separated from the earl. Picking up her skirts, she ran toward the house.
Watching her run away, Mallory figured both he and A’Court were at fault. He knew why he was feeling lousy, but he was very curious about Lord A’Court’s question. “I assume there was more news.”
They continued in her wake, not making any effort to catch up to her. Mallory sensed the earl was deciding how much he should reveal. “The family wants her to return to London. She is … stubborn.”
Yes, indeed. One could see it in her stance and the way she lifted her chin. She had not always been strong, so what she had become after her grief waned was all the more remarkable. Though one thing was certain: the countess was not about to let another man rule over her. Mallory was not about to presume that he understood the logic of the feminine
mind, but he had figured out that the past was tied to London. She had snipped those threads, and the decision had held for two years. With everyone clamoring for her to change her mind, the next few weeks were going to be interesting.
mind, but he had figured out that the past was tied to London. She had snipped those threads, and the decision had held for two years. With everyone clamoring for her to change her mind, the next few weeks were going to be interesting.
“The countess has a rather fierce opinion about not returning to town. Why are you convinced you can succeed where her mother has failed?”
“Her fears are groundless and I can prove it if she would just allow me the chance. As my bride—”
“Bride,” Mallory silkily echoed. “She has accepted your proposal?” His intuition told him it was not true, but it seemed fair to hear A’Court’s denial before he murdered the man. How dare the man propose marriage to his soon-to-be mistress!
“No.” He scrunched his face in disgust. “She was not ready to hear my declaration. In my haste, I had forgotten how fragile she is. I hate to speak ill of family, but my cousin Lyon was not a patient man. Anyone could see that his marriage to Lord Lanston’s daughter was destined to be an unhappy one. Her youth and effervescence were contrary to the exacting, somber nature of my older cousin. It was clear that she adored her husband, but his need to control her bruised that gentle spirit. On reflection, I can see my error. I was too forceful.” Lord A’Court turned to Mallory in horror. “Mayhap I reminded her too much of Lyon?”
Only if fate was generous,
thought Mallory. Well, now he knew it was A’Court’s proposal rather than his appearance that had astonished her. “An intolerable quandary. I do not envy you, sir. If I may offer a suggestion?”
thought Mallory. Well, now he knew it was A’Court’s proposal rather than his appearance that had astonished her. “An intolerable quandary. I do not envy you, sir. If I may offer a suggestion?”
“I would welcome your counsel, Mr. Claeg.”
“Grant her the patience denied her in marriage to your cousin,” Mallory suggested. “Go slowly. Let her set the pace.” If he interpreted the countess’s quick escape correctly, her pace would be a snail’s shimmering glide into never.
“You have offered sound advice. I thank you, sir.” Lord
A’Court inclined his head. “The day Lady A’Court accepts my proposal, it will be you, Mr. Claeg, whom I will praise for the success of our tender courtship.”
A’Court inclined his head. “The day Lady A’Court accepts my proposal, it will be you, Mr. Claeg, whom I will praise for the success of our tender courtship.”
He smiled and accepted the earl’s appreciative pat on the back. Guile was akin to betrayal and Mallory had mastered both at an early age. He did not feel a twinge of guilt for his interference. A’Court would not be the first man who had lost the lady he coveted to Mallory’s charming subterfuge. Although he had thought he had outgrown it, the skin of a rogue fit him perfectly.
Mallory Claeg was up to mischief. Brook could not shake the nagging suspicion, even though his behavior was irreproachable at Loughwydde. Ham had been unconcerned about the artist’s daily presence when she had mentioned it to him. The morning he had departed for London, he had commented that it eased his mind that a gentleman was nearby to check on them. She had managed quite well on her own these past two years and she had not needed or wanted Mr. Claeg’s lauded presence.
“Countess, have you fallen asleep again at the window?” Mr. Claeg winked at May, who giggled. Brook winced, wondering for the hundredth time how a pretty young woman could have developed such an obnoxious laugh. “I can hear your soft snores from here. Are you having difficulty sleeping at night?”
She did not bother to acknowledge his teasing with an irritated glare. The man was immune to them. “I sleep quite adequately, thank you. Grandmother Byres must have fallen asleep again.” Brook checked on the elderly woman and she had indeed nodded off in her chair. “Sleeping like that cannot be good for her.”
“Let her be,” he ordered. “Her back is troubling her again.”
“How do you know?” she asked, annoyed that he had been included in the intimate dealings of their family.
“She told me,” he said, peering over his sketching book at her. “That particular chair is comfortable. She is bothering no one by sleeping in it. Now why do you not tell us what is so troubling that you have spent the past hour sulking about it in silence?”
May, who had been sitting in the same position, risked Mr. Claeg’s wrath by stretching her stiff arms. “Perhaps, she is pining for my brother.” She closed her eyes and concealed a yawn with her hand. The young woman was unaware that her explanation had put frowns on both of her companions’ faces.
“I am not sulking, nor am I pining for your brother, May,” Brook argued, her crossed arms and frown noticeably belying her statement.
“Ennui, then,” May suggested. Poised on a chair, she had chosen a white muslin dress with an orange band around the waist for the afternoon. A matching orange ribbon was threaded through her curly black locks and tied into a jaunty bow on the left side of her head. She represented youth, beauty, confidence, and ingenuousness. She had everything Brook felt she lacked. The chasm of their ages seemed to span decades instead of a mere two years.
“Maybe,” Brook said, not really interested in pursuing the source of her agitation. She had figured out the answer days ago. Nothing short of torture would gain a confession.
“Miss Hamblin, you have strayed from the position we had agreed upon,” Mr. Claeg chastised his model.
“Sitting is tedious,” the young woman complained.
He was unsympathetic. “Endure.”
She repositioned her hands until he grunted his approval. “This is no longer fun,” she rebelliously muttered.
“I never promised fun. I promised art,” he replied, distracted by the woman on the paper.
Brook recalled him mentioning that his sister, Amara, had sat for him. She could not imagine her friend had displayed
any more patience than May while the artist within the man demanded perfection.
any more patience than May while the artist within the man demanded perfection.
Too absorbed in his work to notice, she allowed her gaze to move away from the scenery outside to his bowed head as she had done numerous times during the past hour. He possessed a male beauty deserving of an artist’s study. She would have been amazed if he had not received an offer to model.
He was not vain. She had encountered gentlemen who were enamored with their own beauty and how others responded to it. Mr. Claeg was not oblivious to the female admiration his good looks gathered. He simply used them like another man might use his hands. His face was a beautiful tool that he could manipulate for his benefit.
She had ordered him to leave her alone. In his typical manner, he had complied, but on his terms. They spent their afternoons together, but the rapport he had teased her into had cooled. He had told her that sketching May was his reason for visiting Loughwydde. Several hours later he had convinced her and the rest of the family. Since Mr. Claeg refused to display an unfinished sketch, most of the family had lost interest in their guest. It had fallen on her shoulders as mistress of the house to act as chaperone for Ham’s sister. Being relegated to something not worth protecting from blackguards and fortune hunters had been depressing. No one seemed to worry that Mr. Claeg might take advantage of her, and why not? He showed more affection to Grandmother Byres than he did to her these days.
Maybe that was the explanation for her distrust. The drastic change in his affection was
too
convincing.
Unless he had feigned his passion,
she mused, rubbing her temples. No, she did not believe it was possible for a man to fake his physical response. Alas! It was all too confusing.
too
convincing.
Unless he had feigned his passion,
she mused, rubbing her temples. No, she did not believe it was possible for a man to fake his physical response. Alas! It was all too confusing.
“All that frowning would give anyone a headache,” Mr. Claeg said from behind his sketching book.
“Are you speaking to me?” She flinched, realizing her fingers were digging into her temples. Brook let her hands drop into her lap.
He made a concurring noise in his throat as if he were giving her a portion of his attention. “Your eyes have always reminded me of a cat. A brilliant blue fire that sears a man’s soul. They are hell on my concentration, Countess.”
She had yet to glimpse his face and yet he had been aware of her actions. Brook felt the tingling heat of mortification.
May moved out of position again and glanced back at Brook. Her eyes narrowed, trying to see if her assessment agreed with the artist’s. She was not happy with her conclusions.
Brook came up from her seat in a flurry of motion. Mr. Claeg’s head jerked up and his gaze locked onto hers. There was no doubt she had gained his entire concentration; perhaps she had it all along. A thousand excuses fluttered in her mind, but her tongue felt thick.
“Grab your mantle, Miss Hamblin,” Mr. Claeg directed, not taking his gaze off her. “The air is stale in this room. Soon I will be napping alongside Mrs. Byres if I do not act. A walk will cure your headache, Countess. Dress warm and wear sturdy shoes,” he warned both of them as he rose and stretched. “The beach will serve our purposes.”
Mallory was pleased the ladies had heeded the unspoken impatience in his voice and had rushed to complete their tasks. Miss Hamblin was exuberant to be free of the pose he had confined her to and was willing to partake in the adventure he had presented. The idea had come to him as he discreetly observed the countess at the window. What had she seen through the glass panes? Was it a reflection in the past, where the specter of regret haunted her, or was it the future, where she imagined how splendid her life would be once she rid herself of family and undesired neighbors?
The Ludlow sisters had joined them. Honey—or was it Ivy?; he had difficulty recalling which one was which—was distracting Miss Hamblin with her animated chatter. He was secretly grateful. The earl’s sister was a shameless minx. If Mallory had been younger, he would have enjoyed her favors immensely. Her directness was refreshing, but he predicted the worldliness she faked would lead her to heartache. Despite her bravado, the young woman owned a tender heart. What kind of brittle creature would she become if a callous gentleman shattered it?
“You are not filled with your usual vigor, Lady A’Court,” Mallory said, slowing so she could catch up. He suspected she was deliberately putting distance between them. After all his plotting to gain an invitation to Loughwydde, the telling action was intolerable. “Take my arm,” he commanded. “Miss Hamblin, continue on toward the beach.”
“You are joining us, Mr. Claeg, are you not?” The sisters giggled at the demand May had threaded into her question.
“Naturally. I am just too old to be skipping across the meadow picking spring flowers.” The trio collapsed into one another laughing. He encouraged them away with a gesture. “Begone, children. Your elders will eventually hobble their way down to the beach.”
“Who are you calling elderly?” The countess sneered, shaking off his assistance. “Miss Hamblin is two years younger than I am. She scarcely qualifies as a child.”
“And I am six years older than you. Positively ancient from your sisters’ point of view,” he reasoned, preferring her surliness to the polite indifference she had bestowed on him each day since their amorous play in the woods. “You can relax, Countess. With three impressionable young ladies underfoot I am not likely to seduce you.”
She smirked. “It was not even a concern, Mr. Claeg.”
The air and the lady’s prickliness had restored his good humor. Stepping in front of her, he leaned in close, allowing
his mouth to hover invitingly above hers. “Shall I give us both something to worry over?”
his mouth to hover invitingly above hers. “Shall I give us both something to worry over?”
“Keep away,” she whispered, not realizing she had instinctively tilted her mouth up to his.
He let loose a low growl of frustration and pulled away. “I have and see where it has gotten me.”
“Showing up daily to sketch and flirt with Miss Hamblin is not my definition of restraint.”
“The devil it is not,” he grumbled. “Have I not kept my hands off you, woman? I think about touching you with each passing minute and still I have managed to resist.”
“Why is it an ordeal? I figured women were interchangeable, like a pair of shoes or a frock coat.”
Mallory stared her down in mute fury. Temper had pushed him to say something similar and he was honest enough with himself to concede there was some truth hidden within the mocking exaggeration. “Not all women.”
Not you
. The admission remained lodged in his throat. “My wife, Mirabella,” he said hoarsely, looking ahead and checking on the young ladies under his protection, “she was unlike any lady I had met. Untamed and possessing a daring that rivaled my own, she seemed my natural mate. It mattered little that she had belonged to another gentleman. When I claimed her as my bride, I willingly forfeited my honor.”
Not you
. The admission remained lodged in his throat. “My wife, Mirabella,” he said hoarsely, looking ahead and checking on the young ladies under his protection, “she was unlike any lady I had met. Untamed and possessing a daring that rivaled my own, she seemed my natural mate. It mattered little that she had belonged to another gentleman. When I claimed her as my bride, I willingly forfeited my honor.”
It had been the first of many losses he had suffered as the result of their passionate alliance. The countess was not the only one who had loved unwisely. “So, you see, even I occasionally looked deeper than the delights of the flesh.”
“You must have loved your wife very much,” she wistfully said, after a thoughtful period of silence.
Mirabella’s death had almost destroyed him. “I have had over six years to learn how to live my life without her,” he said, feeling an echo of the old grief.
“You had broken with your family back then; however, I do recall there were a myriad of rumors about the party you
and your wife had attended and her death. It was an accident, was it not?” she asked, sneaking a quick glance at him, judging his willingness to speak of the matter.
and your wife had attended and her death. It was an accident, was it not?” she asked, sneaking a quick glance at him, judging his willingness to speak of the matter.
She was not the first woman to ask him questions about his dead wife. Their scandalous marriage and Mirabella’s tragic accident were the stuff out of which foolish young maidens spun their romantic fantasies. Even one of his poet friends had innocently offered once to immortalize their love in verse. Mallory’s companions had to drag him off the frightened gentleman. No one had understood that there was nothing romantic about being covered in your wife’s blood and gore while she bled to death in your arms.
“If my goal had been merely to steal Marquis De Lanoy’s mistress from him, I would have been heralded as a hero in the gentlemen’s clubs scattered about London. For loving a woman who had been selling herself to the highest bidder since she was fourteen, most considered me moonstruck. As for the marriage”—he opened his arms in a defenseless motion—“it closed many fashionable doors, including my family’s. While it also opened others, still fashionable and yet reserved for the less savory characters of the
ton
.”
ton
.”
“I am not certain I understand.”
“I would have been astonished, Countess, if you had.” She had been sheltered, first by her family and then, as Lord A’Court had explained, by her unyielding husband. How could she possibly understand the decadence and debauchery that idleness and too much money instilled in some gentlemen? “Our notoriety as a couple had granted us entrée into a society ruled by the perverse.”
“You were outcasts.”
He smiled slightly. “On the contrary, we had found people who were like us. It was a garish world I readily immersed myself in because it scorned everything my pretentious family valued.”
They had come to the cliffs. The other ladies had reached
the beach, and their distant shrieks of laughter while they played rose up with the muted roar of the rushing sea. “Here, take my hand.” Giving her no choice, Mallory guided her down the stone stairs one of her ancestors had hewn from the natural slope of one of the lower outcroppings of rock. The countess moved cautiously, but her ease revealed she had maneuvered the stairs countless times on her own.
the beach, and their distant shrieks of laughter while they played rose up with the muted roar of the rushing sea. “Here, take my hand.” Giving her no choice, Mallory guided her down the stone stairs one of her ancestors had hewn from the natural slope of one of the lower outcroppings of rock. The countess moved cautiously, but her ease revealed she had maneuvered the stairs countless times on her own.
Miss Hamblin, who was near the water’s edge, spotted them and waved. Mallory returned her greeting. Neither he nor Lady A’Court made any effort to join the girls. She climbed up onto one of the large rocks and sat. He was content to stand. They both stared out at the water.
“This new life you had created with Mirabella,” she said, continuing their conversation. “Were you happy?”
Leave it to the lady to condense what he had viewed as a complicated debacle into a simplistic balance of joy and sorrow. “I was never one who scrutinized my actions too closely,” he lied, and then caught himself. He had begun telling her about one of the darkest years of his life as a test, both for her and for him. “That is not quite true. I told you that I thought Mirabella was my natural mate. A female copy of myself, if you will. We were both selfish, indulgent beings who brought out the worst in each other.”
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