The Countess Confessions (7 page)

F
or most of his life, the Honourable Michael Rowland had managed to live between two worlds. Then one day he realized he didn’t have to make the choice. Society harbored deep prejudices toward his natural father’s people, but also a fascination for their wandering ways. Baron Rowland, the man who’d raised Michael as his own son and heir, had come to terms with Michael’s heritage the year after his wife had died. The baron had adored her. He would never marry another. But he wanted a son, and Michael was an easygoing child who never gave him a spot of trouble, unlike his sweet younger sister, who had been a magnet for mischief from the night she had climbed out of her cradle.

The baron had his failings. He drank to excess. He grew distressed if Michael showed an interest in his gypsy ancestry. But Lord Rowland had never told anyone that Michael was not his. Emily was the one who seemed to have been sired by a wild seed.

“If I think we’ve been followed,” Michael said to the maid sitting immobile on his saddle as if rigor mortis had set in, “we won’t return to the house. We’ll go along the hollow ways.”

“The hollow ways?”

“Tracks that have been made by rain or wagons transporting goods by drivers who don’t want to be spotted. Try to lean back against me and relax. You’re jumping at every twig that snaps. If you don’t stop, I’ll have to—”

“Do what?”

He’d thought to answer
Kiss you
, but a kiss would ruin their camaraderie or initiate a romance that had no chance of survival. Iris was three years older than Emily, and he had always known that while he was at war or reacquainting himself with a purposeless life, he could count on Iris to take care of Emily.

“How do you know you can trust that man with your sister?” she said quietly.

“I’ve seen him on the battlefield. He never thought twice about his own life when it came to his troops. That kind of decency and sacrifice means more to me than how he stirs his tea.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“I don’t remember exactly. Men don’t keep track of their social encounters like women do. I’d say it was six or more years ago in Spain.”

“Six years, sir. And prior to that how well did you know him?”

Michael nudged his gelding forward. “I knew other men who served under him, and that was good enough for me. He was a brave and honorable solider during our acquaintance. What more can you ask of a man?”

“He could have become a dishonorable philanderer since then,” Iris said not unreasonably. “It isn’t as if he keeps good company.”

“He’s an agent for the Home Office, and if you repeat I said that, I will never speak to you again.”

“He’s a spy?” She sounded relieved that there was an explanation for Damien’s behavior. “That was what he was doing in the tower? He didn’t make up his story to frighten us away?”

“I don’t know the entire story myself,” Michael admitted. “But I doubt that the earl would—”

“An earl! A Scottish earl, he is now? He was supposed to be a wool merchant. I’ve heard of noblemen investing in trade, but not of an earl who deals in sheep.”

“Be quiet, Iris. Your voice carries in the woods.” Michael said, dismounting at the end of the narrowing trail.

“You’ll have to change your clothing and cut your hair the moment we get home,” she said thoughtfully. “Whether you like it or not, this isn’t the time to attract undue notice, if I haven’t misunderstood the gravity of the situation.”

“I will admit one thing,” he said with a reluctant smile, “of all the schemes in which you have served as Emily’s henchman, this is by far the most heinous.”

“Not that either of us have ever been able to refuse her. Still, she respects you more than she does me.” She slid down before a cloak of creeping vines that hung between the trees. The reassuring shape of the baron’s modest country house showed through the foliage.

“You could have stopped her if you’d been so inclined,” he said.

“Lucy thought up the idea,” she answered. “I was only trying to be helpful. My mistress believed that this was her one chance at happiness. Did you discourage her?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I wanted her to be happy, too.”

E
mily was braced for the sadness that submerged her whenever she returned from Lucy’s estate to her own home at Rowland Hall. No matter how many years had passed since her mother’s death, Emily still searched the apple orchard in hopes of glimpsing Mama playing with the dogs before bed. But the orchard was untended and lonely, as was the country house that had once been a refuge for the baron’s beloved family. The only sign of new growth, of life, was the sunken rose garden where the double-petaled roses the baroness had planted still thrived. The baron and the gardeners lavished all their love and attention on this fertile plot.

The roses flourished. But the baron had never found the enthusiasm to finish the stables or the conservatory.

“What is it?” a low voice asked behind her. “Is there anyone in that orchard?”

“It’s only a gardener picking up snails. Or a ghost.” Emily shook off her memories and turned to glance up into the Scotsman’s face. What would her mother think of him? Emily couldn’t decide herself. In a few more hours she hoped it wouldn’t matter.

“Are you sure there isn’t anyone in that orchard?” Sir Angus asked again.

“They don’t mean us harm if there is.” Emily decided that Mama would approve of his conquering-hero character, especially if he kept her daughter safe. But he wasn’t a gentleman that a lady would have
chosen
, given his profession.

“I have to hurry inside and change before—” She caught herself, but not in time.

He stared across the lawn at the house, his face pensive. “It’s a nice house, from what I can see. I don’t understand why a gentlewoman who lives here has to go about in a disguise to steal jewels.”

“I
didn’t
steal any jewels,” she said in exasperation. “My friend made that up so I could escape.”

“I thought as much.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I wanted to understand whom I was saving and trusting with my secrets.”

“Now I’ve told you mine.”

Something wicked glittered in his eyes. “I’d like to see you safely inside before I go.”

“I can find my way from here. You should go. I’ve no doubt you’ll save the day for England. I apologize for interfering in your work. I hope all goes well. And that your mission is more successful than mine was. Please don’t get yourself killed. I’ll try to behave myself from now on, too. The only towers in my future will be the ones I read about in fairy tales. She drew a deep breath. “Thank—”

“I want another kiss before I go.”

She felt the horse nudge her against the Scotsman as if encouraging her to obey his master. “You had your kiss. We kissed.”

He locked his arm around her waist, drawing her away from the horse. “I kissed you. It’s your turn to kiss me.”

“A good-bye kiss?”

He bent his head and brushed his mouth over her swollen lips. “As you wish.”

“But we already—”

She stared up into his face and couldn’t concentrate on anything except what he had asked of her. Kiss him? How? She felt herself slipping into some forbidden world. She closed her eyes, rising on her toes to better reach his mouth. His arm molded her to his body. She shivered and lightly touched her tongue to his.

“Damn me,” he muttered, his breathing harsh. “I was the one who had to ask.”

He took control then and slowly deep-kissed her mouth until the pleasure that lanced through her shocked her back to herself. “Passion,” she whispered, opening her eyes to stare at him. “This is what it does to a person. I’ve always wondered.”

“Aye,” he laughed. “And it doesn’t come along like this very often.”

She edged around his unmoving frame. “I’ll have to take your word on that,” she said, her voice firm. “And you have to leave. I’ll explain this to my father. Don’t ask me how.”

“I intend to be gone before you meet him. I should have been in the next village an hour ago. I wish
you
luck with your father. Is he violent?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes. But don’t worry.”

She’d run out of breath, and yet she felt a deeper appreciation for what he had done for her than she could put into words. She would remember this night, this man, for a long time to come. He had given her her first kiss. He had rescued her from evil and most likely from a humiliation that would have crushed her spirit.

As she glanced up again at his face, she realized that her sheltered life had never prepared her for a man like this. He was a scoundrel to break hearts, yes. But somehow he had given of himself to protect two women he could easily have dismissed as worthless. That was a different kind of passion than he had shown in his kiss.

“You can go now,” she said, her voice softer.

He frowned. Obviously his thoughts had run off in a direction different from hers.

A soft footstep in the grass stopped Emily’s heart. Sir Angus heard it, too, and drew her and his mount deeper into the orchard. Another horse whickered softly. Emily leaned back against the gnarled trunk of an apple tree in relief.

“It’s only my brother.”

“Good. Then I can leave you with a clear conscience.” His dark eyes traveled slowly from her face to the hem of her skirts. “Be careful.”

“And you,” she whispered, her throat suddenly dry. “Thank you for bringing me home. You kept your word. I admire that.”

He laughed. “It was an experience I won’t forget in a hurry. None of it. From the tent to this place. You are entertaining, Urania. You made me lose my sense of time and responsibility. I suggest, however, that you take your talents to the stage, where you’ll have a genuine chance to find a protector. Don’t undervalue yourself. Make those who vie for your company earn your devotion.”

“A protector?” she said, unsure whether he considered this to be an insult or a compliment. Well, this wasn’t a convenient time to set him straight. He would disappear soon enough.

“Another thing,” he said. “Your guardian should provide you with jewels in the event that you are tempted to steal.”

Emily turned her head. She had never heard such a lovely load of nonsense in her life. Why couldn’t she have met a charmer like this in Hatherwood? Perhaps she should suggest a holiday in Scotland to her father, if men there appreciated young ladies desperate for affection.

“You’ll make some fortunate gentleman a fine mistress,” he added. “And who knows? You could be offered a decent marriage proposal.”

“Do you think so?”

“I do not lie.”

She smiled. “Except to traitors.”

“That’s right,” he said, leaning into her. “Now stay out of trouble.”

“The same to you, I’m sure.”

Michael strode up behind them. “You’ll have another unforgettable experience with my father if you stand chitchatting all night.” He glanced at Emily. “Run inside and bring out a bottle of brandy for our friend. Iris, make yourself and my sister look respectable and ready for bed.”

Damien shook his head in refusal. “I’d rather take my horse to the stable for water. I’ll have a drink when I go back to the inn.”

“You have a few minutes to rest,” Michael said. “I’ve locked the gates. It takes ages for a servant to hear anyone calling for entry at this time of night. We’ll know if he arrives. We can all breathe a little easier until then.”

“Father will be furious,” Emily said. “He has no patience at all these days.”

“Is it any wonder?” Iris said under her breath. “Come, miss, into the house before you frighten anyone in that costume.”

Emily wavered. She couldn’t help noticing the detached expression on the Scotsman’s face. He was back to playing his role. Only moments ago he had been staring at her intently, not only as a woman to seduce, but because they had forged a fragile bond tonight. Or was that her wishful thinking again? He would forget her by tomorrow. It wasn’t as if he had nothing else on his mind.

She’d meant it when she wished him well. Only now did she realize how quickly he had acted to protect her. Maybe in a few months she’d laugh about their escape. But she would still be alone.

At any rate he was the most dangerous gentleman she had ever met, and she ought to be grateful to escape his company with nothing lost but a kiss or two. Her infatuation with Camden was tarnished as if it had been only tin all along. But, then, a man like Sir Angus tended to put other gentlemen to shame.

“One thing I would like to know,” Sir Angus said, his eyes locking briefly with hers before he looked at Michael. “What was it that Urania spilled on the both of us in the tent?”

“Who?” Michael said, running a hand through his unkempt black hair.

“Never mind,” Emily whispered.

“She knocked it over and it splattered on us both,” Damien said. “Does that mean we are destined for each other?”

Emily bit her lip. “I told you, Michael, but you weren’t listening.”

Michael grinned as Emily looked away. “I hate to admit it, and I know I shall not ever be forgiven, but considering that it didn’t come in contact with the intended victims, I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Do hurry, sir,” Iris urged, tugging at Emily’s hand.

Michael shrugged. “Emily must have eavesdropped. Jasper told me that it was to be used—”

“When all else fails,” Emily said, her eyes still averted. “I know. I shouldn’t have eavesdropped. I shouldn’t have taken it,” she continued quietly. “Whatever Jasper poured into the phial was a caustic and potent substance.”

Damien snorted. “It burned like the devil’s own breath.”

“Well, I don’t wonder,” Michael said, frowning as if he remembered when Emily had huddled over him in the still room, whispering half-seriously for him to make something potent that would bind Camden to her. He shook his head. “This particular formula was to be used in case of snails. Not when all else fails. But who knows? Magic is mysterious. It might have been the perfect potion even though it was meant for the rose garden.”

•   •   •

Emily walked sedately to the front steps of the house, her shawl concealing her hair and, she hoped, most of her face. She could fool the butler and footman into believing she was only staying covered from the storm, but it would be harder to convince the two upper chambermaids who brought her bath and breakfast every day.

“Go up into your room,” Iris said behind her on the stairs. “Let’s wash that dye from your skin first and dispose of that hideous wig.”

“How?” Emily wondered aloud as they reached her room. “There are at least fifty pins left to pull from my head.”

“I can cut the wig up and strew it on the road to the village tomorrow when I go marketing.”

“That wouldn’t look at all suspicious.” Emily sat down at her dressing table and untied her blouse. “Bring me a plain evening gown, Iris.”

“You’re not going out again tonight?”

“Only as far as the garden.”

“But what for?”

“Just to make certain I didn’t lose any other cards where my father might find them. He’ll be in a dither enough as it is. I don’t want him thinking that Michael had gypsies on the estate while he was gone.”

Iris’s eyes clouded with worry. “Those cards are supernatural. You should never have touched them. Palm reading and tea leaves are one thing. But those cards, miss. They are only as reliable as the person reading them. Or so Mr. Rowland says.”

•   •   •

Damien couldn’t escape her fast enough.

If she’d given him one more hint of encouragement during that last kiss, he would have forgotten who they were and why they could never become passionate with each other.

A smile curved his lips. Why had he met her tonight? Why not the evening before? Wouldn’t they have been attracted to each other during an ordinary encounter?

Or had their mutual deception added kindling to the heat he’d felt the moment he had seen her sitting in that tent?

She had looked as if she wanted to kill him. He’d spoiled her romantic scheme. He was a little sorry that he couldn’t stay and make it up to her. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt sexual desire for a woman while enjoying her company.

To be honest, passion, in its deepest sense, had never come into his life before.

•   •   •

Emily stood, wiping off the face cream she had plastered on her throat and arms. “Give me a wet cloth—I just realized that the boots I borrowed from Lucy are in Sir Angus’s saddlebags. I doubt he’ll remember to return them to Michael.”

“Well, he can send them by post.”

“No, he can’t.” Emily rubbed off the cream with the damp cloth Iris handed her.

“Send a footman instead.”

“Dare I? We had better not. Michael hasn’t changed yet and we don’t want anyone asking him what happened tonight. Sir Angus ought to know what to do with a pair of boots that are half his size.”

Iris sighed. She had removed her colorful costume and restored herself to her usual neat-as-a-pin appearance. “It’s not over yet. Your father will return from Lucy’s party any minute, and let’s hope he’s by himself.”

“Do you think he’d lead the conspirators here?”

“Only if they figured out who we were and where we’d gone, and that is unlikely unless Lucy or Lady Fletcher gave us away.”

“That won’t happen. They’re too good at making up stories. Lucy swore to me she would keep my father at the party for as long as she could. She isn’t going to tell him that I spent half the evening as an unsuccessful fortune-teller and the other on the run from anarchists. He wouldn’t believe it.”

“Lucy and I also swore that you would be dancing in Camden’s arms the entire evening, didn’t we?”

“Maybe Papa hasn’t even left yet. He took the carriage, and that means the long way home.”

Iris tucked and pinned her bright hair under her cap. “And how are you going to explain walking in the garden this time of night when he arrives?”

“I always walk in the garden when I miss my mother. So does he.” Emily shook her head. “I lost at least half a deck of those cards tonight. They took off in the wind.”

“Well, why didn’t you sprinkle golden sovereigns all the way here from Lucy’s house? It might have lit up the path to the house and made it easier for that nest of traitors to find us.”

“Iris, we’re home. We are only what we appear to be—an innocent young lady and her maid. Who could recognize us?”