Clockwork Countess (2 page)

“Rowena, no...
”
b
ut his hand was cupping her generous
breast, his tongue swirling circles around her
rigid
nipples as she brushed her aching body against
the fi
rm bulge nudging at
her
sex in
a
way that drove her completely wild
. 
             
“Dear God…” he moaned, his mouth nuzzling the swell of her soft body as his hands slid up under her petticoats to caress the smooth skin of her calf and then up the inside
of
her thighs, his fingers set
ting
off a tremor of pleasure through her whole body. 

She moaned, pushing herself more fervently against him, the friction of his hardness against her damp sex, even through the layers of petticoats and her bloomers, was maddening.  He was kissing her again, hot and sweet, one hand pinching almost painfully at her swollen breast, the other moving fa
r
ther up the inside of her thigh as she swayed against his
arousal.  Something was building in her, s
omething wild and unstoppable.  S
he thrust
urgently
against him when the carriage came to a clattering halt. 

“We have reached the gates, sir,” the coachman called out
.

Roderick held her steady, forcing her to stop.  She felt a quiver of unsatisfied desire wrack her womb even as her mind began to clear.  She pulled back blinking, her breath coming shallow and fast against the
constricting corset.  D
azed
,
she
looked d
own at Roderick.  I
n the shadows of the carriage it was difficult to read his expression. 

Gently
,
but decisively, he lifted her
from his lap and placed her
on the velvet cushions.  “Forgive me, this was…please forgive me.”  She could hear the horror in his voice as he brushed past her, and before she could say anything, he threw open the door and stepped out into the woodland night.

Still half drugged with passion, Rowan pulled up her chemise and did her best to refasten the back of her dress, something she had become quit
e adept at since she had not enjoyed
the services of a m
aid for some time.  Impatiently
pulling her disheveled hair back into place, she poked her head out the coach window.  The cold night air was like a slap in the face, bringing her back to her senses. 

Dear God, w
hat had she been thinking behaving in such a wanton manner?
  They had barel
y said hello before she did
everything in
her power to manifest her fear
that the Heartwycke
s
would think her nothing more t
han a common burlesque girl
, with the poor breeding and morals to go along with the profession.
She put her hands to her burning cheeks, mortified at what she had done. 

But the sound of metal grating and cogs churning arrested her attention.  Looking up, she dared to open the coach door and lean out
further
to see what could possibly be creating such a racket in the middle of the dark forest road. 

Before them stood the medieval stone walls of Heartwycke, marking the boundaries of the estate’s parkland, but the gate through which they must pass was like nothing she had ever seen before.  An elaborate construction of metal cogs and springs, like the inside of a monstrous clock
,
mechanized into the twisted metal emblem of a silver owl
,
churned and spun and whirred as Roderick
inserted
his silver-heading walking stick into the keyhole
,
setting the gate in motion. 

Rowan jumped as the clockwork owl gave a rusty screech and the cogs and wheels slit apart, making way for them to pass. 

Roderick turned back to the coach, and with a stony expression, stepped inside, taking his seat at the far end of the interior. 

“I’ve never seen anything like that in my life!”  Rowan exclaimed, turning her head to stare out t
he window as the coach passed
through the clockwork owl’s gate.  “Where on earth did it come from?”

“I built it,” said Roderick.

“You?” S
he stared at him in astonishment.  “How on earth did you know how to construct such a thing?”

“I was a
fledgling
professor of mechanical science at Oxford before…” he turned away and seemed intent on studying the rows of skeletal winter trees out the window as they flew by. “At any rate, we prefer our privacy at
Heartwycke
and the gate ensures that.  No o
ne without a key can enter the p
ark.”

They rode on in tense silence as the coach jostled them along the rutted parkland drive.

“Do you continue to
maintain an interest in science?” she asked
final
l
y
, trying to relieve some of the awkwardness between them. 

“No,” said Roderick, his face still turned away from her.

Feeling com
pletely at a loss, Rowan
shrank back int
o the
cushions
for the re
mainder
of the ride
until the coach turned a corner and Heartwycke Manor came into view. 

The imposing medieval
hall
rose up from the evening mist
crawling along the base of the
weathered stone towers.  The arched leaded windows glowed with gaslight, revealing a glimpse of wid
e vaulted galleries
and thick jewel-toned
drapes
.  The soft moon
-
glow gli
mmered against the crawling ivy
which clung
to the ancient manor house
. 

Rowan had always known her mother’s girlhood home was a grand estate but Heartwycke Park seemed more like a castle to her than anything else. 

“You have a tower,” she exclaimed
,
unable to keep a bit of excitement from her voice.  “How romantic!” 

“We don’t use those rooms anymore.
That wing
of
Heartwycke has been
locked
up.”

Before she
could ask anymore, the coach
came
to a stop and
Roderick sprung out, calling over his shoulder,
“I’ll collect you in a moment after I’ve assisted
Meriwether
with the horses.”

Again
Rowan
wondered a
t the lack of footmen or stable
hands.  Looking at the house, this seemed a wealthy and well cared for estate.  A wave of nerves went through her as she took in the imposing stone walls.  What would the Countess Heartwycke be like?  And how could she ever hope to make an agreeable impression now after her in
decent behavior
?

She pressed her hands to her eyes, shaking her head. 
What on earth had taken hold of her?
In the theater many unscrupulous men had tried to take advantage of her. 
They assumed
, as the daughter of an actor, she must be bound for the stage herself and in their minds, actress was merely a euphemism for whore. 

She remember
ed one particularly randy stage
manager who had tried to molest her against the backdrop of
The Importance of Being Ernest
as her father performed on stage.  The feel of his slimy cold lips on hers had raised the bile in her throat and a swift kick with her pointy boot had secured release quickly enough. 

But what
had
just
occurred
in the carriage with Roderick…that was like nothing
she
ever believed could
happen to her.  It was because she had been so lonely in her grief and he had seemed kind and warm and…

What must he think of her now? 

Shame flooded her anew and Rowan cursed herself for ever having made the promise to her father which bound her to Heartwycke and the countess’s marriage mart plans.  Rowan had always been content with the idea of becoming a schoolteacher and providing for herself.  She would not live in luxury, but she would have her independence and self-respect. 

A sharp wrap on the carriage door brought Rowan to her senses.  Making a last futile attempt to smooth back her tousled hair neatly beneath her bonnet, she set her back straight and climbed out of the carriage with the assistance of
old Meriwether
. 

Roderick was just coming round the fro
nt of the house, waiting to
lead her inside.  His face was as impassive and unreadable as a mask.  A bit of her Irish temper flared and she lifted her chin a notch as she placed her gloved hand lightly on his arm.  He must really be the worst kind of rake to go so far with her, and she, well she had behaved no better. 

They stepped onto the flagstone drive, neither one looking at the other.

What was done was done, Rowan
told herself firmly.  She resolved henceforth to conduct herself like a young lady
,
as her father wished
,
and there would be absolutely no more shenanigans with the likes of Roderick Heartwycke! 

But her heartbeat quickened
,
and she unconsciously gripped his arm a bit tighter
,
as they
stepped beneath a leering stone
gargo
yle glaring down from his
perch
.  They
entered through a heavy
Gothic arch and the doors opened to admit them into Heartwycke Manor.

CHAPTER TWO

Tick, tick, tick…
.

             
The mechanism
s
of dozens of clocks making their rounds through the hours was the only sound Rowan heard as she
stepped into the soaring
entrance hall
of Heartwycke manor
. 

At the center of the hall stood a massive
ebony clock, carved
with intricate
designs of fantastic beasts wound
with
ropes of
inlaid
ivy.  The winding vines seemed almost to bind the gryphons and other monstrous creatures into the wood
,
as if holding them captive to the clock.  A
large
brass pendulum swept ominously back and forth, propelling the circuitry and
gear-
work
into operation.  Perched at the top, an all-seeing owl crowned the enormous machine with wings outspread
,
as if poised to take flight from the gloomy hall.

             
Rowan forced a smile.
“It would seem the Heartwyckes are exceedingly fond of clocks.” 

             
Slurred
laughter echoed through the
hall and Rowan looked up to see a young man and an elegant woman, who could only be the Countess of Heartwycke, standing at the top of the central stairway gazing down at her.  The younger man, dressed carelessly in a silk paisley dressing gown began to lope down the stairs.

             
Roderick’s scowl deepened as the young man reached the bottom and half-drunkly fel
l into a mocking bow.  “
Clockworks, my dear cousin, are the life and blood of Heartwycke.”  He raised his head, revealing a face still young and handsome, but bloated with dissolute living and marred by pale bleary eyes.

             
“Rowan,” said Roderick reluctantly.  “May I present my brother, Edmund, the Earl of Heartwycke.”

             
Edmund laughed again, a bitter bone-chilling laugh. “Earl, by title, at any rate.”

             
Rowan
curtsied and tried not to look too dismayed at the state of her benefactor. 

             
Roderick moved to the stairs to take the arm of the countess, who had ascended at a more stately pace than her inebriated son.
“This is my mother, Lavinia, the Dowager Countess and your mother’s second cousin.”

             
Rowan could hardly take her eyes off the countess.  Though, from the age of her sons, she must be at least in her early 40’s, she was startlingly beautiful, with the alabaster skin and raven hair so fashionable at Victoria’s court.  Her bearing was regal and her
gray
eyes glittered coldly jewel-like in a finely featured face.  She did not smile as Rowan again swept into a curtsy, feeling hopelessly provincial in her old-fashioned crinoline next to the older woman in her dove gray silk gown with its sleek lines and discr
eet bustle
.

The countess lifted a lorgnette to inspect Rowan with her steel gray eyes from the top of Rowan’s disheveled flaming red hair to her battered lace up boots.  Rowan could feel every unfashionable freckle sprinkled across her nose as if they burned like coals.

“Your appearance is nothing like Henrietta’s.”  The countess turned to Roderick.
“Are you quite sure there has no
t been some mistake?” she asked with all the impersonal nonchalance she might use in inquiring of her butler if the claret was of the correct vintage that evening.

“Don’t forget, Madame, that her father was pure Irish peasant,” interjected Edmund, as his eyes too roamed across Rowan, pausing at her ample breasts
in a most ungentlemanly fashion.
“Of that much we can be sure, from the look of her.”

Rowan raised her chin a notch, though she could feel her cheeks turning as scarlet as her hair
,
which was tumbling most unfortunately from its pins again.  “I
am
Henrietta’s daughter.  You may have no doubt of that, my lady.” 

             
The countess narrowed her eyes and peered
more closely into Rowan’s face.
“Yes, your voice…yes, I can hear
her
in your voice.”  She pressed a pale hand to her lips for a moment.  “Such a strange thing, these familial traits.  It will be quite fascinating to observe.”

Roderick stepped forward, his brow thunderous.  “Rowan is not a science specimen to be dissected for our enjoyment.”

“No, that’s really more your cup of tea, isn’t it
,
Rody?” drawled Edmund.

Roderick tightened his jaw and shot a warning glance at his brother before turning back to Rowan.  “You must be weary from y
our trip.  Shall I ring for a
maid to show you your chambers?”

             
All too aware that a few of the hooks of her gown had not been properly fastened, Rowan nodded gratefully.  “Yes, thank you, that would be most welcome.”

             
The countess nodded her dismissal.  “Very well, we shall le
arn more of you at dinner.  You wi
ll find there are several gowns already made up for you.”  She eyed Rowan’s generous figure again and gave a thin smile.  “Of course they will all have to be let out.  I had pictured you more in the frame of your mother, who was so slender and lovely.
And
,
of course, you must be done with that silly business of mourning.  The less p
eople are reminded of your low
connections, the better chance you will have of making a match when the Season begins.” 
A calculating
smile
twisted her lips.
“And that will be rare sport indeed.”

             
It was on the tip of Rowan’s tongue to shout that her father was the kindest and dearest man she had ever met and he deserved their respect.  That her own mother had obviously agreed
,
and preferred his company to the icy chill of the Heartwyckes, no mater how ancient their lineage or spectacular their wealth.  But remembering the promise she made her father, Rowan kept her tongue in check and managed to say, “Thank you for your generosity, Countess.”

             
She turned
thankfully to the maid who was bobbing a curtsy from the base of the great winding stairs
waiting to lead her to her chamber
. 

             
As she passed Roderick on her way out, she could feel the heat of his gaze on her back.  A surprising impulse
to ask
him to come with her, not to leave her alone in this strange forbidding house, came upon her.  Somehow she instinctively felt safe around him.  And that was madness indeed, she reprimanded herself, as Roderick had clearly shown himself to be a man no woman could safely be left alone with! 

             
Still,
she
couldn’t resist casting
a quick glance over her shoulder
at him before she followed the maid up the stairs into the gloomy corridor above. 

His expression was
maddeningly
unreadable. 

Ro
wan stepped into her chamber and let out
a breath
of surprised pleasure. “How lovely!”  She turned to her bright-eyed little maid
.
“It doesn’t seem any
thing like the rest of the house
.”  The room was delightfully modern and airy with pale lilac furnishings and plenty of cheerful lamps. 

             
“When Mr. Heartwycke heard you’d be in residence for the winter, he had these rooms refurnishe
d––
spared no expense, either, m
iss.”

             
Rowan felt her pulse quicken
at the mention of Roderick.  “That was kind of him.”

             
“Yes, he’s a kind-hearted sort of gentleman,” prattled on the maid as she assisted Rowan out of her clothes. “The tenants on the estate don’t know what they would do without him!  He looks after everything.  Makes sure everyone gets a fair wage and whate
ver they need.”  The young maid
shook her head and looked down, “But I’m talkin
g too much, m
iss.  B
eg your pardon.” 

             
"What is your name?"

             
"Claire, miss."

             
Rowan took the girl’s h
and and gave it a warm squeeze. 
“Well Claire
, you see…well, I suppose you have heard where I come from
?”

             
Claire nodded. 

             
“I’m the last on
e to stand on formality.
I see no difference between a d
uchess and a dairy maid.  I
do
hope you wi
ll be my friend.  This place seems…cold.”

             
“It is a strange house,
m
iss,” a
cknowledged Clair
e
as she pulled back a screen to rev
eal a large porcelain tub.  Rowan was grateful to see the
bright copper pipes running to it.  With a turn of the faucet, steaming hot water poured into the tub.

             
Stripping off the last of her petticoats and bloomers, Rowan climbed into the bath, savoring the feel of the warm water rushing over her tired limbs.  “At least Heartwycke seems to have all the latest conveniences,” she breathed closing her eyes.  

             
“Shall I leave you to it then, m
iss?” asked Clair
e
.

             
Rowan nodded, sinking deeper into the soothing bath.  She heard the door close behind her and then silence. 

             
Silence.

             
She sat up, her eyes searching the room.  Ev
ery chamber and hallway they
passed through to reach her rooms had been punctuated with the sound of ticking clocks, barely noticeable at first, until passage after passage, room after room, there was always the inevitable discreet
tick, tick, tick....

Here all was quiet
.  Somehow the knowledge was reassuring.  There was something ominous about the ubiquitous clocks. 

             
Rowan
shook her head and splashed a handful of water across her cheeks.  Now she was succumbing to pure fantasy.  It was just a very old house with the usual creaks and cobwebs.  And
it had been a most strange day....

             
Roderick’s face seemed to rise up above the steam in her bath.  She stretched back in the warm water, unconsciously running her hand across her wet belly.  An unbidden throb of desire heated her sex and she allowed her hand to move up to caress her flushed breast. 

             
He had touched her here.
  His hot tongue had swirled circles on her peaked nipples, she mused fascinated, as she lightly ran the tips of her own fingers around the stiff
ening
points of her breasts.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to touch and tease, imagining it was Roderick.  Sh
e felt hot and flushed,
as much from the pleasure of imagining him at work on her tender breasts as from the steaming
water rushing
around her tightening limbs,
accentuating the sensations of desire that were flooding through her. 

             
The throbbing heat of her sex was growing.  Tentatively
,
she
opened
her legs, feeling the surge of running water
pulsing
against her aroused flesh.

He had touched her here
too
she recalled, running his strong hands along the tender
skin
of her inner thigh.  S
he could see
,
as if he were here above her naked wet body, his flaming dark eyes, the kindling of desire in them.  She closed her own, imagining it was truly his hand which ran lightly up towards the forbidden, pulsating center of her womanhood. 

Her thighs
spread
wider, allowing the surging stream of water to pl
ay against her soft pink folds and
she pressed her fingers against the bud of her sex.  An almost agonizing pleasure swept through her.  She strok
ed and teased at her slick skin
, arousing a flood of sensations as her other hand gripped at her breast
, pinching her pink taut
nipples as he had, her
legs
parting, straining as her fingers rubbed against the pink bud.   If only he had touched her
here
, let his fingers caress her thus.