Counterfeit Countess (18 page)

Faith shuddered. “Indeed. I did wear them briefly, but they didn’t become me.” Even with her depleted fashion sense she knew she’d never appeared to advantage in pale pinks and blues. Much less whites and ivories.

“Since you are a married lady we may venture into more adventurous avenues. Fashion is taking a turn for the deeper and
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richer tones. We may prepare. It’s as well we have time.”

While she spoke her fingers didn’t remain idle. She walked around Faith, twitching the gown, adjusting, bending to check the hem. Finally she pinned a confection of lace over Faith’s curls that went by the laughingly inappropriate term of cap.

Faith checked the clock on the mantelpiece. “I need to go down now.”

Turvey dropped a light shawl over Faith’s shoulders. “I will, if you please, continue sorting your gowns and making a list of items it would be advisable to buy.”

“Thank you.”

Leaving Robinson with her new supervisor, Faith went downstairs, trying to recall the lessons in deportment she’d briefly received from one of her older sisters. In this gown she felt better.

She hadn’t realised before how much good fabric and design could change the way she felt about herself. As always she’d glanced in the mirror before she left to ensure everything was on straight and her hem wasn’t crooked. She paused, mildly surprised by the woman gazing out at her. No flyaway hair, not a one. A figure that appeared almost elegant, though she’d always thought she lacked the height elegance needed. More than neat.

John confirmed her opinion when she walked into the breakfast parlour. He came to meet her, a glow in his eyes she had reason to know meant he had an interest in something more intimate than food. She smiled in response and he took her hands. “You look splendid.”

Thank you. With the heat of his body warming her, she allowed him to take her to the table and seat her. The dowager glanced at her. “Most unexceptionable. I assume your new maid has arrived?”

“Yes.” The dowager made her feel that her maid had more to do with her appearance than she did, but perhaps she had the right of it. Turvey had certainly given her a polish she knew she couldn’t achieve on her own. However, a twinge of doubt touched her and
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the bright edge of her happiness rubbed away a little. Not all of it, because John hadn’t said anything of the kind. “It’s only a day gown.” However much she tried, she couldn’t say it was normal.

This outfit was far from normal for her; one she’d probably have worn for a formal occasion in her previous life, despite the high neckline and the ankle-length skirt.

“We did well during our first public appearance, I think,” John said.

Charlotte took a sip of her coffee. “Yes, we did. Especially you, John. You appeared to the manor born.”

“Thank you. But I was, unlike Faith. I may not have been born an earl, but I did inherit a respectable competence.”

“A trifle too frank, I feel,” the dowager remarked. “Mrs.

Drummond-Burrell did not appreciate your honesty.” She allowed herself a faint smile. “However, we can use that. I know several ladies who hold Mrs. Drummond-Burrell in dislike. I shall ensure they know the lady turned away from you today for no reason that I could fathom, or anyone standing nearby. It could prove useful.”

She collected a refill of tea.

Faith enjoyed this meal, where the footmen laid everything on the table or the sideboard and then left them to get on with it.

Maybe she should start to manage the house the way she preferred it. She should certainly speak to key members of staff. “I met the housekeeper along with the rest of the servants when I arrived, but I should prefer to interview her. And the cook and the butler.”

Lady Graywood bowed her head. “Of course. However, you will have many duties to fulfil in the next few weeks. You might wish to leave the details for a while.”

She saw no reason to avoid giving compliments when deserved.

“As you say. I have rarely known a house so well-managed.”

A slight smile, surely? Was she making progress?

Lady Graywood sighed. “Unfortunately, Mrs.

Drummond-Burrell also has her friends. Rumours are circulating
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already, which she will no doubt hear and embellish. Someone whispered in my ear that you are an adventuress, that Graywood did away with my two sons for your sake.” Charlotte and Louisa gasped. So did Faith, truly losing her breath for a moment. The countess went on smoothly. “Of course I refuted it in the strongest possible terms, but it’s juicy gossip. We do not live in the pages of a gothic novel, and neither is Graywood a person who would consider such a move. I should have that particular vicious story quashed by the time the season begins in earnest. It makes the ball even more important.”

How could she say that? She’d just discussed the possibility of the person who had succeeded to the title killing his way there.

Murdering her sons. Even if she believed the rumour totally unfounded, how could she behave so coldly, as if her sons had nothing to do with her? Faith stared at her plate, trying to bring her emotions under control. Giving way to an outburst wouldn’t help anyone. The dowager wouldn’t change her mind and Faith would appear hysterical. Nobody would gain anything. If she repeated it enough she might come to believe it.

“How would you like to proceed with arrangements for the ball?

Would you wish me to help?”

“It is your affair.” Lady Graywood shrugged. “You may make the arrangements if you wish.”

Faith appreciated having something to do when stressed. In truth, the disruption after Waterloo had taken her attention from her husband’s death enough to give her breathing space to get over the initial shock. She had mourned him truly, but only after she’d escaped Cockfosters and his men, and found a safe place. For that reason she didn’t want Lady Graywood to give up her plans.

However much her ladyship might conceal her grief, Faith refused to believe her sons’ deaths had not affected her. “I have arranged smaller functions of course, but I have no idea how to go on with larger, more fashionable gatherings.” A hint that she could disgrace
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the family by her inexperience, plus a touch of deference. It should work.

She received a gracious nod in response. “If you desire, I can draw up most of the plans and let you know how they are progressing.”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out, Lady Graywood,” she said, one Lady Graywood to another, at least in the eyes of the world, if not in fact.

“Not at all.”

So polite, she wanted to stand up and scream and swear, just to break this fraught gentility. “I truly appreciate your help.”

“The family cannot disappear.” For an instant, a brief brush of time, Faith saw Lady Graywood’s eyes turn bleak, her mouth lose its firm line. Then she was back, the dowager she recognised. But that moment gave Faith an insight, one she hadn’t had before.

Lady Graywood had lived in an age of rigid self-control, when people were expected to keep their social calm above everything. At this level of society they were avidly watched, reported on, drawn in vile caricatures. She’d grown up with that knowledge, had learned from childhood up to hold that mask of indifference up to society.

Now she did it everywhere, even with her family.

Faith couldn’t hope to emulate her, nor did she wish to, but that brief insight had taught her that a real woman existed under the severe exterior. She might never know what the dowager honestly felt, but she understood that the older woman felt
something.
It made a difference. She couldn’t imagine what kind of life that would be but if she stayed, that might become her fate.

After the meal she said she was tired, that she wanted to rest, more to give the dowager an opportunity to retire than anything else.

Upstairs, Turvey was still busy in Faith’s room, so John offered her the use of his bed. With a knowing smile. Why she assumed he’d leave her to rest she wasn’t sure. Instead, he followed her into the room, closed the door gently behind him and took her into his arms before he delivered the kind of kiss he hadn’t given her for days. He slanted his mouth across hers, held her face in his hands to keep her in the position to receive him and tenderly delved deep. His hands slid down her throat, caressing the sensitive skin and then around her waist to draw her close. She rested her head on his shoulder and kissed him back, tasting that flavour of coffee and John. She’d never forget it if she lived to a hundred.

He broke away to smile at her then kissed her again, slowly and thoroughly, pushing his tongue into her mouth and licking, then thrusting, imitating the act of love. Her body came alive, tingled where he touched her, the sensations spreading through her whole body.

Finishing with a few short, sweet kisses, as if he couldn’t bear to leave, he pressed his forehead against hers. “I had meant to leave you alone until you invited me back into your bed. I can’t. You are so sweet, so unbearably sensual. I need you all the time. How can this be?”

Breathlessly, not just from the kisses, she gazed up into his dark eyes. “It is, that’s all. I need you too. I’m not supposed to say that, am I?”

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“Why not? Why shouldn’t you desire me the same way I desire you? What’s wrong with a wedded couple seeking each other’s company, especially after a gap of nearly two years?”

Her heart plummeted. “Because it’s not true, is it? We’re not married, not in truth.”

“It could be. It is. I did think of you when I had no right to, when you belonged to another man. Just because I couldn’t call you mine, that doesn’t mean that in the dead of night, at my heart, I didn’t think of you. Want you.” He gave a rueful smile. “I did. That part is as true as God.”

Mildly shocked, she tried to protest. “You shouldn’t blaspheme.”

“How did I do that? I need you, Faith. Why shouldn’t I say what I was feeling when I had no rights over you? I knew a brave, forthright woman who hasn’t changed at heart, merely grown more beautiful.”

She couldn’t believe that. She’d never appeared more than ordinary. Even when Turvey had dressed her, she’d gained a little polish, not suddenly emerged as a swan. It had never worried her before. She liked ducklings.

But the expression in his eyes—that said she was beautiful. So did his kiss, when he ravaged her like a man starved. As sensual as he’d been a moment before, now he took her as if he could do nothing else. He spread his hands over her, smoothed them down her body, over the curve of her hip and around to her backside, using his hold to cinch her close.

His erection pushed into her as if no layers of cloth lay between them. Hot, insistent, along with its owner. He broke the kiss to murmur, “I want you,” into her mouth, the words heating her tongue, her throat. Then he kissed her again, pressed her against the door. Just as she was lifting her legs to wind them around his waist, get as close to him as she could, he stopped. He fumbled for her hand and led her to the bed.

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His eyes appeared as dark as she’d ever seen them, his lips damp, his mouth fuller than usual and slightly open. Glancing down her, he turned her around and gave a slight exhalation of relief when he found the fastenings to her gown. Her bodice sagged forward as he undid them. She didn’t try to keep it up but let it fall when it loosened enough for her to do so. She unfastened the buttons holding the sleeves tight to her wrists so she could slip it off. She heard the low curse when he couldn’t immediately unfasten the bow on her stays and she chuckled. “New maid, new knot,” she murmured.

“Tell her to use the old one. It was easier.”

He didn’t sound pleased, but she knew she hadn’t cause his displeasure. Impatience made him clumsy. He got the stays off then attacked her petticoats, which he managed with more proficiency.

That delighted her, since she was growing impatient too. She kicked the petticoats aside and bent to attend to her boots and stockings, pointing her bottom at him in a deliberately provocative gesture.

In response, he stepped forward, pressed his body against hers and then put his hand on her back, pressing her down, preventing her from straightening. “Stay there,” he said. “I want you like this.”

Cool air struck the backs of her legs when he raised her shift, and she knew he’d exposed her to his stare. She felt his attention like a living thing, avidly hot.

A moment when she pulled the bows loose from her boots, but she didn’t have time to take them off before he returned. This time his bare groin rubbed against her, the hair softly pressing against her naked skin. “Oh, John,” she murmured. “Oh that feels so good.”

“Open your legs.”

He’d have to bend his knees to reach her, since he was taller than she. But if she touched the floor and pressed against it, she could angle her backside so it tilted up. When she did as he bade her he could see her, how wet she was, and she couldn’t rub her thighs
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together for some small measure of relief.

Instead she felt his hand on her hip, holding her steady and his cock against her opening. “You look ready, sweetheart. I’m coming in. So lovely, as if you wanted me before I touched you.”

He deserved the truth. “I did. I wanted you when I should have been thinking of other things.” In church, however hard she tried to turn her mind to spiritual matters, she couldn’t stop her awareness of the man next to her in the pew. Now she had him. All to herself.

He proved it by working his plump cockhead inside her, moving slowly but with a surety of purpose that dictated the inevitable.

The slight tension at her entrance gave way as her body accepted his. He drove deep inside her, his steady penetration not stopping until his pubic hair grazed her. She shivered. “You’ve filled me up.”

“I have. And, my lady, I intend to fuck you until you scream.”

John was a man of his word, she knew that. In this position he felt impossibly deep, inside her deeper than anyone had gone before, the sensation more intense, verging on pain. Faith grit her teeth and endured, until he withdrew and plunged back, his balls colliding with her, touching the soft, wet flesh between her legs.