Courting the Countess (25 page)
Read Courting the Countess Online
Authors: Barbara Pierce
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance
“Everyone knows of your preference for widows.”
He covered his face with his hand. Each word she uttered made him feel vile. “If true, then you do not meet my expectations.” Where was Messing when he needed him?
“I have reasoned this out,” she said, pursuing him. “Widows appeal to gentlemen because they cannot accuse them of stealing their virtue. They have also sampled the marriage bed and are often eager to resume the lost pleasure.”
He could not fault her logic. Hearing an innocent speak aloud his jaded thoughts was immensely disturbing. “Sound reasoning, do you not think? It also disqualifies you, Miss Hamblin.” He opened the door and bellowed for his manservant.
“You are being shortsighted, Mr. Claeg. Ravishing an innocent should hold a novel appeal to someone of your
expertise. I am unlike Miss Nost and her father. I am not trading my virtue for marriage. I am content to be your mistress.”
expertise. I am unlike Miss Nost and her father. I am not trading my virtue for marriage. I am content to be your mistress.”
For now.
It was one of the reasons that he preferred carrying on with widows. Many of the women he had bedded in the past were satisfied with the physical arrangement. Innocents like Miss Hamblin convinced themselves they were worldly creatures but like all children required the protection of tradition. That translated to marriage.
As he leaned against the door frame, Miss Hamblin took a bold step closer to him. He wanted to flinch when she caressed his cheek but that would have unmanned him. Rigidly he withstood her gentling caress.
“Compared to me, you are a child.”
“I am two years younger than Lady A’Court. Her age does not seem to trouble you.”
It was not the countess’s age that troubled him; it was the lady herself. He doubted the young lady trying to lure him into an affair would appreciate the distinction. “You are an admirable, desirable siren, Miss Hamblin. Sacrificing your virtue on a notorious scoundrel is so much less than you warrant. Instead of aspiring to become an artist’s mistress you should be applying that intellect toward capturing a worthy husband.”
Her silence confirmed his worst fears. Despite her denials, Miss Hamblin had hoped the temptation of her body would seduce him into the notion of marriage. His relief was visible at his housekeeper’s appearance.
“Mrs. Lane, your timing is impeccable. Miss Hamblin has finished viewing her portrait and pronounced it satisfactory. Could you alert her coachman that his lady is eager to depart?”
“But I am not,” she protested.
The housekeeper switched her disapproving gaze from her employer to the young woman clutching his coat sleeve.
“Hmm,” was all Mrs. Lane articulated before leaving them to see to her task.
“Hmm,” was all Mrs. Lane articulated before leaving them to see to her task.
Ignoring Miss Hamblin’s arguments, Mallory hastened her down the stairs and out of the house. He had her seated in her carriage in what must have been record time.
Resigned that he was getting rid of her, Miss Hamblin said, “Just think about my offer.” She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth before he could escape. Pleased that she had managed to surprise him, she ordered her coachman to drive on.
A carriage passing in the opposite direction caught his eye. Brook proudly met his hunted gaze. She had witnessed Miss Hamblin’s parting kiss. Looking beautifully fragile, she did not order her coachman to stop as he had expected. She just stared at him with her face tight with the pain of betrayal.
Brook!
He started to run after her. Mallory gave up after a half-dozen steps. Watching the back of her carriage fade in the distance, he wanted to howl at the injustice.
Wiping his mouth, he muttered an oath and stepped away from the dust the carriages had stirred. “Bloody perfect!” he sputtered, glaring at his somber housekeeper. “I did not encourage the brazen chit.”
“You rarely have to, given your enthralling charm,” she said so impassively, he suspected she was being sarcastic. “I thank God I am immune.”
Brook was upset. Though her troubled mind was not mulling over the erroneous conclusions Mallory had most likely surmised. May’s bald-faced pursuit of the gentleman might have unsettled Brook initially, but she had foreseen the embarrassing predicament. How he chose to handle the impetuous lady was his decision.
She ruthlessly squelched her parting image of the artist. Through the swirling dust he had tried to chase her passing carriage when she made no attempt to stop. He had mouthed her name. His wild brown hair was slipping its confining queue. There had been anguish in his light blue eyes that called to her, demanding that she wait for him. She had ignored the summons.
Instead of heading for the house, she had the coachman stop at a nearby hotel. If Mallory Claeg chose to seek her out, the Ludlows’ town house was a logical starting point. She was irritated enough not to make the quest easy for him. Besides, she wanted some time alone to compose her thoughts. Strange how a large room filled with people could be the loneliest place.
The waiter, noticing she was alone, had respected her expressed wishes to be seated at a less-coveted table. She was not seeking recognition, nor did she feel the need to sit at a table befitting her title. Sipping the lemonade the waiter had
brought her, Brook tried to banish Lyon’s mistress’s words from her thoughts.
brought her, Brook tried to banish Lyon’s mistress’s words from her thoughts.
Do you think the foolish chit thought a child would soften his unpleasant disposition? I, too, had caught several of His Lordship’s babes in my womb and I had the good sense to rid myself of the tiny complications before he learned of it.
The lemonade surged over the side as she set the glass down. She had not been the first to conceive Lyon’s child. It was a foolish endeavor to feel envious of the mysterious Letty. Neither she nor Lyon had wanted the children who had been created from their passion. Brook had desired those unrealized children, she thought with a pang. If her child had survived, she would have cherished him even while despising his sire.
“Lady A’Court. Am I intruding?”
Brook’s visage was enigmatic while she tried to recall the gentleman’s name. She easily recognized his square jaw and high forehead. His eyes were a pleasing dark blue with gold flecks. The muscles in his face were firm; only his eyes and the deep lines running from his nostrils to the corners of his mouth revealed his age. She guessed him to be somewhere in his early forties. One of her mother’s acquaintances had introduced him the night they had attended the theater. Brook had been so anxious about seeing Wynne Milroy again that she had almost forgotten the encounter.
“Not particularly, my lord. I have spent the afternoon shopping and required a refreshment before I continued,” she said; her excuse was as false as her smile.
He was well dressed and his speech bespoke an elevated education. If she was not still tottering from the revelation of Lyon’s betrayal, she might have found him appealing. It was a flaw in her character, she dourly mused. Older gentlemen had brought her nothing but grief.
“You are attending the Haslake ball, I assume,” he politely inquired.
“Yes. With everyone attending, the shopkeepers are overwhelmed.” She lightly clasped her glass of lemonade, using it to anchor her.
“The coins weighing down their pockets are ample compensation for their troubles.”
“I suppose so. Still, I am not used to crowds,” she admitted.
His grin was sheepish. “You cannot recall my name, can you?”
She responded to his smile. Giving up the pretense, she said, “No, my lord. My recollection of names is embarrassingly transitory.”
“Avery Hitchons, Marquis De Lanoy, my lady.” He accepted her hand and bowed. “We were introduced—”
“I recall the meeting, my lord. I have just returned to town and the list of names I am required to memorize is longer than my arm.” The gentleman’s friendly demeanor prompted her to say, “Would you care to join me or are you with friends?”
“If you have no objections, I would enjoy your company. My companions are late in their arrival and I detest sitting alone. It makes me feel like a one-eyed dwarf with red hair.” She burst into giggles at the idea. As he recalled that she was also alone, he grimaced at his rambling candor. He tugged on his cravat as if it were strangling him. “That is not to say that sitting alone does not have its own advantages.”
“Please, my lord. There is no need to dissemble on my behalf. I detest being on display.” She encompassed with a gesture her tiny table stuffed between the wall and some overwatered shrubbery. “Hence my enviable view of the kitchens.”
Lord De Lanoy chuckled and sat down in the chair across from her. “It appears we are kindred spirits, madam.” Pausing while the waiter poured him a glass of lemonade and refilled hers, he used the silence to admire her. “How fortuitous,” he said after they were alone again. “That your thirst and my
companions’ tardiness brought us together.” He held up his glass and she clinked hers against his in a toast. “To fate.”
companions’ tardiness brought us together.” He held up his glass and she clinked hers against his in a toast. “To fate.”
“Fate,” she murmured back. The marquis’ presence had calmed her faster than any private lecture she could have given herself.
She noticed he had kept his walking stick. Odd, since most gentlemen surrendered them with their hats. He positioned it upright, tapping it occasionally on the floor to punctuate his words.
“I have been traveling, Lady A’Court, and have been absent from London for several seasons.”
“Where did your travels take you?”
“Jamaica for a year to oversee a new investment. Virginia and New York because I had never been to America,” he explained. “You have also been absent from London, I am told.”
She brought her glass to her lips and sipped. The tart refreshment did not ease the tightness in her throat. “Yes. It seemed best to retire after my husband died.”
Compassion shimmered in the marquis’ eyes. “Forgive me. This—the earl’s death—was mentioned to me. It seemed uncouth to bring up such a grievous subject.”
“No, I have had two years to reconcile myself to my loss. My family agreed, which is why they encouraged me to join them.” There was no point in explaining that she had been bullied and blackmailed into the decision.
“However, you are unhappy.”
She circled the rim of the glass with her finger. “Partly. If you know of my husband’s death, then you are aware that he perished in an unfortunate accident.”
“Yes,” he kindly replied. “Violent deaths often involve the participants in scandal. Returning to where it began must be very disconcerting for you.”
She found comfort in his presence. He seemed genuinely
interested in her and nonjudgmental regarding her choices. “I thought I had given myself time to heal, had prepared myself to face the rumors about my husband. I have learned since my return that I truly did not know the man I was married to, nor is anyone willing to let me forget the mistake in marrying him.” She could not fathom why she had confessed her inner thoughts aloud.
interested in her and nonjudgmental regarding her choices. “I thought I had given myself time to heal, had prepared myself to face the rumors about my husband. I have learned since my return that I truly did not know the man I was married to, nor is anyone willing to let me forget the mistake in marrying him.” She could not fathom why she had confessed her inner thoughts aloud.
The marquis reached over and encircled his hands over her hands, which were clutching her lemonade. “Loss affects all of us differently. No one should be allowed to judge which path is the correct one to walk. You are a remarkable woman, Lady A’Court.”
“Ho, De Lanoy!” a gentleman called out.
They both turned to acknowledge the greeting. A gentleman slightly older than the marquis and a red-haired woman stood waiting at a respectable distance. Fashionably attired, the woman was taller than her companion, and there was a marked difference in their ages. They did not seem inclined to join their friend, nor did Marquis De Lanoy invite them closer.
He released Brook’s hands and sat back. “Would you care to join our table, my lady? My companions will not care. They always enjoy making new friends.”
If the offer was made out of politeness, he gave it warmth by sincere expression. She was flattered by his attempt to extend their acquaintance.
“You are kind, my lord. Regrettably, I must decline. I must finish my errands if I want to attend the Haslake ball.” He stood and walked around to her side so he could pull out her chair. Rising, she gifted him with a slight smile. “Thank you for listening.”
“My pleasure,” he said, tapping his walking stick twice on the flooring. “I look forward to our next meeting.”
“As do I, my lord,” she said, allowing him to bow over her hand. He looked up and caught her staring at their clasped
hands. The blue in his eyes was so clear she could count the gold flecks in the depths.
hands. The blue in his eyes was so clear she could count the gold flecks in the depths.
“I am a great believer in fate, Lady A’Court. I predict you and I are destined to be very good friends.”
Entering Sir Thomas Bedegrayne’s town house was akin to treason in his mother’s estimable opinion. Mallory had no quarrel with the Bedegrayne patriarch. Once, their families had been bound together in friendship. Rivalry and petty disputes had divided his father and the old Bedegrayne. Mallory had thought his sister marrying into the family would have mended the breach between the two families. Sir Thomas had seemed willing to put aside their differences. However, Mallory’s parents were less forgiving. He pitied Amara, for she was the one who was hurt most by the discord.
The butler did not react to Mallory’s name when he offered it. He simply escorted Mallory through a maze of halls to the conservatory. Bedegrayne was not alone. The scene looked more like an intimate family gathering than a business meeting. Brock and his father were seated at a wrought-iron table playing cards. Amara was also present. A three-year-old boy clutched both of her hands. Tipping his head back, the child was giggling as she stepped side to side while he stood on her shoes. Another young woman moved into sight as she carried a potted plant to a makeshift worktable. The raven-haired beauty was muttering to herself. Mallory did not know her intimately. The Bedegrayne men, not to mention her steely-eyed older brother, Viscount Tipton, would have had something to say about him befriending Miss Madeleina Wyman.
Amara noticed him first. He responded to her joyful smile with an identical one. “Mallory. No one told me you were coming for a visit.” She lumbered toward him, her young charge in front of her.
He shot the Bedegrayne men a questioning glance. “It
came as a surprise to me, too, puss.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Who is this scamp?” It was a game they played together.
came as a surprise to me, too, puss.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Who is this scamp?” It was a game they played together.
“I’m Lucien Gorgon Thomas Wyman,” the boy said, grinning up at him.
He was a beautiful boy. Angelic, really, with his blond locks and gray eyes. It was difficult to believe Tipton was his sire. “Someone actually named this poor child Gorgon? You have my sympathies.”
Swinging in Amara’s arms, he giggled. “Gorgon.”
“He is saying Gordon. Luc has troubles with his
d
s,” Brock dryly said, setting the cards in his hand aside. Sensing his wife was tiring from their play, he got out of his chair and picked up his nephew. Brock tossed the boy over his shoulder and let him hang upside down.
d
s,” Brock dryly said, setting the cards in his hand aside. Sensing his wife was tiring from their play, he got out of his chair and picked up his nephew. Brock tossed the boy over his shoulder and let him hang upside down.
“Bedegrayne, you are a natural with children,” Mallory quipped. The position must have been part of their usual play. The boy let his arms dangle, perfectly content to have all of the blood in his body rush to his head. “I predict the overprotective mother here might allow you to hold your daughter when she is old enough to run away.”
“Not fair,” Amara protested. “Who says I will be overprotective?”
“Instinct. With Bedegrayne as her father, she will need it.”
Heeding Lucien’s pleas, Brock flipped him around and let him do a headstand. “What brings you here to Bedlam? Has something happened to Lord Keyworth?”
“No. Father is improving each day,” Mallory promised his sister, since her husband’s question alarmed her. “Good evening, Sir Thomas. My apologies for arriving late. I was out of the house when the messenger delivered your note.” He had spent hours searching London for the countess. She had not returned home as he had hoped she would. Frustrated and maddened by what she had perceived as his sins, he had done
what most gentlemen did when their lady was angry. He went to the nearest jeweler to find a bauble to placate her.
what most gentlemen did when their lady was angry. He went to the nearest jeweler to find a bauble to placate her.
“Claeg, it is good to see you, sir,” Sir Thomas said in a low, gruff voice. “We were sorry to hear about your father’s illness. Please pass on my best regards to your dear mother.”
“I will, sir. Thank you.”
Built like a grizzly bear, the intimidating man with the booming voice had lost his beloved wife twenty years earlier. He had raised his children in the best manner a grieving father could and chosen not to remarry. Rumor had it that occasionally one of the older ladies of the
ton
tried to entice the baronet, but he had remained devoted to his Anna.
ton
tried to entice the baronet, but he had remained devoted to his Anna.
“Maddy! Quit dawdling in the dirt and come pay your respects to Mr. Claeg,” the older man ordered. Mallory watched Brock and Amara exchange private looks. Only Sir Thomas was able to get away with bullying Miss Wyman in such a manner.
She had been fourteen when her mother’s death had placed her in her older brother’s household. The young woman who was wielding a sharp-looking trowel was almost nineteen. If she shared any traits with Tipton it was her stubbornness and temper.
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