Courting the Countess (26 page)

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Authors: Barbara Pierce

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance

BOOK: Courting the Countess
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“I never dawdle in the dirt, Papa,” she said sweetly testing the edge of her tool. Amara had once told Mallory that Sir Thomas had been a soothing influence on the frightened, defiant girl, compared to Tipton’s threatening tactics. In those early months after her arrival, Bedegrayne and the young girl had formed a lasting bond. He had become an adopted father for her, easing the bittersweet pain of watching his daughters leave his protection. “I was repotting the Spanish broom I gave you. You should sack your gardener.”
Since the plants in the conservatory had become a hobby of sorts to Sir Thomas, the gardener she was referring to was the old man himself.
“Blast you, gel. I was getting it done in my own way. Do you not have half of London under your fingernails? Must you poke them into my pots?” he bellowed.
“Up,” Lucien demanded of his uncle. If the scamp did not have a headache, Mallory would have been surprised. He was getting a mild one just observing the boy.
“Quick, Luc, have your Aunt Maddy show you her pots before she breaks one of them over your grandfather’s head,” Brock said, sparing them the angry rebuttal.
“Aunt Mag!” the boy exclaimed to no one in particular.
“Come with me, my sweet boy,” Miss Wyman said, crouching down and opening her arms so her nephew could run into them. She wrapped them around his tiny frame and carried him off. “I will teach you the proper way to pot Spanish broom. Then you can show your
granga
how to do it,” she said, using Luc’s word for
granddad
. As they strode away, their voices faded into indistinguishable murmurs.
“I cannot imagine your dawdling in the dirt, Sir Thomas,” Mallory said, earning the flinty stare that had made lesser men twitch.
“It’s a quiet way of spending time,” he said, deliberately raising his voice so Miss Wyman could overhear him. “’Course, it’s only soothing when I don’t have the gel fussing over me.”
“I am surprised the police have not carried you off.” She said nothing more. The young woman knew how to use silence to rile the patriarch.
Mallory wondered privately if Miss Wyman might be interested in meeting Gill. His mysterious apprentice could use a lady’s influence. The garden nymph had benefited from the Bedegrayne polish without it ruining her uniqueness.
“And why is that?” Sir Thomas eventually replied, swallowing her bait whole.
“You have murdered your yellow azalea,” she retorted.
Satisfied with having the last word, she returned her attention to Lucien.
“Sir Thomas, why send a messenger to my brother?” Amara asked, subtly distracting him.
“When I was at my club, I saw something in the betting book that might interest you,” the baronet said shrewdly.
Mallory could not conceive how anything in a betting book would concern him. “Really. What?”
“It concerns a certain widow.” The baronet nodded to Brock. “The lad here says you have an eye out for Lady A’Court.”
All secrets, it appeared, were fair game to family.
Mallory gave Brock a surly look. “I do not recall making any grand confessions, Bedegrayne.”
“No, you just acted like you wanted to heave A’Court over the balcony for sitting with his cousin.”
The earl was aspiring to marry Mallory’s new mistress. It would make any gentleman disagreeable. Naturally, he had the sense not to offer up that grumbling excuse in front of his sister, so he said defensively, “The man was bullying the lady. I was just doing my part in helping Amara’s friend.”
He was not convincing anyone.
“Brother,” Amara said, taking her husband’s place at the table. “Your exchanges with Brook hint at a familiarity I cannot fathom. She told me that she had been residing at Loughwydde. Did you encounter her during your excursions to Cornwall?”
Three pairs of eyes were watching him so closely, he doubted he could concoct a passable lie. “The area is not so vast. The countess and I have met a time or two.”
“You never said a word about it. Even knowing I was worrying about her.”
He bravely faced his sister’s ire. “She extracted my oath,
Amara. Are you planning to censure me for honoring a friend’s request?”
She bit her lower lip and held her tongue. His silence had been laudable; she just did not like that she had been excluded.
Mallory returned his attention to Sir Thomas. “You read something in your betting books about Brook? It is no secret that the new A’Court covets her hand in marriage.” Not while he was still breathing, he thought with uncharacteristic violence on his mind.
“No, this was not about A’Court,” the baronet denied, freeing the air in Mallory’s lungs. “Some jackass wrote down in the book that Marquis De Lanoy would claim A’Court’s widow as his mistress within the month. There are several entries after it from members accepting the wager. If we can figure out who made the initial entry we can send Reckless Milroy after him to pound some respect into him for a lady’s virtue. The fighter has some experience in such matters.”
While Sir Thomas proposed schemes to reveal the guilty member, Mallory’s thoughts focused on De Lanoy. Was it just a swaggering boast or had De Lanoy met the countess? If the marquis had discovered his interest in the lady, he might have decided to avenge himself for Mirabella by seducing the lady Mallory considered his. He would kill De Lanoy if he chose such a dangerous path for vengeance.
“Forget about digging up your old dueling pistols,” Brock told his father. “You might accidentally shoot one of the servants.”
“Or your foot,” Miss Wyman added, clearly listening to their exchange.
“Bah, I was a fine marksman in my day.”
“Your eyes were younger,” Brock replied. “Besides, Claeg has more sense than to challenge an old rival because some sot scribbled a childish dare.”
Seething about De Lanoy’s plot to steal the countess from him, Mallory could think of nothing to assure the Bedegraynes.
Brock sighed. “Or I could be wrong.”
“Stay away from De Lanoy.”
Brook had managed to avoid Mallory for two days before he had cornered her at Lady Malion’s garden party and issued his inane threat. The lady had spent an exorbitant amount of money to restore the old gardens and she had invited several hundred of her dearest friends to admire the efforts.
“Who told you about the hotel?”
“Hotel?” He seemed to grow larger in his fury. “You met him at the hotel when you dream of every excuse to avoid me in public?”
“It was merely chance. We sipped lemonade in front of a room filled with witnesses. It was all very sordid. I am astounded no one printed an announcement in the papers.” Brook did not care what he thought. She was the one who should be angry. When she needed him to comfort her, he was standing on the street kissing May Hamblin.
“There is no need for sarcasm,” he said, striving to keep his voice calm so that no one paid attention to them admiring the laurel hedges. “Just follow my dictates.”
“Or what? You are not my father or my husband. There are no consequences, Mr. Claeg,” she sneered, using his surname to provoke him.
“Defy me, Countess, and I will give you a wagonload of
consequences. Starting with my hand paddling your luscious backside.”
He looked like he wanted to throttle her rather than paddle her backside. Neither threat worried her. “I am not afraid of you.”
His light blue eyes blazed with unholy light. “Come closer so I may convince you.”
She was courting danger challenging him in such a public manner, but he was being ridiculous about a lonely gentleman who had treated her with kindness and respect. Brook stepped closer.
Mallory closed his eyes. Shaking off some of the anger, he said, “Why do I admire you when you are doing your best to provoke me?”
“A few minutes ago, I reasoned out that you were insane.” She grinned up into his face, completely disarming him.
“I must be for letting you get away with it.” His expression told her he wanted to be alone with her. A second later, he was dragging her away from the other guests. He chose a flowering bush to conceal them.
“Why were you meeting strange gentlemen at hotels, Countess?”
He had inadvertently given her the opening she needed without sounding like a jealous harpy. “Well, you were my first choice. Unfortunately, you were too busy kissing Miss Hamblin, so I rejected the notion.”
Mallory covered his eyes as if in pain. It was cruel, but she liked the flash of fear she glimpsed before he recovered. “A’Court should have a chat with his sister about offering her virtue to known scoundrels. It is fortunate I have my hands full of you.” He grabbed her to him and pressed a possessive kiss on her mouth.
“May offered to become your mistress?” Brook was about to issue a few threats herself with this latest revelation.
“Do not fret. I have developed a preference for demure blondes.”
“Oh, that was your twin brother who was kissing the brazen chit?”
Her words caused him to grin wickedly. “She ambushed me. It was you I wanted to chase after, not Miss Hamblin.” He nuzzled her hair with his chin. “I swear.”
“I believe you.”
His relief was palpable. “I was prepared to be more convincing, mayhap grovel if it were required.”
“A lovely suggestion. Let us save it for later when I can savor it.”
He kissed her again. This time softly. “I have not changed my opinion about De Lanoy. Avoid the man.”
“Mallory, I have encountered the gentleman on several occasions and he has been civil. He is certainly not the sort of man who grabs a lady and drags her into the bushes so he can steal a kiss.”
“No, he is the other sort who might use a trusting widow to gain his revenge on the gentleman who married his favorite mistress!”
 
Finally, he had managed to rattle her. The light, mocking derision that had her looking down her nose at him vanished from her face.
“Marquis De Lanoy was Mirabella’s protector?” An endearing dimple appeared as she furrowed her brow in concentration. “I do not recall you ever mentioning his name.”
“I may have not. I am not particularly proud of my dealings with the gentleman.” He had been an arrogant, boastful bastard, drunk on the reckless passion of his and Mirabella’s stolen love.
“Many years have passed since you and Mirabella created a small scandal by running off to Gretna Green. The gentleman
I met did not seem to harbor any ill will toward anyone. Nor did he mention you.”
Mallory had no inclination to argue over the man’s integrity. “And you are an excellent judge of a man’s character? Lest you forget, madam, your flesh bears the scars resulting from your high opinion of another monster.”
She sputtered at his callous remark. Before he could apologize, she said, “How true. The fact I am standing here with you is another hallmark of my stupidity.” She glared at his offending hand when he halted her flight. “Let me pass.”
“Damned inflexible woman! I am trying to protect you from being hurt by my past.” He thought about revealing what Sir Thomas had told him about the betting book in his club and then discarded the notion. Her disposition was too unpredictable at the moment. Further provocation might have her packing her belongings and returning to Loughwydde.
“If I heed you on this, sir, where does it end? From your telling, I would have to avoid half of England’s inhabitants in order for you to shield me from your past wickedness.”
Mallory took her sword thrust of righteousness without uttering a sound. It was a bloodless wound, but the poison of her words coursed through him.
“Brook, there you are,” Wynne Milroy said, pretending that she had not overheard her friend’s outrageous comment about his past. “Lady Malion told me you were out here. She did not mention your escort. It is good to see you again, Mr. Claeg.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Milroy,” he said in an abrupt manner. Although the lady possessed all the traits that made the Bedegraynes a handsome clan, it was not the first time that Mallory had marveled over the former Lord A’Court’s folly for coveting the wrong woman. The countess was definitely more appealing than the ethereal blonde.
As she sensed her timely appearance had effectively stalled out their argument, Wynne Milroy’s pale green eyes
reflected her cheerfulness. “Mr. Claeg, perhaps I can impose upon you.”
“You may try.”
Undeterred by his surly tone, she continued, “Most of your historical paintings have strong themes involving women.”
“Mr. Claeg cannot resist women,” Brook said, her face sorrowful with regret. “It is in his blood. Like a fatal disease.”
Mrs. Milroy pursed her lips to hide the irresistible impulse to smile. “Your work is remarkable, my lord. I had hoped you might persuade my husband to model for a future endeavor. Mayhap your representation of Hercules? His physique is most impressive.”
“What is your husband’s position toward your latest scheme, madam?” Mallory relished the notion of working with the retired fighter. He could see Reckless Milroy as Hercules or even a weary Titan Atlas.
“If he objects, give me time. I will convince him. I feel it is my duty to preserve his magnificent shoulders for the forthcoming generations.”
Reconciled that he no longer had the privacy to extract the countess’s oath to avoid De Lanoy, Mallory bowed. “It seems we share a mutual aspiration, Mrs. Milroy. I will go speak to your husband.”
“Excellent.”
He bowed over Brook’s hand. “Do not disappoint me, Countess.” With a parting scowl, he turned on his heel.
“I have a surprise for you, Brook,” he heard Mrs. Milroy confide to her friend. “Keanan was able to convince his half-brother to join us. It was a formidable task, I can assure you. The man prefers his business ledgers to polite society these days, since he inherited the Reckester title. And he is still unmatched. Was he not one of your admirers the season you were brought out?”
Mallory stopped, wanting to hear her response. He gritted his teeth at the notion of Reckester courting his countess. The
handsome rake had a reputation for seducing women that almost equaled his!
“I believe so,” was Brook’s hesitant reply.
“Well, you are twice as beautiful now as you were then. I think you should remind the Duke of your admirable qualities. Just think. If the man has any sense we might become sisters!”
Not if he stopped the meddling Mrs. Milroy. He started back toward the two women.
“Mr. Claeg. What providence has brought us together this day?”
Mallory stilled at the feminine voice. The throaty, almost lyrical tone stirred flashes of old memories and past nightmares. Milroy was forgotten. The lecture Mallory had been intending to deliver to the countess would have to be postponed. Flashing a charming grin, he greeted the lady he had pursued through the dim passageways of the King’s Theatre before she had vanished.
“Mrs. Henning. Well, well … you were never one to lack nerve. I suppose that is why you were always managing to surprise me.”
 
Brook discreetly observed Mallory as he chatted with an unidentified woman. Something about her was vaguely familiar. One thing was apparent. He knew her, Brook thought, disgusted at his never-ending popularity. Sleek like a thoroughbred, the woman exuded an erotic thrall that made Brook feel plain ordinary. Her quivering lower lip betrayed her hurt feelings when he placed his hand on the woman’s arm and strolled out of sight. She was never allowing the horrid man to touch her ever again!
 
“What are you doing here?”
Mrs. Edda Henning gave him a coy glance. “Like many of the guests here, I have come to see Lady Malion’s gardens.”
They strolled down the stone path, which led to a man-made pond. Mallory stepped off the path. Picking up a small stone, he sent it skipping across the water’s surface. His companion remained on the stone path. Mindful that the hem of her skirts was likely to become soiled, she kept lifting them slightly to adjust their position.
“Do not act dense, Mrs. Henning. I long ago credited you with intelligence. A pity I cannot claim the same for myself.”
Unperturbed by his hostility, she allowed her gaze to slide over him admiringly. “You have benefited from the passing years, sir. Mr. Henning has not been so fortunate. Last winter a lung fever weakened him.”
“And here I thought it would be some angry gentleman granting my fondest wish by discharging a dueling pistol at him. A shame. Henning always did have Satan’s own luck for escaping the aftermath of his mischief.”
Her dark eyes were liquid with compassion. “You are still bitter after all of these years.”
Mallory made a rude noise. “Thinking of Mirabella moldering in her cold grave tends to sour my disposition.”
She risked ruining her hem by moving to the edge of the pond. He whipped the stone in his hand with such ferocity that it sank immediately. “Mr. Claeg, no one, not even you, could have predicted that your wife would meet a tragic end,” she said, seemingly earnest to convince him.
Most of her red hair was tucked under her stylish bonnet. The few tendrils that were free teased her rosy cheek. She had barely changed. He could understand why Henning had picked her to be his wife.
She sadly lowered her gaze. “Do you blame me? Is it because we were …” Edda Henning struggled to find a polite word to describe the blind rutting frenzy of their joining. He held up a warning hand to silence her. She ignored the curt command. “ … because we were intimate the day your lady died?”
“It was a mistake,” he said flatly. The vague recollections of the encounter had always troubled him. They aroused him in his dreams and made him angry when he was fully awake. “I have never been clear on how I ended up in your bed at all.”
“Now you are being deliberately insulting,” she said with a brief laugh. “How I have missed your wit, my lord.”
The lady was up to something. “Spare me the nostalgia, madam. I am assuming that your husband orchestrated our tender reunion. What has changed? You and Henning have been calculatingly elusive since I glimpsed you both at the theater.”
“Forgive me for being so mysterious. Seeing you at the theater so unexpectedly that evening startled me. I, too, have memories of the night Mirabella died in your arms. I was uncertain of your reaction, so I chose the coward’s path and ran.”
“Why seek me out now, Mrs. Henning? I no longer participate in those vulgar games you play with your guests. Being covered in Mirabella’s blood cured me of such destructive vices.”
“My lord, can you not believe we were changed, too, by your wife’s death? Mr. Henning gave up his exclusive gatherings.”
“So you have been living the fat squire’s life since we parted,” he said, unconvinced that someone like Henning could shed his perversions like a snake sheds its skin.
Her playful expression begged him to share her amusement. “Not exactly. My husband decided that we should spend some time abroad.”

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