My Favorite Countess (11 page)
Read My Favorite Countess Online
Authors: Vanessa Kelly
“No. But I can understand, and try to forgive.”
Bathsheba waited for the explosion, but it didn't come. Instead, the spinster eyed Blackmore thoughtfully before giving a quiet harrumph.
“I don't agree with you, Doctor, but I suppose I understand your point of view. You must see much to disturb you in your line of work.”
Lady Dellworthy's hands flew dramatically up to her expansive and beruffled bosom. “Well, I don't understand it at all. Really, Doctor! How you can bring yourself to mix with the lower classes so frequently is something I can never begin to fathom. Why, Sir Philip practically had to drag me to the festival today. So many low characters wandering aboutâcut-purses and thieves surround us this very minute, I'm sure. One doesn't feel safe even in broad daylight!” She waggled a hand loaded down with expensive rings at her husband. “But, naturally, my lord and master insisted we come.”
Sir Philip smiled indulgently at his wife. “It's expected, my dear. Can't be too high in the instep, now can we? No need to stay any longer than necessary, though. After the service in the cathedral, we'll return home in a trice. You have my word on it.”
“Well, thank the good Lord for that,” Lady Dellworthy exclaimed. She leaned past her husband, clutched Bathsheba's arm, and spoke in a stage whisper that could likely be heard on the other side of the square. “I would advise you do the same, Lady Randolph. You won't believe what goes on after the procession has ended. Why, just look at all the loose young women parading up and down.”
Bathsheba glanced around, seeing only happy families and the usual assortment of young folkâchattering couples sauntering about the square, gaily dressed misses laughing and flirting with their adoring beaus. As tame a scene as a Thursday evening at Almack's.
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Exactly,” the older woman said, nodding wisely. “Licentiousness is all around us. The girls expose themselves in the most reprehensible manner, seeking to attract male attention. And then the men latch onto them and carry them off to dancing rooms.” Her watery blue eyes bugged out with a horrified excitement. “And after that, we can only imagine what happens. I absolutely forbade any of my maids to leave the house today because I will not tolerate such immoral behavior.”
Words failed Bathsheba. Behind her, she could feel Blackmore shaking with silent mirth. She gulped, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from giving in to her own laughter.
Miss Elliott leveled a suspicious gaze on them, then returned her attention to the other woman. “Very wise, Lady Dellworthy. As you say, one can only imagine.”
Bathsheba had a hard time believing the spinster could, in fact, visualize what might happen between those imaginary couples. She swallowed even harder, desperate to keep down the mad giggles swelling in her throat. Blackmore squeezed her elbowâin warning or commiseration, she wasn't sure. But the fact that he shared her amusement only made it worse.
“Oh, look,” exclaimed Matthew, sounding relieved. “There's St. Wilfrid. About bloody time, I must say.”
“Lord Randolph!” Miss Elliott's shocked rejoinder necessitated another round of profuse apologies from Matthew.
An imposing St. Wilfrid clopped by on his white steed, followed by his retinue of monks. All looked exceedingly cheerful, and only slightly worse for wear. The crowd began to break up, some moving to the food and craft booths scattered around the square, and others following behind the procession toward the cathedral.
Miss Elliott took Matthew's arm in a firm grip. “Shall we proceed to the service?”
Bathsheba peeked at Blackmore, who was making his farewells to Sir Philip and Lady Dellworthy. Obviously, he had no intention of going to the service. Gritting her teeth, she turned to follow her cousin and Miss Elliott. It killed her to have to spend the afternoon cooped up in the cathedralâwhere it would surely be hot and stuffyâbut she couldn't abandon her party no matter how much she longed to stay with Blackmore. The local gossips would have a field day with that, and she didn't have the heart to cause any more scandals during the rest of her stay.
Blackmore's hand reached out and grasped her wrist, bringing her to a gentle halt. Startled, she gazed up at him. His expression was grave, but he had the devil in his eyes.
“Lord Randolph, a moment, please,” he said to her cousin.
Matthew stopped abruptly, causing Miss Elliott to collide with a stout matron walking behind her. While the spinster made her apologies to the scolding woman, Matthew gave Blackmore an enquiring look.
“I would prefer Lady Randolph not spend the afternoon in a crowded and stuffy church,” said the doctor. “She needs to eat and drink, and perhaps to stroll by the river for some fresh air.”
He glanced down at her, a gently mocking smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “Wouldn't you agree, my lady? Or would you prefer to attend the service?”
Her mouth went dry, which certainly bolstered his claim that she needed something to drink.
“Oh! Of course, I shall be sorry to miss the service,” she said in a plaintive voice. “But my throat is parched, and I do feel quite overcome with the heat. A stroll by the river sounds most refreshing.” She finished with a pathetic cough.
Miss Elliott finally managed to disentangle herself from the irate matron and righted her poke bonnet. She stared at them through narrowed eyes. “I'm sure her ladyship will benefit from sitting quietly at the service, out of the sun.”
“I don't agree, Miss Elliott,” Blackmore replied. “And, as her doctor, I insist on having the last word.”
He gave the bristling spinster a charming smile, then took Bathsheba's hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. His subtly possessive manner sent heat coursing low in her belly.
“Well, it's all settled, then,” exclaimed Matthew. “Sheba, we'll meet you back at the Unicorn after the service. And if you get tired, ask for the carriage and John Coachman will take you home. I'm sure I could beg the Dellworthys to give me a ride. Just a few miles out of the way, wouldn't you say, Sir Philip?”
Before Sir Philip could reply, the crowd surged around them and carried Matthew and his party along toward the cathedral. Blackmore drew Bathsheba close, shielding her as he edged them in the opposite direction. Matthew, swept along with Miss Elliott, gave a cheerful wave before being swallowed up in the mass of people.
“That was easier than I thought,” Blackmore said as he steered her toward a cluster of tables set up by the food booths. “For a moment, I thought Miss Elliott would take you by force to the cathedral.” He grinned at her. “For your own good, of course.”
She burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer. Several passersby turned to stare, but they all smiled back, seeming to enjoy her merriment.
“Thank you,” she finally gasped. “The thought of spending another minute with Miss Elliott and the Dellworthys was truly more than I could bear. I've been good, but I couldn't vouch for my behavior much longer, even if we were in a cathedral.”
“Even taking into consideration your seditious remarks at the Dellworthys' dinner partyâand I was possibly more outrageous than you wereâwhy has Miss Elliott taken such a dislike to you? Even Lady Dellworthy has forgiven you.”
She smiled up at him as they sauntered through the crowd. For the first time in a long time, Bathsheba felt free. Free to relax, free to laugh . . . free to enjoy the company of a handsome man without needing anything from him in return.
“She sees me as a corrupting influence. As far as I can tell, our Miss Elliott has taken quite a liking to you. She's convinced I'll try to debauch you.”
His eyes went sultry and dark, and she felt an answering throb in her belly.
“I can only hope Miss Elliott's fears will be realized,” he murmured.
She flushed, and the wobbly feeling came rushing back. In a second, Blackmore's expression returned to that of a doctor instead of an ardent suitor.
“When was the last time you had something to eat?”
“Breakfast.” And she'd only picked at her food, too gloomy to eat. But now she was famished.
He shook his head, his disapproval clear, and steered her toward a table partially occupied by a boisterous family with three children. They obligingly made room, and the husband promised to look after Bathsheba while Blackmore went in search of refreshments.
“Not to worry, sir. I'll keep the young bucks away from your little wife. They won't touch a hair on her pretty head.”
Bathsheba frowned at the man's presumption, but Blackmore just laughed, winking at her before moving off to join the long lines in front of the food booths. After a moment's hesitation, she decided it wasn't worth making a fuss about. Besides, she needed a few quiet moments to think about why Blackmore had stayed in Ripon. The answer seemed clear, and her heart pounded with excitement knowing he had deliberately sought her out.
But what could that really mean for her? On Monday she must still return to London, to her search for a husband. Blackmore could be nothing more than a temporary diversion, even if he did awaken feelings and sensations she had thought dead and buried.
Bathsheba took a calming breath and watched him weave his way back through the crowd. Catching her gaze, he smiledâa smile full of sensual intent. So full it almost felt like a threat. A cloud passed over the sun, throwing the square into shadow, and she shivered. A sudden anxiety washed through her. If she hadn't been wearing gloves, she would probably have given into her weakness and bit one of her fingernails down to the quick.
“Here, missus.” The pleasant voice of the young wife at their table made Bathsheba start.
The woman gave her a friendly smile. “Slide in a bit so your husband will have room to sit beside you.”
Blackmore strode up to the table, holding a cup and a tankard in one big hand and two plates crammed full of cakes and pastries in the other. When she didn't slide down the bench, he gave her a questioning look. She hesitated, then moved over to give him room. His thigh, sheathed in buckskin, brushed against her. It seemed absurd, but the heat of his body practically scorched her.
She blushed, silently cursing her apparent return to her days as a painfully shy schoolroom miss.
He handed her the cup. “Drink this.”
She sniffed before taking a cautious sip. Lemonade, and quite good lemonade at that. He moved one of the plates in front of her and gave her a fork.
“Now eat,” he said, his deep voice a rumbling purr.
“Yes, Doctor,” she replied obediently, and he laughed.
As she tried to make a dent in the ridiculous amount of food he had fetched for her, Blackmore fell into easy conversation with the young family whose table they shared. In between pulls on his tankard of ale, he discussed local politics with the father and complimented the mother on the beauty and health of her children.
Bathsheba found the banality of the conversation strangely soothing, and her tension started to drain away. She allowed herself to relax against the hard, male body sitting so close to her on the bench, but jumped when he casually reached back and slipped an arm around her waist. After a few moments of silent panic, she decided it would make more of a fuss to draw away or insist he remove it. Besides, in the crush of the tables and the crowd, no one would probably notice anyway.
While Blackmore drank his ale and demolished his plate of food, Bathsheba made a funny face at the toddler nestled in her father's arms on the other side of the table. The little girl's blue eyes widened and she grinned back, playing peeka-boo from between her chubby fingers. Bathsheba laughed, mostly at the silly game but also at herself. The fever must have damaged some portion of her brain, since she actually seemed to be enjoying an afternoon spent eating cakes and playing with dirt-smudged infants. And pretending to be the wife of a man she barely knew.
Blackmore removed his arm from her waist and stood. “Well, my dear,” he said, obviously enjoying the charade as much as she was, “shall we take that stroll down by the river?”
He extended his hand as he gazed at her with a sensual, heavy-lidded intent. One part of herâthe woman who had been Reggie's wifeâwhispered a warning. But another part of her, the one he had called forth with his kisses, couldn't resist that look. She murmured her good-byes to the young family and took Blackmore's hand, letting him pull her to her feet.
He rewarded her with a smile and tucked her hand firmly in the crook of his arm. He didn't rush her through the square, but his pace was steady and determined, as if he had more in mind than just a leisurely stroll by the river. Energy crackled between them, and she felt the stirrings of desire in the most intimate parts of her body.
They turned into a quiet side street that led to the river. Bathsheba studied the neat row of classical-style town houses, interested in her surroundings despite the distraction of the large man prowling next to her. She hadn't been into Ripon proper in years. On the few occasions when she came north to Compton Manor, she rarely left the Randolph estate. But Ripon really was a lovely town, especially on a beautiful summer's day. As they strolled along, she could almost pretend she didn't have a care in the world, and that Blackmore actually meant something to her.
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