Read My Favorite Countess Online
Authors: Vanessa Kelly
My Favorite Countess (26 page)
Then the slow, delicious collapse. Trembling, she slid down, still straddling him as she curled against his chest. His arms wrapped about her, holding her in a fierce embrace. As exhausted as she was, she smiled to feel the muscles of his brawny arms twitch.
They lay like that, panting and sweaty, until her knees finally started to protest. With a wince, she lifted herself and clumsily swung her leg over his stomach. He reached to help, guiding her down to the mattress.
“Did I hurt you, sweetheart?” His voice held a sharp note of concern, as it always did when he worried about her.
She smiled, planting a sloppy kiss on his chest before settling against him.
“Well, I suspect some heretofore undiscovered muscles might be a bit sore in the morning. But I'm confident I'll survive.”
He sighed, pulling her close. “It's your fault, you know. If you weren't such a seductive little minx I wouldn't have lost control like that.”
“You lost control? I hadn't noticed.”
He made a scoffing noise, one that told her he thought she was being silly. Somehow, it seemed absolutely right.
Her eyelids began to droop as a feeling of drowsy contentment stole through her body. It would be careless to fall asleep, but she couldn't remember the last time she had felt so happyâor so safe. As if being in John's arms was exactly where she was meant to be, now and forever.
On that thought her eyes flew open and her gaze coasted over their naked, entangled bodies. Far from being safe, she was smack in the middle of making one of the costliest mistakes of her life.
Chapter 19
Bathsheba jerked fully awake. John dozed beside her, obviously unaware that disaster could strike at any moment.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her racing heart. What time was it? How long had he been in her chambers? The last thing she needed was for rumors to circulate through the ton that John was her lover. Bathsheba paid her servants well to ensure their loyalty, but even so . . .
She tried to sit up, but John's arms clamped around her in a viselike grip.
“Where are you going?”
“John,” she whispered, struggling to get free, “it's late. You must leave.”
“Why are you whispering? You were anything but quiet a few minutes ago.”
Blast him, he was right. The whole house had probably heard her shrieking in ecstasy.
She subsided against him with a groan. Like a besotted fool, she had allowed her emotions to run free, and look where she landedâin the middle of a potentially fatal scandal. Miss Roston had already shown herself to be uncommonly suspicious of her friendship with John. If the old harpy heard even the slightest hint of gossip, she would happily pour poison in her brother's ear.
John stirred, giving her bottom a soothing pat. “Don't fret, sweetheart. It's late. Past two o'clock, I should think. I'm sure most of your servants have long been asleep.”
“Past two o'clock!” This time she most certainly shrieked. “Truly, John. You must go. If anyone were to see you leaving the house at this hour of the morning, I don't know what they would think.”
She wriggled out from under his arm. Scrambling down off the high mattress, she grabbed a silk dressing gown that was draped over a chair and threw it around her shoulders.
John sat up, shoving the mound of pillows into a pile so he could lean comfortably against them. He gave her a lazy smile, looking more than ready to settle in for a long chat.
Swallowing a curse, Bathsheba darted around the room collecting the scattered pieces of his clothing. John folded his arms across his naked chest, watching her with a mild curiosity.
“Bathsheba, come back to bed before you catch a chill.”
She paused. With the beginnings of a night beard shadowing his hard jaw, he looked both roguish and unbearably handsome. As her gaze traveled over his solidly muscled frame, a trembling weakness began to invade her limbs. Her foolish heartâand her still-hungry bodyâurged her to yield to temptation.
No.
She had to resist. Passion had ruined her life once before, and she wouldn't allow it to happen again.
She had to resist. Passion had ruined her life once before, and she wouldn't allow it to happen again.
She strode to the bed and dropped his clothes on the rumpled coverlet.
“I'm sorry, John. You must get dressed. I won't pretend that I didn't want this to happen, because I did.” She took a deep breath, fighting to get the words past the sudden lump in her throat. “But you must not assume I can give you anything more. And whatever my actions might have led you to believe, I don't want to have an affair with you.”
Reclining on the pillows as if he hadn't a care in the world, John didn't stir. But his body underwent a subtle change, as did his face. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and his sensual mouth looked carved from stone.
Oh, God
. He was furious. And wounded. She could see it in his eyes. Beneath the flare of anger, a pained surprise that she was rejecting him again.
. He was furious. And wounded. She could see it in his eyes. Beneath the flare of anger, a pained surprise that she was rejecting him again.
The lump in her throat turned into a boulder. She simply couldn't bring herself to lie to him again, to let him think she really was the harlot the rest of the world believed her to be.
“It's not that I don't want to be with you,” she blurted out. “I do. But it's just not possible. I'm sorry if I misled you, but there's . . .” She trailed off, suddenly feeling like a stupid schoolgirl as he gave an exasperated shake of the head.
He threw the covers off and his feet hit the floor. Panic prickled along her nerves, and she thought of fleeing to her dressing room and locking the door behind her.
Before she could act on that thought, he was there. His big hands wrapped around her waist, lifted her up, and plopped her down on the mattress.
“Bathsheba,” he said, fisting his hands on his hips as he glared down at her, “you don't really think I'm going to let you marry Roston, do you? Or anyone else, for that matter.”
She scowled as she yanked the slippery fabric of her robe out from where it had bunched up under her bottom.
“May I remind you, Dr. Blackmore, that it's none of your concern who I do or do not marry. As I told you earlier, you may keep your impertinent remarks to yourself.”
He bent down, bringing them nose to nose. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you lured me back into your bed. I told you once before that I was not to be trifled with.”
She gasped, outraged by the accusation. “I'm not trifling with you. And, by the way, if memory serves, it was
you
who lured
me
tonight! Not the other way around.”
you
who lured
me
tonight! Not the other way around.”
“And what about yesterday? When you came to the hospital. Were you just trifling with me then, as well? Was Madame Countess bored and in need of diversion?”
Anger squeezed her chest. “Of course not! How can you even think that? I came to the hospital because I wanted to see you.”
Satisfaction flared in his knowing gaze. She bit her lip, suddenly understanding he had deliberately provoked her into blurting out an admission.
With a weary grumble, she let her shoulders slump. “Damn you, John. What do you want from me?”
He knelt in front of her and took her hands. “You already know the answer to that, my love. The question is what do
you
want?”
you
want?”
She gazed miserably into his kind, patient face. “I don't know.”
“Bathsheba, what are you afraid of? Why do you keep resisting what's happening between us?”
She fought to keep a childish sob from welling up into her throat. How could she even begin to explain without revealing every ugly secret she had guarded all these years? But sure as the sun rose in the morning, John would wait her out with that relentless patience that always managed to breach her defenses. And she could never seem to resist it.
“I'm poor,” she finally said. The hot shame of her admission brought the blood to her checks.
He sat back on his heels, stunned. “I don't understand. You're one of the wealthiest widows of the ton.”
She shook her head. “That's what Matthew and I have led everyone to believe, but it's not true. The Compton estate is in terrible conditionâwhich I'm sure you must have noticed when you came to the manor house.”
Comprehension slowly dawned on his features.
“Yes, well,” she grimly continued, “I don't even have my widow's portion anymore. Not that there was much to begin with. But now there's nothingânothing except debt. Unless there's a miracle, our estate manager predicts we will be bankrupt in only a few months, if not sooner.”
He slowly got to his feet and joined her on the bed. One arm slipped around her waist. She leaned into him, grateful for at least the illusion of protection.
“Bathsheba, how did this happen?”
“In addition to his other sins,” she explained bitterly, “Reggie was also a spendthrift and a wastrel. I didn't realize the full extent of his profligacy until he died, when I got my hands on the estate accounts.”
She went on to explain her failed attempts to rescue the family fortune, and to stave off the rumors that would bring disaster crashing down once and for all. He held her tightly but mostly kept silent, murmuring only a few words of comfort during the long, sorry recital.
“I've sold most of my jewelry,” she finished up. “Not the estate pieces, but anything I had that Reggie gave me, or that I bought for myself. But there's nothing left to sell. If something doesn't happen soon, we're lost.”
“And why is it your problem to solve, and not the current earl's?”
She gave him an irritated look.
A humorless smile twisted his mouth. “Ah, yes. I'm guessing the earl doesn't have a head for business.”
“Not to put too fine a point on it,” she responded dryly.
“But surely that doesn't require you to sacrifice yourself in a loveless marriage, does it? Which I presume is your plan. After all, once the earl weds Miss Elliottâand from what I hear, Miss Elliott will see that he does, even if your cousin doesn't yet realize itâthat should solve most of your problems. Since Lord Randolph never comes to London, he can rent this house out and you will be free of that financial burden, at least.”
Frustrated, she shook her head. “You don't understand. That won't be nearly enough to cover our debts and maintain the estate in Yorkshire.”
“Perhaps not. But Miss Elliott's fortune will be more than enough to maintain Compton Manor, and then some.”
Bathsheba frowned. “What are you talking about? Miss Elliott doesn't have any fortune. Her brother's a professor at Oxford.”
John looked at her as if she were an idiot. “And her mother was the daughter of an extremely wealthy viscount. She left Miss Elliott very well-endowed. Two thousand pounds a year, if Dr. Littleton is to be believed, which I'm sure he is. And, as you must have noticed, Miss Elliott is quite a capable manager. She'll have Compton Manor whipped into shape in no time.”
Bathsheba gaped at him. “Really?” she asked faintly.
He gave her chin a gentle tap. “My love, the next time you visit the country, I suggest you make a better effort to listen to the local gossip. You might just learn something.”
Bathsheba wanted to scold him for teasing her, but her brain felt too scrambled to find the words. All these months, debt had squeezed her in its unforgiving iron jaws. She had struggled to find a way out of the trap, burdened by responsibilities that only she had the strength to shoulder. And now, like a puff of smoke, they were dissolving into thin air.
“I . . . I don't know what to say,” she stuttered.
“Well, you could say you'll marry me. I know you likely never thought about it, but I wish you would,” John announced casually.
Shock slammed through her.
“What?” she yelped.
He winced. “I thought you didn't want to wake the servants.”
Her mind whirled, a riot of conflicting emotions. For a few mad seconds his outrageous proposal seemed possible. After all, she did have feelings for himâvery strong feelings. Nothing like the girlish love she had felt for Reggie. Something very different and so much deeper. Something she couldn't yet put a name to. But more importantly, she knew John would cherish and protect her, and treat her with the utmost respect.
She cautiously met his gaze, some part of her convinced he must be making a cruel jest. But the heat in his eyes and the firm set of his mouth told her this was no joke. And it struck her, with the force of a blow, just how much she wanted this. Wanted him.
And then she remembered why she couldn't, and burgeoning hope withered.
Desperate for him not to see the tears welling into her eyes, she slid down off the mattress and wandered over to the marble mantelpiece.
“I . . . can't marry you, John,” she said, surreptitiously rubbing one eye. “You can't ask this of me. Please let's not talk about it anymore.”
She heard him pad across the floor. Taking her shoulders in a gentle grip, he turned her around.
“Bathshebaâ”
“You really should put some clothes on,” she groused, annoyed by how much his naked body tempted her.
He ignored her complaint. “What are you afraid of?” His voice turned cool. “Do you not think me worthy of you?”
Stung, she jerked her head back to meet his eyes. “Of course I think you're worthy. Don't be absurd.”
“Then what is it? Our feelings for each other are not in doubt. Do you fear that I won't be able to provide for you? Such is not the case, I assure you.”
She sighed with resignation. He would never give up until she told him the rest of it.
“I have a sister,” she said, all in a rush. “Her name is Rachel. I'm all she has, and I simply can't abandon her. Not for you. Not for any man.”
For a second time that night, he look stunned. But his astonishment soon turned to concern, then pity as she described Rachel's illness, and how her father had insisted she be forever hidden away in the countryside.
“But why did you maintain the fiction after your father died? You were a countess. No one would have questioned you. Certainly, you wouldn't be the first member of a noble family to have a feeble-minded relation. Your sister's condition is the result of feverânot a taint in your family's blood.”
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