Read My Favorite Countess Online
Authors: Vanessa Kelly
My Favorite Countess (9 page)
She glared at Blackmore, dying to strike that calmly questioning look from his face. She had done what she must to save herself and her family, and perhaps her dignity had suffered for it. But the alternative was surely worse than having a bad reputation or a man she didn't particularly like in her bed. If the world thought her little better than a courtesan, so be it. She absolutely refused to spend the rest of her life in genteel povertyâor endanger Rachel's security, for that matterâand she'd be damned if she'd apologize for that or explain it away.
“You forget yourself, Doctor,” she said, investing as much scorn in her voice as she could. “I'm grateful for your care, but my gratitude does not allow you the right to pass judgment on my life or my actions. If you cannot behave appropriately in the company of your betters, then I suggest you take your leave.”
He didn't stiffen or pull away as she expected him to. Instead, he leisurely uncrossed his legs, leaned over, and took one of her hands in his. She yanked, but he refused to let go. His big hand swallowed hers in a gentle but unyielding clasp.
“When you were feverish, you rambled quite a bit about your husband. About what he did to you.”
Bathsheba flinched, feeling his worlds like a blow. Blackmore began to stroke the inside of her wrist, as if to soothe her. It didn't help. She didn't want to think about Reggie or remember the nightmare visions that had tormented her during those fevered hours. And she felt sick with shame for babbling it all out . . . like a stupid, weak child.
He studied her, his expression both kind and grave. It made her want to scream.
“Did your husband beat you?”
She blinked. “Of course not. Reggie would never be so vulgar. He found other ways to punish me.” She was so unnerved by his question, she blurted out exactly what she was thinking.
“Jealous, was he?”
She almost laughed at the inadequacy of that description. Jealousy was the least of Reggie's crimes, but Bathsheba would cut her tongue out before she would reveal the ugliness of her married life.
Blackmore's eyes had taken on the color of slate, his mouth compressed into a hard line. “I remember hearing rumors after your husband died. Your affairs supposedly drove him to ruin. No one who knows you as I do would believe that, Lady Randolph.”
She sat with her head bowed, trying not to pant even though pain squeezed her chest in an unforgiving grip. She had tried to forgetâtried to ignore the whispers and rumors, hoping they would fade. But Reggie had done such a good job tarring her reputation that they never did.
They sat in silence, as if they were two people enjoying a pleasant afternoon in the sunshine. He gently stroked her wrist as she struggled to breathe. When her racing heart began to slow, he released her hand, placing it back in her lap.
“Why did you never defend yourself against his accusations?”
She shook her head, miserably aware of her inability to hide her mistakes from him. He already seemed to know everything about herâor at least about Reggie.
“It was my fault as much as his. I could never find a way to reassure himâto make him believe I loved him. Eventually, I didn't want to anymore.” She looked down, unable to meet his eyes when she told him what made her seem almost as vile as her husband. “I wanted to punish him for . . . well, for what he did to me. That was the best way I knew how. Besides,” she added bitterly, turning her head away, “no one would have believed me.”
He grasped her chin in his long fingers and gently forced her to meet his gaze. She saw nothing in his eyes but sympathy, and the pain in her chest began to ease.
“I suspect there was nothing you could have done to reassure him,” he said. “In my experience, that kind of jealous obsession is impervious to reason. You must not brood about the pastâand your marriageâany longer. It serves no purpose but to depress your spirits. I speak as your physician, my lady, as well as your friend. It's time to let go of the past. Leave your husband in the grave where he belongs.”
Bathsheba wanted so much to believe him. She had struggled for so many years to accept that Reggie's perverse passion wasn't her fault. The understanding and kindness she saw in his eyes almost made her think she could.
He briefly cupped her cheek, then leaned back, putting distance between them. She closed her eyes, fighting the overwhelming desire to crawl into his arms and seek the same comfort he had given her when she was ill. But now she wasn't, and her senses had returned days ago. To still feel that craving for his touch frightened her almost as much as the pain of remembering those years as Reggie's wife.
“Now that you are almost recuperated, Lady Randolph, when do you mean to return to London?”
She opened her eyes, surprised by his quick return to neutral ground. Surprised the terrace looked as it always did, and that the day was still sunny and beautiful. None of it seemed possible given what had just happened between them.
He lounged in his chair, an easy, friendly smile playing around the corners of his mouth. She could almost pretend he had never probed into the darkest corners of her soul.
She scrambled to rearrange her scattered wits, pathetically grateful he'd decided to sound a retreat.
“Sometime next week,” she replied. “After the feast of St. Wilfrid. The procession is this Saturday, and there's to be a carnival in the village afterward.”
A wicked flash of silver gleamed in his eyes. “You astonish me. Lady Randolph attending the village fair with all the local bumpkins. I would not have thought it possible given your hatred of the country.”
She cast him a rueful smile. “It's not the country I can't stand. It's the people.”
He laughed. “Then why go? You could plead illness. I could vouch for you, if you ask me nicely.”
The husky sound of his laughter sweetly touched some lonely chord in her heart, and she had to fight the impulse to sigh.
“I promised Matthew. He says it's expected. Everyone would be offended if I didn't come, though I can't imagine why.” She wrinkled her nose. “But I suppose I've trod on enough toes already, and it's the least I can do to repay my cousin for all his kindness.”
He nodded with mock solemnity. “I wish I could be here to see it.”
A pang of dismay shafted through her. It hadn't occurred to her that he would leave Ripon so soon.
“You're returning to London?”
“Yes. On the morrow. I came today to check on you, and to bid you farewell.”
“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “I shall be sorry to see you go.”
“And I will be sorry to go, but I have left my work unattended for weeks. If I remain away much longer, I might not have any patients to return to.”
She fixed a smile on her face, hoping he didn't sense her disappointment.
Silence fell between them again, and she couldn't think what to say to break it. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Lady Randolph, I wondered if you would allow me to call on youâwhen you return to London, that is.”
As quickly as dismay had filled her, happiness took its place. She tamped it down, loath for him to read schoolgirl emotions on her face.
“I should be happy to see you, Doctor.”
“Thank you,” he said, exhaling a tight breath. Did he really think she would have refused him?
“I have another favor to beg of you,” he continued.
Her mouth went dry. She felt breathless with a foolish excitement. “What is it?”
“I would like you to consider taking a place on the Board of Governors of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. You know a little of the work I do there and what I hope to accomplish. I'm convinced that a woman of your standing and intellect could do much good for the institution.”
Her heart gave a hollow thump in her chest. “You want me to work at your hospital?”
“Well, on the board. Yes.”
All her excitement drained away, leaving her muscles slack and weak.
“Let's be clear, then, Doctor. You want me to use my social connections to raise money for the hospital, don't you?”
He frowned, no doubt alerted by the flat tone of her voice.
“Yes, of course. In part. But I also want you to do this for your own sake. I believe you suffer from a lack of purpose that causes you to dwell too much on the troubles in your life. You are much too intelligent to lead such an idle existence.”
Amazement, then anger, left her speechless for a moment until she composed herself.
“I didn't realize I was so useless. Such a burden on society.”
His head jerked back a fraction. “I did not say you were useless. Of course you're not. Your life is little different from many women of the ton, and that's the problem. As far as I can ascertain, you're bored and restless. A woman of your intellect needs mental stimulation. A purpose in life.”
When she opened her mouth to object, he cut her off.
“You're not some dainty piece of fluff, Lady Randolph. You're better than that. There is so much good you could do in the world, if only you would see to it.”
Anger hummed through her body, restoring her strength. Ever since Reggie's death she had fought to create a life of her ownâone where she made her own decisions, and not had them forced upon her. Her marriage had almost destroyed her. Reggie and his friends in the ton had almost destroyed her. How much more was she expected to sacrifice?
And how dared he tell her how to live her life? She had had enough of that to last an eternity.
She rose quickly to her feet, forcing him to do the same.
“You flatter me, Doctor, but you're quite mistaken. You'll have to look elsewhere for your lady patroness. I'm perfectly satisfied with my life, and have no desire to change it.”
The warmth in his eyes disappeared, and the day felt suddenly chill.
“I find that hard to believe,” he said.
“Believe what you will. I would no sooner set foot in your hospital than I would shave my head. Illness bores me, and I've had quite enough of that these last few weeks. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll take my leave.”
She tried to brush past, but he stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
“How dare you,” she gasped after she pitched headlong into his chest.
She caught her balance and glared up into his face. His features were hard, his expression so icy she shivered.
“Why are you acting so foolishly?” he asked. “This isn't who you areâI know it.”
“You know nothing of me, you stupid man,” she snapped. “This is exactly who I am.” Rage dug in its spurs, and she flung the next words into his face. “And as for being bored, you know I'm more than capable of finding all the stimulation I want, and I know just where to look for it. As soon as I return to London I have every intention of finding exactly what I need.”
She stood panting in front of him, vibrating with fury. He, however, might as well have been carved from stone. But his eyes spoke volumes, freezing her, driving out the last remnants of warmth from her bones.
After a few charged moments he stepped back.
“I regret that I misjudged you, my lady. Please accept my apologies. I won't trouble you with my presence any longer.”
He gave her a brusque nod and turned on his heel.
Bathsheba suddenly felt sick with guilt. To treat him, of all people, in such a contemptuous manner. The man who had fought for her. The man who had pulled her back from the brink of death.
“Dr. Blackmore! Please wait.” She hurried after him.
He stopped but didn't turn to face her. She rushed around to stand before him, forcing herself to meet his gaze. Anger flashed in his eyes, perhaps even disdain. Tears prickled behind her eyelids, and she had to blink several times to clear her vision.
“You are shocked by my behavior, but no more than I,” she said. “I am indeed ungrateful to speak to you so unkindly, after all your care for me.”
The anger began to fade from his gaze, but his features remained cold as marble. She forced herself to continue.
“I . . . I do not want to part this way,” she said. She hated the catch in her voice. Blast the man for making her feel so horrid and shy! “You have been so kind to me, Dr. Blackmore, and I shall always be grateful. I offer you my hand in friendship, and hope you will not reject it.”
She swallowed hard and held out her hand, knowing all too well he would be a fool not to walk away. Her heart pounded and the blood rushed in her ears. One lone dove called out to his mate, and then all was silence.
Suddenly he grabbed her shoulders in a crushing grip. He uttered a truly nasty curse before yanking her into his arms and taking her mouth in a ruthless, devouring kiss.
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