Read Courting the Countess Online
Authors: Barbara Pierce
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance
Courting the Countess (6 page)
Lady A’Court clutched and released the fabric of her skirt. “I do not like. Thank you, I appreciate your kindness.”
“As you please,” he said, unwilling to upset her further. He rummaged though the basket he had brought. “Ah, saffron cake. I have a weakness for sweets and Mrs. Whitby has yet to disappoint me. Here.” He handed her a thick slice. Mallory took out another for himself. He broke off a small piece and popped it into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he said after he had swallowed, “If I could convince the old girl to marry me I would have freshly baked cakes every day.”
The countess choked on the mouthful of cake she had been chewing. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and coughed again. As she waved away his assistance it was then that he grasped she was laughing. The sound reminded him of her; soft, throaty, and hinting of shyness. She cleared
her throat and said, “Mr. Whitby might have something to say about you absconding with his wife.”
her throat and said, “Mr. Whitby might have something to say about you absconding with his wife.”
In Mallory’s wild youth, something as mundane as an irate husband would not have stopped him from claiming a willing woman. There was no point in inspiring Lady A’Court’s imagination about his misdeeds. She already viewed him as a scoundrel. “Well, then I shall have to find another lady who will satisfy my sweet cravings,” he said innocently.
Naturally, she was not taken in by his guise of innocence. Tilting her head upward, she managed to look down her nose at him despite her small stature. “You like to play games.”
Finishing off the last of his cake, he nodded. “There is no rule that having fun is for the young. I looked it up in a book once.”
She delighted him by laughing again. “Are you ever serious?”
“Why? My father makes up for my lack,” he said dismissively. He and Viscount Keyworth had been at odds long before Mallory had run off to marry Lord De Lanoy’s mistress. Unlike his younger sister and brother, he had not sought his sire’s approval. His cavalier attitude rankled his father more than his acts of disobedience. “Thirsty?” He uncorked the small jug and sniffed. “Nothing stronger than apple cider,” he said with some regret. Mrs. Whitby, bless her, had the foresight to include a small cup. He filled it with cider and handed it to Lady A’Court. For himself, he drank straight from the jug.
“It is good. Mrs. Whitby is a treasure,” she said, relaxing under the warmth of the sun. With her blond hair down, she seemed younger than five and twenty. “Did you know that when Mrs. Whitby is not looking after temperamental artists she comes to Loughwydde and helps her daughter with the laundry? Our laundress is carrying her third child.”
Mallory picked up his sketching book and dug around in
the basket for his lead pencil. Without asking permission, because people rarely gave it when asked, he began a rough outline of her face.
the basket for his lead pencil. Without asking permission, because people rarely gave it when asked, he began a rough outline of her face.
“What are you doing?”
“I am sketching the bear behind you,” he quipped. The only bears roaming England had human masters. “No, sit still!”
She huffed but complied with his order. “Are you always so overbearing when you work, Mr. Claeg?”
“Yes.” He thickened the line defining her jaw. While he sketched her face, he could imagine another one in oils. This one would be full-figure with the countess lying on her stomach counting the bluebells. Naturally, she would not have a stitch of clothing on. He would position her so that her long hair and the flowers concealed more than they revealed. Mallory grinned at himself. Lady A’Court would slap him if he suggested such a picture. Later, perhaps. Recalling her question, he added, “Or so my sister complains. Did I mention that I convinced her to sit for me the summer last? She became Eris, the goddess of discord, for me.” Saying not a word, Lady A’Court plucked some bluebells and brought the blooms to her nose. “I was rather pleased with the results. Amara had intended to give it to our mother. Regrettably, her marriage to Mr. Bedegrayne has created a rift in the family. To my knowledge, neither my mother nor father has spoken to her.”
Mallory blew a frustrated breath out. He was losing patience with the countess’s refusal to speak of anyone or anything that was connected to London. Something akin to slyness slid into his grim expression. “She will make me an uncle by summer’s end. Brock’s father, Sir Thomas, is thrilled there will be a new generation of Bedegraynes. I suppose I should be grateful that I did not murder Bedegrayne the second I suspected he had put his hands on my sweet sister.”
No reaction.
“Confound it, woman!” he roared, slamming down his
book and lead pencil. He lunged for her before she could roll away. Seizing her by the shoulders, he shook the indifference from her face. The fear that replaced it was an improvement from the doll-like mask she had donned.
book and lead pencil. He lunged for her before she could roll away. Seizing her by the shoulders, he shook the indifference from her face. The fear that replaced it was an improvement from the doll-like mask she had donned.
“How long?” he harshly demanded.
“W-What? I do not understand!”
The tremor in her voice made him feel despicable. Still, it did not stop him from pressing onward. “How long will you pretend that you did not have friends and a life in London?” They were both on their knees face-to-face. She was trying to pull away, but he was meaner and stronger. “When you ran away, Countess, did you even think of your friends? Amara was hurt by your silence.”
Genuine pain mixed with her unshed tears. “I did not—oh—please, Mr. Claeg, I cannot talk about this.”
“With me or anyone?” Disgusted with himself that he was bullying her, he released her.
She rubbed her arms but sat down on her folded legs instead of attempting to flee. “I thought I was dying,” she said, her voice so soft he had to lean closer to hear her words. “My first clear recollection when I woke up was that my husband had murdered me.” She laughed wearily. Bitterness had replaced joy. “I was partly right. Lyon murdered my baby.”
Now that she was talking, he wanted to stop the flow of words. She sat on the forest floor hugging and rocking in a gesture of comfort. Mallory pulled her into his arms, coaxing her to lay her face against the warmth of his chest.
Lady A’Court pulled back and saw the apology in his gaze. “Why do gentlemen marry, Mr. Claeg? For wealth, position, an heir to pass on their prosperity to? Love?” She curled her lip in derision. “Lyon married me for none of those reasons. Do you want to know why I was so appealing to the handsome Earl of A’Court?”
“Hush. You have said enough. I am more sorry than I can say.”
She ignored his plea. “Lyon married me because I bore a passable resemblance to the woman who had become his obsession. Miss Wynne Bedegrayne, a woman whom I considered one of my best and dearest friends. I was so young, so
stupid
. I loved him.” Fighting back her tears, she pushed away from him and climbed to her feet. She paced and fought back the natural release of her grief. Lady A’Court did not speak again until she had vanquished what she considered a weakness. “I was already married when I learned the truth. Every time he whispered that he loved me, he was speaking to her. The clothes and jewels he lavished on me were to show Wynne what she had spurned. During the nights when he came to my bedchamber, it was Wynne’s spirit he tried to break, her thighs he pried open, and it was her name he cried out as he spilled his seed into me. Even then, he found me lacking because I was not
her
!” She pounded her breast for emphasis.
stupid
. I loved him.” Fighting back her tears, she pushed away from him and climbed to her feet. She paced and fought back the natural release of her grief. Lady A’Court did not speak again until she had vanquished what she considered a weakness. “I was already married when I learned the truth. Every time he whispered that he loved me, he was speaking to her. The clothes and jewels he lavished on me were to show Wynne what she had spurned. During the nights when he came to my bedchamber, it was Wynne’s spirit he tried to break, her thighs he pried open, and it was her name he cried out as he spilled his seed into me. Even then, he found me lacking because I was not
her
!” She pounded her breast for emphasis.
“Damn it, Countess, enough!” Like everyone else, he had heard rumors that Lord A’Court had mistreated his young bride. Hearing a few of the less savory details sickened him. Mallory wished the earl was still living so he could have the pleasure of snuffing out his vile existence.
She rubbed her temple in frustration. “I was ill those last days. Most of my recollection is a confusing mix of what others said and a little supposition on my part. I know Lyon kidnapped Wynne and he had prepared a trap for her betrothed, Mr. Keanan Milroy. Whatever happened in the Milroy town house ended with Lyon’s death.”
The wind picked up, sending waves across the carpet of bluebells. Tendrils of her blond hair danced on the wind. “Perhaps I did run away, Mr. Claeg. If I had remained, the gossip would have flourished, hurting not only me but Wynne Bedegrayne as well.” She stared at her bare fingers. “My friends would not have benefited from my association. Besides, they have gone on with their lives. Wynne married
Mr. Milroy. My mother told me that they have twin daughters. As for Amara, well, I am happy she has found love with Mr. Bedegrayne.” Lady A’Court appeared to be struggling with her tears again. “A baby, you say?” Her trembling hand came up to her mouth.
Mr. Milroy. My mother told me that they have twin daughters. As for Amara, well, I am happy she has found love with Mr. Bedegrayne.” Lady A’Court appeared to be struggling with her tears again. “A baby, you say?” Her trembling hand came up to her mouth.
“The babe will come in August.” He came up behind her and enclosed her in his embrace. Resting his chin on the top of her head, he said, “I was wrong to pry, Countess. I hope Loughwydde has brought you a measure of peace.”
She shuddered. Perhaps she was also thinking of the day he had found her near the edge of the cliffs daring the rock to crumble beneath her feet. “I have been comfortable.”
It was Mallory’s opinion that comfort was a poor substitute for happiness. She may not view it as such, but he thought it was fortunate fate had thrown him in her path.
“Are you finished with your sketch? I should return to the house before they start searching for me.” Not waiting for his reply, she slipped out of his embrace. She walked over and retrieved his book. The countess studied his sketch of her in silence.
“It is an adequate representation,” he said, defending his work. “I would like for you to sit for me again. A beauty such as yours deserves to be immortalized beyond a simple sketch.” She looked up at him blankly. Or mayhap she did not believe he was sincere in his compliment. Indeed, he had seduced countless women into his bed with false flattery and they had tumbled eagerly. It wounded a bit that she thought he was low enough to take advantage of her vulnerability. “You, of course, may refuse if you find my work mundane.”
Lady A’Court handed over his sketching book. “Do you honestly believe that drivel or are you playing on my sympathies? No, do not answer. Right now I do not know what to believe about you. One minute you are a flirtatious bounder and I see you for what you are. The next, I am telling you things I have never confessed to a soul while you let me cry
on your shoulder. Which man is the real Mallory Claeg?”
on your shoulder. Which man is the real Mallory Claeg?”
He agreed with her assessment except that she had not cried on his shoulder. She had not permitted those tears to fall. Hell, he understood her confusion. Years ago he could have answered her with confidence, but over the past year and a half there had been some changes in his life. His first step had been to reestablish a bond with his sister, Amara. It had been too late to make amends with his younger brother. Four years ago, Doran had gotten involved in a coining scheme and had landed in Newgate Prison. He had died there. Losing him had reminded Mallory that he had allowed pride and his selfishness to destroy his ties to his family. Amara had been generous with her love. His father had no use for love. He wanted respect but had none for Mallory’s art. Lord Keyworth’s rigidity reminded Mallory why he had broken with his family all those years ago. Molding oneself into someone else’s ideal destroyed one’s soul. Doran had died trying to appease their father’s expectations. Amara had almost given up the man she loved. Who was Mallory Claeg? Wicked seducer or jovial confidant? For Brook Meylan, Countess of A’Court, alone, maybe he could be both men.
“Countess, who do you want me to be?”
She sighed, disappointed in his flippancy. “More games, Mr. Claeg? The difference between a child playing games and an adult playing them is that a child never tires of them. I can see my way home on my own. Thank you for the cake and the flowers.” She began threading her way through the trees toward Loughwydde.
He slapped the palm of his hand against his forehead. She had asked a simple question in an attempt to understand him and he had mocked her with a flirtatious reply. What arrogance! He had poked at her old scars to discover the wounded, passionate woman beneath, but he had denied her the same courtesy she had offered him.
“Countess, when can I sketch you and the bluebells again? It must be soon, for the blooms will not last.”
“Beauty never does, Mr. Claeg!” she shouted back over her shoulder. “Tomorrow, possibly, if I can get away.” She kept walking. There was no coy look or explicit promise that she would join him in the woods.
Mallory scooped up his coat and brushed off the dirt. If she had been any other woman, he would have suspected that the countess was playing her own game.
Tomorrow, possibly, if I can get away.
Oh, he would be waiting for her. If she showed, maybe he would tell her that she was naked in the picture he was planning.
Rushing down the stairs, Brook checked the clock. Goodness, she was late again!
“My lady, your bonnet!” Morna said, chasing after her.
Reversing directions, she met her maid in the middle of the staircase. Brook squelched her impatience, waiting for the young woman to place the bonnet on her head. Her patience lasted mere seconds. “I will tie it. Thank you, Morna!” She waved farewell and proceeded to tie the bow as she hurried down the stairs.
Ham ambushed her when she reached the landing. “Where are you running off to, Cousin?”
The inquiry was polite. Still, she bristled at his assumption that she owed him an accounting of her whereabouts. “Where I always go, Ham. My cliffs and perhaps the beach today.” She gave her bow a firm tug. Brook was not concerned how the bonnet looked, since she planned on removing it once she reached the woods.
Ham surprised her by placing his hand on her shoulder. He had never acted presumptuously. “I speak not only for myself but for the family. You spend too much time alone.” He lowered his voice as if he thought anything loud would frighten her. “Elthia, Lady A’Court and your mother worry that my presence has somehow upset you.”
“I am not upset,” she assured him, ducking under his arm.
“I am a creature of habit, my lord. I prefer keeping to a schedule.”
“I am a creature of habit, my lord. I prefer keeping to a schedule.”
If Ham delayed her too long, Mr. Claeg might assume she was not coming. Eight days had passed since their first meeting in the woods. Each day she had vowed not to go and yet each afternoon she put on her bonnet and dashed off to meet him.
“Why do I not join you?” the earl suggested, pleased with his brilliance.
Brook stifled a groan and turned around to face him.
“We could discuss your return to London without the interference of the family. And as we walk, you can show me the finer aspects of your land.”
She had been deftly avoiding the subject of returning to town for days. If her luck held, she could evade it another day, and another, until she was bidding her guests a safe trip. “These solitary walks comfort me, Ham.” Brook made a vague gesture with her hand. “Having all of these people in my house is slightly overwhelming. It is usually so peaceful here.”
“Of course.”
She gritted her teeth at his condescension. “The quiet and the air clear my head and ease my nerves. We will take a walk together another day.”
“Very well, Cousin.” He took her hand and bowed. “I will await your return.”
Brook had almost reached the edge of the woods when she realized she had been practically running. If Ham had watched her from one of the windows, his suspicions would have been aroused. A woman did not rush out of the house for a solitary walk. She rushed to meet—a lover! Horrified by the unbidden thought, she deliberately slowed her pace. There was no reason to give Mr. Claeg any encouragement. Spending a few hours with him each day was already giving him ideas.
“Caught you!”
Mr. Claeg encircled her waist and spun her around until she laughed. “I thought you had forgotten me,” he whispered in her ear, making her shudder. He kissed the side of her neck and released her.
“Not likely,” she said, untying the bow under her chin. “Tell me that you were not on your way to the house.” Removing her bonnet, she let it dangle at her back while she retied the ribbons.
“Is there a reason why I cannot pay my neighbor a visit?” he gruffly demanded.
Did he want a list? There was May, who wanted him. Ham despised him. Her sisters and mother adored him. Mr. Ludlow did not trust him, and the dowager considered him unworthy of her exalted presence. As for herself, she was uncomfortably aware that each day she was looking forward to his companionship. Trouble? “None at all,” she lied.
He gave her an odd look. She started breathing again when he took her hand, saying, “Come along, Countess. I set everything up while I waited for you.”
Hand in hand they ran through the woods like children on an adventure. Mr. Claeg had replaced the quiet of her walks with discovery, humor, and color. His enthusiasm for reveling in his surroundings was contagious. She had haunted these woods for almost two years, but it was with him that she had learned to appreciate their beauty.
Brook was panting by the time they had reached the clearing. Waving her hand in front of her face, she said, “I need to rest before we start.”
“All you do is laze under the sun while I slave away on your picture,” he complained good-naturedly. Retrieving a flask from the basket, he poured some water into a cup and handed it to her. “If the heat is troubling you, I would not take offense if you chose to remove that burdensome dress.”
This was one of his games. After her initial shock, she had gradually gotten into the spirit of the game, if not applauding his single-minded tenacity. Each afternoon he artlessly suggested that she allow him to paint her in the nude. She always politely refused and he never took offense. However, she had conceded his point that her spencer was unnecessary.
“You are tarrying. Here, let me assist you before the clouds consume the sun.” All business, Mr. Claeg began to unbutton her spencer, ignoring her murmur of protest.
“This is hardly appropriate.”
He lifted his brows. “It is if I am trying to get your dress off.”
She tossed her cup of water in his face. “Degenerate! Your charm may be boundless, but you will never convince me to model nude for you.” Brook backed up, not trusting the gleaming challenge in his eyes.
“Care to wager on it?” he taunted, swinging an arm out to grab her.
She jumped backward, picked up her skirts, and dashed to the left. He chased her, the pair of them zigzagging through the trees. Brook squeaked, barely avoiding capture by ducking low and doubling back. She laughed at his oath when he scraped his arm against one of the trees.
“Shall I summon Mrs. Whitby to bandage your wound?” she called out, glancing back to see how close he was.
Mr. Claeg had disappeared.
Stunned, she skidded to a halt and whirled around. Where was he? “My lord, where—oof!”
Brook fell neatly into his hands when he sprang his trap. Concealed behind one of the larger trees, he had circled around it and rushed her from the other side. They fell to the ground, but Mr. Claeg had been prepared for the possibility. Pulling her against his chest, he took the brunt of the fall on his side.
“Damn, I landed on my injured arm,” he groaned, rolling on his back. Both lay there, staring up at the treetops, panting from the chase.
“You deserve the pain.” She turned her head and glowered at him. “You nearly scared five years off me when you charged me. Will you look at my dress? When I return to Loughwydde, they will think I threw myself down a hill.”
He rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his fist. The hair around his face was wet from the water she had tossed at him. His tender gaze had her thickly swallowing. “We never did get this garment off,” he murmured huskily. With one hand, he unfastened the remaining buttons. He splayed his hand possessively across her waist.
“Mr. Claeg, w-what are you doing?”
As he leaned over her, the tips of his wet hair swirled crazy brushstrokes on her cheeks. “Brace yourself, Countess. I am about to claim a kiss.”
Brook squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating him ravishing her mouth. The butterfly caress he gave her was more devastating to her senses. His lips swept lightly over hers. He repeated the motion again and again. Her nipples tightened painfully and a wave of sensation rippled down to her knees. Parting her lips, she inhaled sharply, seemingly pulling him closer with her breath alone. She felt his tongue slide into her mouth, silently coaxing her into another one of his games.
Brook tentatively brushed her tongue against his. Mr. Claeg growled his approval, slanting his mouth so their connection deepened. Warmth and need coiled in her loins. She curled her tongue around his and her fingers speared his hair, pulling him closer. He complied. Sliding one leg between hers, he positioned himself so his arousal was pressed against her hip. What had begun as a gentle kiss was gradually escalating into a frenzied eagerness. She sucked his tongue deep into her mouth, but it did not satisfy the need rising in her. Frustrated, she bit his lower lip.
He drew back and stared down at her face. The light blue color was merely a slim ring of color and his mouth was red and moist from her dedicated effort to devour him. “Again,” he said, pressing a hard kiss to her mouth. Still bracing most of his weight with his left arm, he trailed kisses along the line of her jaw. Brook arched her neck, giving him access. He licked the pounding pulse at her throat while his free hand traced the contour of her body. Mr. Claeg nibbled at the tender flesh of her throat and chills moved just under her skin. Using his right hand to anchor her to him, he set his teeth into the soft swell of her right breast.
She choked in surprise. Brook had never considered breasts particularly sensitive, but under Mr. Claeg’s expert mouth the flesh swelled and tingled. He reached up and tugged at the edge of her bodice. She tensed for a moment, fearing he intended to rip her dress. Both her breasts popped free of the confining corset.
Murmuring what she assumed was praise, he laved first the right nipple and then the left. She moved against him restlessly, uncertain what her body wanted. Mr. Claeg understood her needs. Teasing one of her nipples with his tongue, he tilted his head, his eyes meeting her unfocused gaze.
“Has no one ever sampled these lovelies before, Countess?”
Brook shook her head. Lyon had taken pleasure from her body, but he had never bothered to show her that there was pleasure also in giving.
Mr. Claeg gave her a slow, enigmatic smile. Keeping his gaze on her face, he lowered his mouth to her breast and suckled her. It was an incredibly wicked sensation. A part of her was appalled that she was lying on the ground like a depraved hussy allowing him to touch her in any manner he pleased. The other half of her was afraid he would stop.
He cupped the underside of her breast and feasted as if he were withdrawing rich milk from it. The suction bordered on
exquisite pain. Releasing that breast, he chuckled and nipped her other one. He did not bother to share what amused him. Before she could ask, he covered the areola of her left breast. Pleasure was a lightning bolt. It struck her between her legs. She would have crossed them in response if his body were not pinning down her right leg. Brook curled toward him, digging her fingers into the back of his neck. Mr. Claeg stiffened as if the electrical charge had jumped from her and into him. As he dragged her closer, she was not aware of his hand beneath her skirt until his fingers tested the wetness between her legs.
exquisite pain. Releasing that breast, he chuckled and nipped her other one. He did not bother to share what amused him. Before she could ask, he covered the areola of her left breast. Pleasure was a lightning bolt. It struck her between her legs. She would have crossed them in response if his body were not pinning down her right leg. Brook curled toward him, digging her fingers into the back of his neck. Mr. Claeg stiffened as if the electrical charge had jumped from her and into him. As he dragged her closer, she was not aware of his hand beneath her skirt until his fingers tested the wetness between her legs.
She squeezed her legs together, but those talented fingers had already breached her feeble defenses. “No,” she whispered, but her traitorous body rose up eager for his touch.
He was merciless. Using the wetness, he boldly rubbed his thumb over the sensitive nubbin hidden within her feminine cleft. It blossomed beneath his skilled touch. Panting, she twisted under him, her body uncomfortably warm.
When he lifted his head, she noticed he was breathing heavily. There was an intensity she had never seen before in his light blue eyes that was akin to madness. “Do not fight it!” he ordered, plunging his fingers deep into her. She gasped at his invasion, but there was no pain. She sensed a growing tension in her body as well as his. The kisses and suckling of her breasts became less practiced and more frantic while his hand between her legs stroked and penetrated her rhythmically, driving her to the edge of sanity. Earlier she had feared the rigid flesh concealed within his breeches. Now she longed for him to end her torment. She blamed his sorcerer’s eyes and magical touch. They had woven a spell over her. It was the only thing that made sense.
“I want you inside me,” she said through clenched teeth.
His head jerked up at her rough command and his nostrils flared, taking in her scent. “I am, Countess. Feel me.” He flexed his fingers within her feminine channel, pressing his
damp thumb against her nubbin simultaneously. Increasing the pressure, he quickened his strokes. “Come for me,” he ordered, biting her earlobe hard.
damp thumb against her nubbin simultaneously. Increasing the pressure, he quickened his strokes. “Come for me,” he ordered, biting her earlobe hard.
Brook embraced what he was offering. She cried out his name, and her hips bucked as his fingers ruthlessly plunged, wringing out a spiraling ecstasy she had never known existed. He had shattered her. She pressed her face into his neck and felt him shudder. Neither of them moved from their shameless position. As the blood pounding in her ears receded, the normal sounds of the woods returned.
She felt his fingers spasm before he slowly withdrew them from her moist channel. “Are you all right?” he politely asked, covering her exposed legs. “Was I too rough?” He rolled off her.
Lyon had never asked her humiliating questions. He had simply used her and then left her alone. She almost wished Mr. Claeg were as inconsiderate. “I am unhurt, my lord.” Brook sat up and fought the weakness in her limbs that was making her tremble. Her breasts were still swollen and tender. Stuffing them back into her bodice, she knew her flesh would bear the marks of his teeth for days. She blushed at the thought.
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