Countess by Coincidence (13 page)

In fairness to his partner, he had to admit Lady Caroline took his incompetence in good stride and helped him along, acting as if his dancing was perfection. He gave her a sideways glance. She still looked much like Maggie, but she wasn't nearly so pretty tonight as her elder sister. He had not exaggerated when he'd told his wife she would be the loveliest woman in attendance.

After the set was finished, as he was restoring Lady Caroline to her companions, she asked, "Have you met our other sister, Clair?"

"Do not tell me there's another who strongly resembles the two of you!"

She shook her head. "No, Clair looks nothing like Margaret and me. Except for her hair colour and size. And she's nothing like us in temperament, either. She is disinterested in fashion and rather thinks like a man. Likes philosophy and political economy, whatever that is. She's exceedingly intelligent." She glanced at their family circle gathered in one corner. "Clair's just arrived with her . . . suitor, Haverstock's cousin, Richard Rothcomb-Smedley."

"I didn't know Rothcomb-Smedley was related to my wife."

"Only by marriage. He's the duchess's first cousin."

Would he ever learn all these connections? He was pleased to see Maggie there, standing beside the duchess. They both stood next to an armchair where the Marchioness of Haverstock was seated. He had to own that even though her stomach was huge with the babe that was expected any day, Lady Haverstock was a remarkably beautiful woman. But as his gaze scanned the three women, he realized they were all pretty, all considerably above average.

As highly as he prized his friends, he was glad to see that Arlington was not there ogling over his wife.

Maggie stepped forward to greet him, her gaze moving from him to her sister and back to him. "Oh, dearest, you must meet our other sister."

"Lady Caroline's been telling me about her." His gaze moved to his left, and he nodded at the up-and-coming Parliamentarian, Richard Rothcomb-Smedley, whom he had known since Oxford and continued to see regularly at White's.

"Then you already know Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley?"

"Yes. I did not know he was contemplating marriage."

Maggie frowned. "That's because he's not. There is no understanding between him and my sister. Come, I'll introduce you."

When Lady Clair turned to face him, he was surprised. From the back she looked like Maggie and Lady Caroline, but from the front she was altogether different. Her face was heavily freckled, and as they had drawn closer, he saw that her shoulders were not the smooth ivory of Maggie's, either, but were dotted with freckles. At first he thought it was a pity she was not as pretty as her sisters, but after he was introduced to her and heard her speak, he realized she was pretty in her own way. Not as pretty as Maggie, but pretty nevertheless.

Most cognizant of doing his duty, he claimed Clair for the next set, and Maggie stood up with Perry. The next set he begged to stand up with the duchess, and Knowles claimed Maggie. When that dance was over he practically sighed. He was relatively sure he had stood up with all the ladies who mattered to Maggie while she'd no doubt charmed his friends. As their eyes met when he left the dance floor, she smiled. He thanked the duchess, then went to Maggie and drew her slender hand into his. "I have a feeling my friends will be ready to leave now. Shall we go speak to them before they go?"

She looked up at him with shimmering eyes. "I should love that."

They found the three men in the drawing room where Grandmere had seen to it that several tables had been set up for those who would rather play than dance. The trio was not playing but standing about talking when he and Maggie strode into the chamber. The fellows looked up and offered broad smiles.

"I appreciate that you've come tonight," John told them.

"I cannot say it was a pleasure," Perry said almost under his breath to John. Then Perry faced Maggie and flashed a bright smile. "Dancing with the divine Lady Finchley was undoubtedly the highlight of the evening's festivities. Tell me, my lady, have you a sister who looks remarkably like you?"

"Indeed I do."

"Her name's Lady Caroline," John said.

"I should like to stand up with her."

Perry had never before shown the slightest interest in respectable ladies. John was perplexed. He could not determine if such attention was good or bad. He did not want his friends to change. He did not want them to ever marry and grow serious and forget about drinking one another under the brandy table or arguing over ladybirds of unquestionably scandalous repute or laughing themselves silly over memories of good times they'd had this last decade. He wanted all four of them to stay exactly as they were when they'd first come down from Oxford and tasted the life of wine, women, and faro unfettered for the first time in their lives.

John did not want to contemplate becoming a responsible citizen, dutiful husband, or . . . heaven forbid, an exemplary father. And he didn't wish for his friends to, either.

He still woke up every morning (or, in many cases, afternoon) blissfully happy with his life. Until he married, that is. Now he woke up regretting the imprisonment of marriage, an imprisonment that did not originate with Maggie, who was sweetly compliant.

"Allow me to introduce you to her," Maggie said to Perry.

Before John knew it, his wife and Perry swept from the chamber and began climbing the stairs to the ballroom.

He faced Arlington and glared. "Do. Not. Ever. Smush your lips on my wife's hand again."

His characteristic smirk was back on Arlington's face. "My, but you've changed your tune. You're acting like a jealous husband—when you've insisted all along that your marriage is not a
real
marriage."

"Any court in the land would uphold the legality of our marriage."
Our
marriage. It seemed strange that he and Maggie were now a single unit.
Our
. How odd it felt—especially for an only child—to be sharing his life with another.

His dark eyes flashing with mirth, Arlington started laughing almost in guffaws.

John glared. "I fail to see what's so blasted funny."

"You are. Despite your claims that this so-called marriage will not change you in any way, you
have
changed."

John's gaze flicked to Knowles.

"He's right, old fellow. Whether you realize it or not, you've changed."

"There's no point in arguing the fact with the two of you." But I'll show them! Every day he would demonstrate how little control Maggie exerted over him.

Knowles' face grew solemn. "You'll be better off, Finch, if you'll just accept the fact you are a married man."

Arlington's eyes flashed devilishly. "A most fortunate married man, to be sure. I, too, may have to find this sister who looks so remarkably like your countess. And the duke settles thirty thousand on his sisters?" He went to turn back to the door, but John caught his arm.

"Feel free to dance with Lady Caroline, but I give you warning, she's turned down eleven matrimonial offers. Grandmere says it's believed she's saving herself for a duke."

"Too high for my touch," Knowles uttered.

A frown tugging at his normally merry face, Arlington concurred.

* * *

It was nearly dawn when she and John rode back to their house in his grandmother's luxurious coach. She had never in her life drunk so much champagne. It seemed every time she turned around someone was lifting a glass to toast the newlyweds. She felt magnificently bubbly, yet a bit unstable. Had she not had John's arm to lean on, she doubted she could have walked to the carriage without falling on her face.

Seconds after the coach door slammed, the horses spurted forward. She was eying her husband on the seat opposite hers, then he appeared to be sideways.
Oh, dear
. She had leaned over so far she was almost in a reclining position.

"I say, Maggie, are you feeling all right?"

She giggled. "I feel wonderful. I feel as if I could fly—round and round in this spinning carriage."

"You've had too much to drink." His voice sounded older, more mature. Then he moved to her side of the coach and helped restore her to an erect position. He kept his arm around her. "I'm not trying to take advantage of a lady who's not completely in control of her faculties, nor am I trying to take liberties. I am merely placing my arm around you because I fear you may fall off the seat and injure yourself."

She could almost swoon. Even if she'd not had a single drop of champagne, she would still have felt like swooning from being held so close to him. Hand-holding was child's play next to this. It wasn't just the blissful feel of his arm encircling her, it was also the feel of his body brushing against hers. His very solidness, his scent of sandalwood, his undeniable virility nearly overpowered her.

She looked up at him adoringly. "If I fell and broke into pieces, I wouldn't even feel it because I'm so happy. This was the best night of my life."

* * *

What a wretched life she must have had
. Were it not for his fellow bloods coming to the ball, it would have been one of the most exceedingly dull nights of his six-and-twenty years. "I fail to understand what about this evening could produce such feelings of felicity. Was it not much the same as any other ball?"

"Not at all! This was
our
ball."

There went that word again. She said it as if it were bloody sacred.
Ours
. He told himself he needed to become accustomed to being one half of their
ours
. "Oh, I see. You really were the belle of this ball."

"Just as you said I would be." Her head flopped onto his shoulder.

Good Lord, was she dicked? "Maggie, are you awake?"

"Of course I'm awake. I don't want this night to come to an end."

"Then you may need to close your eyes against the rising sun."

She pouted. "I could have waltzed with you all night."

"Even though your feet were not exempt from my mauling?"

"Don't say that. You're my partner. I am incapable of criticizing you. One doesn't do that to one's friends."

"So you are loyal to me."

"Just as I promised. Are you loyal to me?" Her arm came around him as if to steady herself against the sharp turn the coach made, but once they were on a straight street again, her arm stayed.

At this moment he became startlingly aware of Maggie as a woman. A desirable woman. Even earlier that night in her bedchamber he hadn't thought of her as a man thinks of a woman. Then she had been an elegant object of beauty, not unlike a cold marble statue of a Roman goddess. But there was nothing cold about this warm, womanly body joined so closely to his. And there was nothing respectful about the sheer animal lust that pulsed through him.

As if she could read his very thoughts, she lifted her head to face him, her lids lowering seductively, just as her voice did. "It would be the perfect night if you'd kiss me."

Heaven help him, he was powerless to resist.

His lips lowered to brush against hers with great tenderness. He'd thought to just barely kiss her—to satisfy her. After all, he was being charged with making this her perfect night. Until a moment ago, kissing this lady had never crossed his mind. He had planned to take her dowry, allow her to share his house, and go about his merry way as he always had. Kissing had never been part of their pact. No bonds would ever connect him to this woman who had accidentally married him as a result of almost inconceivable coincidences.

Yet here he was holding her in his arms. Here he was kissing her.

And not wanting to stop. Something in the purity of her sweet, breathless kiss stirred him in a way no courtesan ever had. The passion of the kiss deepened. Was it from him? Or her? His heart pounded fiercely when he realized it was from both of them.

He found that he, too, was short of breath.

To his astonishment, her mouth opened beneath the pressure of his, and she eagerly sucked at his tongue.

Good Lord! He would have sworn that Maggie had never before kissed a man, but she kissed with great abandonment. How had she learned that?

It's the champagne
. She was foxed. All her inhibitions had been destroyed. In that instant he realized he could take her to his bed and make love with her, and the lady would not protest in the least.

Until the next day.

Taking her to his bed was exactly what he wanted at this moment. He wanted it like he'd never wanted anything. He wanted her so compulsively it was as if fire singed through his veins. His loins ached with the need to slake this hunger.

Something in the outer recesses of his mind even told him "
Do it. She is, after all, your wife.
"

He did not want a wife. He must not allow her to believe otherwise.

Also, the small sliver of honor he possessed would not allow him to take advantage of an innocent lady who'd had too much champagne.

He stiffened and gathered the strength—no easy task—to pull away.

She pouted. "I enjoyed that excessively. Could we please do it again?"

"I vowed I would not take liberties with a lady under the influence of strong spirits."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at him. "You're saying cham-paying is strong spirits?"

"See, you can't even pronounce it correctly."

The coach pulled up in front of Finchley House. Thank heaven. ’Twas bloody difficult to maintain control when she was so enticing. After the coachman opened the door and offered his mistress a hand, she went careening from the carriage—to the coachman's mortification.

John leapt from the carriage and managed to break her fall. He swung her up into his arms and eyed the servant. "I believe I shall carry Lady Finchley tonight. If you'll just get the door for me."

He carried Maggie into the house, up the stairs, and into her bedchamber. Once again, he fleetingly felt as if he did not belong there. Her maid had left a candle burning beside the bed, and it had almost gone out. He brought her to the bed, and when he went to place her in it, he realized she had fallen into a deep sleep. She truly was dicked.