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Authors: Barbara Pierce

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance

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BOOK: Courting the Countess
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“Who sent you?” she demanded with unexpected bluntness.
Surprised by her intensity and the impact of her blue gaze focused on him, Mallory shifted his stance and concealed his visceral reaction to her proximity with a grin. “Such ferocity! Dear madam, you make me want to confess everything, but alas, only my selfish pleasures have brought me to you.”
She blinked at the double entendre, uncertain if it was deliberate. “You claim you know me.”
“Indeed. I believe you once honored me with a dance at your come-out ball. There were so many admirers that evening, I could hardly fault you for not recalling.” He offered his arm, wanting to get her away from the cliff and out of the cold before her teeth began to chatter. “You mentioned tea.”
“
You
mentioned tea,” she countered. “As well as plunging
from cliffs, forgotten acquaintances, selfish pleasures, and a ball I barely remember. I warrant you have spoken more words than I have in the past week. Do you ever hush?”
Mallory sat down on a nearby flat stone and laughed, enjoying the way her brow wrinkled in exasperation. Whatever her intentions before he had gained her attention, he was satisfied that the dark moment has passed. “Occasionally, my lady. I treasure the awakening colors of dawn, the sound of the wind rattling the windows, spring and the new life it yields. When I awaken each morning, I lie abed listening to the soft breathing of my lover and savor the warmth of our embrace. I expect I appreciate my moments of silence like any other man.”
She made a choking sound that she quickly muffled with her gloved hand. It was terribly mischievous to speak so boldly, yet the widow sparked something in him. Her reactions were too charming to resist.
Clearing her throat, she said, “My mother always said that rudeness begets rudeness, and she is correct. Regardless of your playful objections, you are a stranger to me, sir, and my speech was most forward. Please accept my apologies.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, I do not believe I will.” He crossed his arms, awaiting her response.
“Y-You must!” she stuttered, flustered by his refusal. She started pacing in her agitation. “No gentleman ever leaves a lady obligated.”
Briefly an image of Carissa flickered in his mind. “I have never been one for polite rules, Countess.”
Noticing his enjoyment, she stopped and sighed. “You are teasing me.”
“Beautiful ladies are always so much fun to tease.” He stood and clasped her elbows lightly when her expression blanked. “You are supposed to smile when a gentleman gives you a compliment.”
“I have tarried too long. My family is expecting me,” she
said in a breathy rush, finally noticing their close proximity.
“And what of your expectations?”
“I have none. Good day, sir.” She stepped out of his embrace and turned to leave.
“My name!” he shouted to her departing figure.
She hesitated at his words.
“Claeg. Mr. Mallory Claeg. I believe you claim my younger sister, Amara, as one of the few friends you have left in London.”
He had truly managed to shake her with his announcement. Something akin to shame moistened her gaze. “You do your sister no favor by connecting our names. In remembrance of old friendships, I beg of you to forget that we ever met.”
Watching her hasty retreat, Mallory crouched down to retrieve his abandoned sketching book and supplies he had dropped earlier. Well, well, who would believe he and the pretty widow would be sharing secrets? Forget? He rose, brushing off some grit that clung to his left knee. “Not bloody likely!”
Cornwall, April 1811
 
“Brook!”
The woman who bore the name winced at the shrill quality her younger sister managed to inject into the single word. Having observed the activity below from her bedchamber window, Brook already knew the reason for her sister’s excitement. The door swung open with a resounding bang.
“There you are,” Ivy said, clearly exasperated by her search. “You are not dressed. And your hair!” She gestured, clearly at a loss for words. Brook’s sixteen-year-old sibling was a tidy creature, with her freshly scrubbed face and her straight blond hair plaited into a single braid down her back. There was not a smudge of dust or a careless wrinkle pressed into her dress.
Brook unconsciously tucked the wisps of hair that had strayed from their confines. The unremarkable dress she had donned was several years old. The countless washings had leached the black dye, fading it into an unflattering indescribable color. The life she lived beyond the critical eye of polite society was isolated. She had long lost interest in obtaining the current fashions. Regardless, her face warmed at Ivy’s unspoken censure. “I spent most of the morning in the company of Miss Bee and she did not complain of my attire.”
Ivy crossed her eyes. “Miss Bee is a cow. You have enough hired help around here that you should not be forced to
consort with the farm animals.” She leaned closer and suspiciously sniffed. “At least you washed.”
“Naturally, I washed,” she countered, offended by the comment. “This is a farm, Ivy. One tends to keep animals on it. Besides, I will have you know that I find Miss Bee’s conversation more stimulating than most duchesses’.” She swatted away her sister’s hands when she attempted to pluck the pins from Brook’s hair. “Leave it be.”
Ivy stepped back and laughed. “Mama is correct. You are hopeless.”
The innocent observation stung more than it should have, considering that she had heard her mother say those three words hundreds of times in the past eight months. Brook grabbed her sister by the shoulders and guided her toward the door. “I can see to myself. Why do you not entertain our unwelcome guest until I can join you?”
Her younger sister huffed. “How can you be so unkind when he is the only one from London who bothers to visit? Mama says Mr. Claeg has risen in her estimation since his father was promoted to a viscount and that you should not so easily discard the gentleman’s friendship.”
“Mama speaks too freely in front of children.” She pushed her sister through the doorway. “Out!” she said, shutting the door on her annoyed sibling.
“Does it matter to anyone in this house that I do not
want
Mr. Claeg’s friendship?” Disgruntled, Brook rang for her maid and began savagely snatching the pins from her hair. She peered into the mirror on her dressing table and groaned. Her guest would just have to wait.
 
The chaos his impromptu visit had created amused Mallory greatly. The indulgent half smile remained even after Miss Ivy Ludlow’s whirlwind appearance and departure. Painfully young and too impressed with him, the beautiful child had
managed to stammer out the message that her sister would be joining him shortly and then dashed off to supervise their refreshments.
Turning his back on the closed door, Mallory used the time alone to appreciate the treasures in the front parlor. It had been his understanding that Loughwydde had been part of Lady A’Court’s dowry, bequeathed by Lord Lanston, the dear lady’s father. Mallory doubted the A’Court family with their vast holdings had viewed the small farm in Cornwall as possessing much value, which might explain why the countess had chosen it as her dowager residence.
Mallory idly tapped his finger along the mantel in ticking cadence with the clock on a nearby table. Centered above the hearth hung a Chinese mirror picture portraying an elegant mid-eighteenth-century pastoral scene. Being a man who savored all tactile explorations, he could not resist sliding his fingertips over the gilded flowers and leaves that framed the scene. The carved gilt wood frame had been added later and was obviously English in origin. Five smaller pictures were positioned below. Mallory studied the tiny watercolors depicting various landscapes. He dismissed them as tasteful, if not rather boring.
Somewhere in the house, someone began to play a pianoforte. The composition was cheerful and reminded him of spring. It certainly enhanced the ambience of the room. He wondered which of the Ludlow sisters was honing her musical skills. There were at least two, and a brother, though Mallory had yet to meet the seventeen-year-old. Humming along with the music, he picked up a pretty little vase and checked the bottom to view the potter’s mark.
The air around him stirred as the door opened. The lady of the house entered, her cheeks flushed from what Mallory assumed was a harried dash to join him. He found the color in her cheeks very appealing. There was something about
her sweet, wary face that had him returning to Cornwall, even a year after he and the mistress who had brought him to the locale for their dalliance had parted ways.
The dress she wore was atrocious. Still, the garment could not diminish her natural beauty. In fact, she appeared rather matronly in a gray dress made of jaconet muslin. The drab color was relieved with the addition of a white lace collar high on the throat and a frilly white lappet cap over her blond hair. Mallory was not so arrogant to assume by the countess’s flustered entrance that she was eager for his companionship. The wary speculation in her expressive blue eyes was there again and had never dimmed in his presence. He credited good manners and a certain amount of bullying from her family for her appearance. However, he was not one to dwell over the particulars when he benefited from the results.
The soft blond curls around her face bounced when Lady A’Court curtsied. She gestured for him to be seated. He found her regal manner simply enchanting. “Mr. Claeg, please forgive my tardiness. I was not expecting visitors this afternoon.”
The subtle reprimand added a touch of stiffness to her walk, but it did not shame Mallory into an apology. His high-handedness was necessary. He did not doubt the lady was not above disappearing if she had been given forewarning of his visit.
“I require no apologies, my lady. Your graciousness in receiving a weary traveler is in itself a soothing balm.” He heard her teeth click together as she fought to contain her frustration. Mallory’s lips twitched in amusement. It had taken only minutes to needle a reaction from her. Indeed, he considered that progress.
Silence descended between them. The music floating down the hallway from the pianoforte smoothed over the awkward lapse in conversation. The quiet did not bother him. It was understandable. They were in many ways essentially strangers. Besides, one could learn much about a person without the
distraction of polite speech. Some of his favorite hours with a lady evolved without a single word spoken.
“How inconsiderate,” Lady A’Court blurted, rising on her feet. “You must be parched from your journey. My sister—”
“Is already seeing to the refreshments. Sit,” he commanded, cutting off her words and feeble attempt at escape. His eyes narrowed when she hesitated. Realizing there was no polite option but to comply, his companion sat. He rose from the chair he had been reclining in. Crossing the distance between them, he deliberately sat on the sofa beside her. In the past, he had been careful to keep a respectful distance. Regrettably, he did not possess a vast amount of patience. His visits to Loughwydde had convinced him that the lady was quite content in keeping him forever in the chair across the room. Mallory had known by the end of their second encounter that he desired a much more intimate position with the widow. A true scoundrel, he was not above using seduction to attain her.
Lady A’Court gave him a long, considering stare before sliding away from him. Perhaps she intuitively sensed his carnal intent or found his proximity unsettling. Either way, he silently applauded her pluck to remain on the sofa when he wagered her instincts were telling her to run from the room as she had run when he had encountered her on the cliffs a year earlier.
“I must confess I am astonished by the timing of your visit, Mr. Claeg. I would have assumed the season would have lured you back to London,” she said, struggling to conceal her discomfort.
“Oh, my plans will eventually lead me back to town.” He positioned his body toward her and braced his right arm along the back of the sofa. She subtly flinched when he deliberately brushed his leg against her skirt. “For now, the cottage I leased suits my needs. Is it not fortuitous that until my departure we will be more or less neighbors?” He was already
anticipating the
more
aspects of their new friendship.
“How splendid,” she faintly said. If she moved another inch away from him, she would be perched like a heron on the armrest. “Is it your art that brings you here?”
“My art,” he said, tasting the words on his tongue. “I suppose you could say that that I find my current surroundings inspiring.” She glanced swiftly down at her clasped hands. The pale rose blooming in her cheeks at his equivoque created a lovely picture before him. A rough sketch of the scene formed in his mind. Lady A’Court slanted her cat eyes demurely in his direction, curious about his stillness. He wondered if he would ever be immune to the impact of her stare. It impaled him and roused a possessiveness within him that he never had known existed. Puzzling over his reaction, he murmured, “You wear the mantle of innocence too effectively for a married woman.” He reached out to see if his touch would shatter the illusion.
She abruptly rose and moved out of his reach. “I find your observation offensive, Mr. Claeg. Neither do I wear or shed my emotions like a shawl or toque. I have never been one for games; however, I believe you are well acquainted with deep play.” Magnificent in her anger, she straightened her shoulders and pointed to the door. “Since we will be neighbors, I must respectfully ask you to keep to your property. If the solitude is less than
inspiring,
might I suggest that you summon your current mistress from London? Considering your past, I doubt anyone would be shocked by your impropriety.”
So she had learned of his dalliance with Carissa Le Maye last spring. He concealed his wince by rubbing his neck. A year ago he had been too focused on enjoying the pleasures of his lover to quibble about discretion. How could he have predicted that meeting her that day at the cliffs had planted her in his thoughts? After his affair with Carissa had ended, had he not returned to Cornwall just to see the countess again? While he had lain in his bed alone, the seed of a notion had
rooted itself in his brain. What if? The possibility of enticing the prim widow into sharing her bed had kept him awake well into the darkest hours of the night.
As he rose to comply, the haughty tilt of her head made him act on impulse. Before she realized what he intended, Mallory hooked his arm around her waist and hauled her up against the length of his body.
She had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. “Mr. Claeg, if you please—” She sucked in a quick breath when he lowered his head so that his mouth hovered just above hers.
“Have you not guessed, Countess? I always do what pleases me.” She wet her lower lip with a flick of her tongue. The tiny nervous action drew his attention. “Such ripe lips. Are they as sweet as confections? Let us find out.”
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and visibly braced herself. The lady obviously expected him to behave as the worst kind of scoundrel. Instead of ravaging her mouth, Mallory laved her lower lip with his tongue. He tasted the plump curve with a tenderness that made them both shiver. Although she was not screaming for her servants, she was not exactly relaxing in his arms. Undeterred, he licked the heart-shaped bow of her upper lip. “Hmm … sweeter than marshmallow and richer than bonbons. I have always had a weakness for sweets.” He released her.
Lady A’Court stumbled back a step to regain her balance. There was no doubt her liberation from his embrace had surprised her. “You,” she said, sounding breathless. She removed a lacy handkerchief she had tucked within her sleeve and dabbed the wetness from her lips. “You will not kiss me again.”
“My dear lady, that was not a kiss … just merely a taste.”
The distinct whine of wheels from a cart and the excited murmur of feminine voices drew closer. Startled, she glanced nervously at the closed door. He had heard their approach long before she had. Her family’s imminent arrival had been
the only deterrent keeping him from deepening their kiss. It definitely had not been his mastery over restraint!
“It appears we are about to lose our privacy for a proper demonstration. Be patient; I promise I will give you another chance to muddle my good sense with your enthralling wiles.”
Her eyes flared at the outrageous suggestion. “You arrogant coquet! I am not attempting to enthrall you. If you have any decency, sir, you will make an excuse to leave and then keep away from me.”
The door opened and Miss Ivy Ludlow cheerfully bounded into the room. A footman pushing the rattling tea cart followed behind. The countess’s mother, Mrs. Ludlow, and a girl of fourteen who from her looks Mallory deduced was another sibling joined them.
“Mama, I thought you were resting in your room,” the countess said, uncomfortable at being caught alone with Mallory in the front parlor.
BOOK: Courting the Countess
12.89Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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