Rogue Countess (7 page)

Chapter Six

“What the hell is the matter with you tonight, Sinclair?” Lord Rutherford demanded.

He and Jude sat in a pair of leather armchairs pulled up in front of a low-burning fire at their club. They were supposed to be enjoying a few quiet hours with expensive French brandy and delicately rolled cigars from Jamaica. But as Rutherford had just noted with cantankerous candor, Jude was not displaying the appropriate mood for the gentlemanly pursuit of socializing.

“For the last hour, you have been altogether unresponsive. We are supposed to be having a good time, and frankly, you are boring me.”

Jude turned his scowling gaze back to his friend. “I suppose I am distracted tonight.”

It was a gross understatement.

He had remained at Silverly only long enough to meet with the estate manager and go over the current state of the Blackbourne properties. He was very pleased to discover that everything was running smoothly and the estate was making excellent profit under the capable management of Mr. Harding. He shouldn’t have expected any less. His father would only have chosen the most competent and reliable fellow to handle such important business. Jude was pleased to see that in many cases, some very modern practices had been put in place.

After setting up further meetings with Mr. Harding in London to discuss additional possible improvements, Jude decided there was not much else keeping him in Essex.

Even his mother seemed anxious to see him go. Initially, when he had found out Helena seldom traveled to town anymore, he had worried that she might be lonely after losing her husband. He soon discovered the error in his assumption as visitors poured in throughout the day. His mother ran a veritable court of local peers and gentry. And she was clearly very contented with her position as the reigning social queen of Essex.

Jude had returned to London determined to find a solution to the unexpected difficulty his wife had proven herself to be. He could kick himself for declaring her identity in the middle of the crowded Newmarket tavern. It would have been much better to handle the matter discreetly. But then he had expected to find her flaunting her association with the Blackbourne family, not concealing it. It rankled his pride she would reject his family name.

In truth, public opinion didn’t matter to him nearly as much as his liberation. Annulment proceedings could be ugly. His mother may never forgive him the scandal. But he was prepared for that. What he hadn’t expected was that the woman might completely refuse him. And there was no way he could have anticipated his personal reaction to her.

Every time he thought of her, he became filled with anger and lust. An uncomfortable combination. He wouldn’t be able to approach his problem properly if his mind was twisted by such opposing emotions.

When he had returned to London and Rutherford suggested a night at the club, Jude thought it a perfect opportunity to spend some time among old friends with great spirits, excellent food and better conversation. Surely such masculine pleasures would return him to his natural state of ease.

His estimation of the evening couldn’t have been more wrong.

Jude swirled his brandy in his palm as he jerked his head toward the group gathered across the room. “Do you know that woman?”

Rutherford didn’t bother to turn his head to see who he spoke of. There was only one woman in the place, after all.

“Is that what has you wound so damn tight? I would have expected all your time abroad to give you a more open-minded perspective.”

“Well, what the hell is she doing here?” Jude muttered in an unforgiving tone. “This is a gentlemen’s club. One of the strictest rules of this establishment is that no women are allowed.” He heard the petty intolerance of his words and hated it. He abhorred such limiting sentiments, but his current frustration got the better of his greater intelligence.

Rutherford sighed, clearly intimating that the subject was old news and not necessarily worth the waste of conversation. “This happens to be the exception which proves the rule then. She was given honorary membership a little more than a year ago. Lord Derby sponsored her in a flush of generosity, and when it came up for a vote of the members, it went through.”

“She was Derby’s mistress?”

Jude’s voice was dark and cold, but Rutherford didn’t seem to notice the underlying tension in his friend’s question and shrugged noncommittally.

“Could be, though I doubt it. Didn’t seem like that kind of relationship. More professional than personal. She doesn’t come in very frequently.” He lifted his brandy in a jaunty salute. “Just your luck, I guess, to be here on the same night.”

Jude’s scowl deepened as he watched the beautifully gowned woman participating in a lively debate with a group of older gentlemen. They were too far away for him to overhear the topic under discussion. Considering the men involved, it likely had something to do with horses and racing.

Her business, he remembered with a sneer of irritation. When he had stopped at her estate in Suffolk before tracking her down in Newmarket, he had not missed the well-filled stables behind the main house. Were those old men her generous patrons? Did she trade her personal favors for their financial contributions?

“What the hell have you got against the woman?” Rutherford asked with a curious little smile. “By the look on your face, one would think you have a problem with her personally. As I said, she doesn’t invade our refuge too often—” he shrugged, “—and to tell the truth, when she does, the conversation does tend to be more interesting.”

Jude looked at his friend with narrowed eyes as a terrible suspicion formed in his mind. “Just how well do you know her?”

Rutherford arched his aristocratic eyebrows. “Not as well as you are thinking, old chap. Not that I didn’t try. But it was years ago.” He took a sip of the warmed brandy and glanced across the room at the lady in question. “To be honest,” he continued in a lowered voice, “she set me down so thoroughly and bluntly, I didn’t even consider pursuing the matter further.” His lips curled with sexual interest and he added, “Maybe it’s time I approach her with a better offer.”

“Like hell you will,” Jude growled.

Rutherford looked back at him with lifted brows. “What’s gotten into you, Sinclair?”

“Have you no idea who that woman is?” Jude asked.

Rutherford glanced back across the room as he answered. “Of course. She is Mrs. Anna Locke. No one knows who her husband was since he apparently abandoned the woman, though I can’t imagine why. She showed up in the racing circles several years ago and has been around ever since. Wait a minute.” He looked back at Jude with a spark of some long-forgotten memory swimming up through a mind clouded by years of fine alcohol and disinterest in anything that did not involve him personally. “Weren’t you courting a Miss Locke before you left for the continent?” He tapped his fingers against his forehead. “I cannot recall the particulars, but there was something scandalous, I am certain.”

Jude’s scowl grew deeper. Was it really possible that his friend could have no memory of the marriage that had driven him from England in the first place? He supposed he should be grateful for the ton’s short memory when it came to scandal. Likely his mother had taken swift action to curb the spread of vicious gossip. But in this case, he was just annoyed at having to explain his ugly history, especially to a man who had once been his best friend.

“That woman’s name,” Jude said as he gestured with the cigar clamped tightly between his fingers, “is not Mrs. Locke. She is Anna Sinclair, the Countess of Blackbourne.”

The look of confusion on Rutherford’s face would have been laughable if the subject wasn’t so pathetic. “But that would make her your—”

“Wife,” Jude finished for him.

“Bloody hell!” The other man looked at Anna again with widened eyes. “Lovely piece you bagged there, Sinclair. Why in God’s name did you run away from her?”

“She didn’t look like that eight years ago, I assure you,” Jude answered stiffly. He wasn’t about to go into the more pertinent details of why he had left his wife hours after uttering the blasphemous vows to cherish and protect her. “Maybe you could be a fine chap and fill me in on what you know about my wife.”

Rutherford shook his head, a stunned look still pasted to his strong aristocratic features. “Not much more than what I’ve said already. She has a thoroughbred farm in Suffolk. Fine horses, many of them have become champions or have sired them. She’s very popular among the racing set. She talks their language, you can see,” he added with a casual gesture toward the group gathered around the lady under discussion.

“And her social entanglements?” Jude questioned. “Any jealous lovers I may have to contend with while I remain married to the woman?”

Rutherford glanced back at him with a flicker of curious interest. “You mean you intend to release her?”

“As soon as possible.” He narrowed his gaze in warning. “And I’ll be grateful if you’ll keep your breeches closed until my connection to her is severed.”

“Not a problem, my friend. She’s likely to be a bit vulnerable for a time. I will be sure to be there for her to lean on when the moment is right.”

“Just do your courting far from me, you cocky bastard,” Jude answered.

It was hard to tell with his old friend how much of what he said was in jest and how much was in earnest. Rutherford had a way of saying things simply for the reaction they caused in others rather than to express any true feelings.

“Am I to assume she is not currently under another’s protection?” Jude repeated through gritted teeth.

“If she is intimately involved with anyone, it would be Lord Riley.” At the questioning lift of Jude’s brow, Rutherford continued. “He’s a younger fellow, runs in a different set. Don’t know much about him except that his father, Viscount Neville, has successfully drained his inheritance dry. Riley has found a way to supplement his income and is said to be very accomplished.”

“Accomplished at what?”

“In the boudoir, old man.” Rutherford answered dryly. “He prefers to focus his energies on women of independent means, ladies who do not have to account for every penny, if you understand me. He never remains with the same woman for long. Your wife is the only exception to that rule as well, since he always goes back to her after a time.”

“Is she a Cyprian?”

“Rumor and gossip has paired her name with a few gents over the years. Men who could afford to keep a woman of her quality. But any assumption of her being a professional courtesan would be pure speculation. If there was any real association between your wife and any of the men mentioned in her company of the years, the details were handled very discreetly.” Rutherford drank from his brandy snifter. “And for some reason, Riley is the only man you ever see escorting her about town with any kind of regularity.”

The baron was very likely the handsome buck he had seen her talking with at the masquerade. Jude directed his focus across the room at his wife and considered what his friend told him.

“For the most part, she appears to be on her own,” Rutherford concluded.

Was that why she said she would not allow an annulment? It didn’t sound like Lord Riley was a very reliable protector. Did she worry about being left with no support?

No. That made no sense. She had a lucrative and successful business. She was capable, beautiful and apparently beloved by many influential members of the ton. Hadn’t she somehow managed to slide past a cardinal rule of one of the more elite gentlemen’s clubs in town?

She turned her head and laughed at something one of her cronies said. Diamonds dropped from her lovely earlobes and glittered against her liquid black hair. He was forced to amend his earlier thought; she was very beautiful. Stunning actually, and in a way not many appreciated.

Her thick black hair framed a strong but refined face that was bronzed from her time spent outdoors. Her brown eyes were the warm color of whiskey and sparkled with mischief beneath her arching black brows. And just below the outer corner of her right eye was a small beauty mark. The night of the masquerade when she had removed her mask, he had thought the mark to be a cosmetic application, but he had seen it again in Newmarket. For some reason, rather than being a flaw, the jaunty little mark made her look even sexier and more mysterious. Especially when she smiled and the pert arches of her upper lip lengthened as if holding back some delicious secret.

As if sensing his stare, she turned her head to glance over her bare shoulder in his direction. Her smile was subtle and confident and told him she was fully aware of how her presence in the gentlemen’s establishment frustrated him. She was enjoying every second of it.

It was spite then, he realized with a stab of vexation. Often that was the only reason a woman needed to wreak havoc in a man’s life.

Maybe he should rethink his strategy. Anger was getting him nowhere and likely only strengthened her resolve to resist him. It might be far more effective to simply show her that he wasn’t going away, that he would be dogging her every move until she agreed that dissolving their union was the only way they would both get any peace.

He smiled back at his wife, feeling as if he may actually have a little fun with this unusual situation. When her smile slipped just a little in response to his obvious change in mood, he grinned even wider. Yes, he thought, time for a fresh approach.