Romancing the Countess (14 page)
Looking down at the brandy, he muttered, “I don’t like to drink.”
“Yes, I can see that,” she said dryly. Moving toward him, she removed the snifter and decanter from his grip and set them atop the mantel. “I’m going to ring for someone to help you up the stairs.”
“Don’t. I want to stay here, with you. I want to . . . talk with you.”
Leah strode toward the bellpull. “It’s past two, my lord, and—”
“What did the letters say?”
She stilled, her fingers tight around the rope. She glanced over her shoulder.
A pin loosened at the sudden movement, a lock falling to lie against her neck.
Wriothesly had sprawled on the sofa: one arm was thrown across the curved back, the other dangling carelessly over the edge. His legs were spread wide, his head laid against the leather cushions as he stared at the ceiling. Never before had she seen him submit to such casual abandonment.
“You did read them, didn’t you?” he asked.
Her first instinct was to deny it; but the quiet bleakness of his tone kept the lie still on her tongue.
“Mrs. George?”
“Yes, I read the letters. Not all of them, but a few.”
“Did you burn them afterward?”
“No. I kept them.”
He sighed. “Why should I be surprised?”
“They’re in my desk. Would you like me to retrieve them? I could read them to you if you like.”
“No.” He lifted his arm and draped it across his eyes. “Thank you, but I want you to tell me.”
Leah strolled toward him and sat on the opposite end of the sofa, her hands on her knees. Another pin came loose as she looked into the fire, and a long silence passed as she tried to tuck her hair back into the bun.
“Does this mean you refuse?” he drawled.
“Just one moment.” Despite her best efforts, the same stray locks kept falling down. She knew if she couldn’t pin them up again, the entire bun would soon unravel about her shoulders. And although the earl had accused her of courting scandal with her behavior, her desire for independence didn’t slip into this realm of impropriety. And certainly not with him.
“Here, allow me.” His weight shifted, making her sink toward him as she fought for balance. His breath blew across her ear as he took the pins from her fingers.
“I don’t need your help,” she protested, twisting to reclaim them. Then she turned back around immediately, for he was unbearably close, so close her nose had nearly brushed against his.
“Be still. I would hate to accidentally stab you. I’ve had quite a bit of brandy, you know.”
Leah barely breathed when his fingertips swept across the nape of her neck. And despite the heat of the fire and the warmth emanating from his body, she shivered at the touch of his hand on her head as he secured the pins in place. Likely he wasn’t aware of what he was doing; surely he wouldn’t have taken such a liberty had he not been drunk.
He patted her hair on both sides of the bun, then pulled away to settle himself in his former position, his arm flung over his eyes. Leah took a long breath, her equilibrium slowly returning.
“The letters,” he prompted.
She shifted to face him, warily watching should he find another reason to advance toward her. “What would you like to know?”
“I want you to tell me it was just lust.”
Leah sucked in a breath at his frankness, at the quiet plea in his words. She wanted to lie to him. In fact, it would be rather easy to do so. But she couldn’t. “I believe she loved him.” When he didn’t speak, she added, “Of course, I don’t have any letters that Ian wrote, but the words that Lady Wriothesly penned made me think the affair was . . . It wasn’t only about the physical act.”
He made a low sound in his throat, one that brought to mind an animal in pain. “Did she explicitly say she loved him?” Leah winced at the hoarseness in his voice, even though the words were spoken matter-of-factly.
“Yes.”
“That’s not enough.” Drawing his arm away, he lifted his head and met her gaze. “Lovers often confess their love, even when it’s not true. I could say I loved you right now and try to seduce you.”
“I would never fall prey to such tricks. And we both know you wouldn’t try to seduce me.” The idea of anyone touching her like Ian had was too foreign. The thought of
Wriothesly
touching her was . . . disturbing. Her breath caught, much the same way it had when he lifted her veil earlier in the garden, when his fingers had played in her hair as he fixed the pins. Even though his features might hold a certain appeal, she no longer desired such false intimacies from anyone. Not after offering her soulless body to Ian again and again.
Wriothesly
touching her was . . . disturbing. Her breath caught, much the same way it had when he lifted her veil earlier in the garden, when his fingers had played in her hair as he fixed the pins. Even though his features might hold a certain appeal, she no longer desired such false intimacies from anyone. Not after offering her soulless body to Ian again and again.
He stared at her, the fire sending shadows to flicker across his eyes. Then his mouth tilted in a hint of a smile. “No, I wouldn’t,” he said.
One thing was certain: he did have a rather unique talent for making her feel unattractive.
Laying his head back, he asked, “What more was there?”
Leah hesitated. “Perhaps you should read the letters, if you wish to see the proof yourself.”
“If you fear my wrath toward you for being the bearer of bad news, you have nothing to worry about. I’m asking you to tell me.”
When she said nothing, he flicked his hand. “Go on.”
“She wanted to leave you,” she said in a rush, then paused, waiting for his reaction. He didn’t move; for a moment, it seemed even his chest would not rise with breath. “They were making plans to flee England—”
“To go where?”
“France. Paris first, then—”
“The fools. I would have followed them.”
“They were to go into hiding.”
He pulled himself up from the sprawl, his movements now rigid. “I would have found them,” he said, then cut his eyes toward her as if demanding she acknowledge it as truth.
Leah spread her hands wide. “As I said, they appeared to be in love, my lord.”
“And I suppose that’s better?”
She began to nod, but something in his expression stopped her. He needed her to tell the truth, just as she’d needed to see his grief and anger after he’d first learned of their betrayal. To know she wasn’t alone.
She looked away. “Perhaps not. But it makes me feel . . . less unworthy.”
Silence lengthened between them, and she could feel him watching her. “I am sorry for my comments at the lake,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t have compared you to her. I shouldn’t have been rude. Actually, you’re quite pretty—”
Laughing, she turned to him. “Please. There’s no need for flattery. I didn’t mean unworthy in that sense.”
In fact, it was almost more of an insult for him to believe he needed to shore up her self-esteem.
His lips pressed together, as if he were deciding whether to respond. Instead, he stood from the sofa. “I need another drink.”
“My lord—”
“You still haven’t told me the truth, Mrs. George.”
“Which truth?” she asked, tensing when he weaved back and forth.
Returning to sit, he filled the glass. But this time, he sipped at it slowly, closing his eyes as he swallowed. Holding out the snifter toward her, he said, “Why you decided to host a house party.”
She shook her head and pushed his hand away. “As I said, I wanted to help you.”
“Liar. You’re much too selfish. For some strange reason it’s one of the things I like best about you.”
Leah tilted her chin and smiled. “I thought we disliked each other.”
“Oh, we do,” he said, taking another sip. “I detest you quite thoroughly. Especially when you smile.”
Her lips flattened. “Do you?”
He gestured toward her with the drink, the liquid sloshing out the side to drip over his thigh. Leah’s gaze followed the brandy’s path where it darkened on his trousers, then jerked upward again as he spoke. “You’re too bloody happy. It’s very offensive.”
“Indeed?” she said, trying not to smile again.
“And there it is.” He scowled, then swallowed the rest of the brandy. “If you wish to be a competent hostess, you will endeavor to be miserable. I might detest you less if you acted a bit more pathetic now and then.”
“I see.” She paused as he bent to set the decanter and snifter on the floor. “It will pass, you know. Eventually.”
“I should mention that I also disapprove of optimism.”
She laughed, disarmed by this drunken, jaunty version of Lord Wriothesly. Without the brandy, he would have almost resembled the man she remembered prior to Ian’s death.
“And now I believe I shall put my head on you,” he announced. “The room has started to spin, and it’s been a very long time since I’ve laid my head in a woman’s lap.”
Leah ceased laughing as he twisted and began to lie back. “No, my lord.” His shoulders landed on her outstretched arms. “Sebastian! Let me up.”
He groaned as she struggled against him. “I was beginning to wonder if you remembered my name. Please, be quiet. Just a moment.” Reaching behind his head, he caught her hand and moved it to his mouth, where he pressed a kiss against her bare skin. “Only a moment, until the world turns itself aright again.”
Leah snatched her hand back, irritated by the lingering sensation left by his lips. He then took advantage by leveraging his weight against her, forcing her to allow him to lie down.
With her hands pressed tightly against her chest—for there was nowhere else to put them—she stared down at him, bemused.
His head was turned toward the fire, his eyes closed. “Thank you,” he said, and sighed. “I believe I might fall asleep.”
“If you do, I promise to shove you off.”
He chuckled, and her gaze skipped over the crook of his lips, noting the faint shadow of stubble extending across his jaw.
Leah glanced at the mantel clock over the hearth. “I’ll give you five minutes, nothing more,” she said.
“You are a generous woman, Mrs. George.”
As the minutes ticked by, she tried to keep herself occupied by watching the fire. It was burning down, only the smallest of flames licking now at the coals. Soon it would be nothing more than embers, waiting for a servant to enter before dawn and stir it to life again.
Yet, as much as she sought to dwell on the fire, her gaze kept returning to the man laid prostrate across her lap, his head pillowed upon her thighs. She noted the meager crescent of his eyelashes, the straight blade of his nose. His hair was a deep, dark brown, growing thickly and trimmed neatly at the ends.
She was well aware when the five minutes passed, and yet she didn’t speak. A low rumble sounded from his chest as it began to rise and fall in a slow, steady motion.
After a while one hand drifted toward his hair—of its own accord, she decided—and sifted through the dark, silken strands. She smoothed his hair away from his ear, dragged her fingers down to his nape, caressed the skin there with the pad of her thumb.
If he had stirred she would have yanked her hands away, pretending that he’d dreamed her touch. But he didn’t wake, and she continued combing her fingers through his hair, finding a sensual contentment in the repetition of each soft stroke against the flesh of her palm.
At last her arm grew weary and she withdrew, tucking her hand against her side. Though her eyelids felt leaden and the heat of his body was comforting after so many nights spent alone, she couldn’t fall asleep with him. In only a few hours the servants would waken. She didn’t want them to find her with Wriothesly. Neither did she welcome the sort of familiarity that came with having a man pressed against her through the night, even though the circumstances were entirely innocent.
“Sebastian,” she whispered, and touched his shoulder.
His chest paused at a rise, then fell sharply.
“Sebastian,” she murmured, shaking him slightly. “Wake up.”
His head turned away from the fire, facing upward on her lap.
She sighed. “Sebastian—”
Then his eyes opened, slowly, and met hers. His splendid, forest-depths green eyes. Eyes that one might never tire of looking into.
And Leah realized she’d become far more affected by him than she wished.
Chapter 9
I’m sorry. He changed his mind at the last minute and decided not to go. He said he wanted my company tonight. Don’t worry. He didn’t touch me. I miss you.
The next afternoon, while the guests sorted through wigs and costumes and props for the forthcoming
tableaux vivants
, Leah excused herself to see to her correspondence.
tableaux vivants
, Leah excused herself to see to her correspondence.
Her first inclination as she sat at the small desk in her bedchamber was to fold her arms and lay her head down. She hadn’t slept much the previous night, even after seeing that Wriothesly was escorted to his bedchamber.
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