The Countess's Groom (3 page)

“I was thinking about that. Countess...Rose, it would be best if Quayle believed you
hadn’t
run away.”

“Hadn’t? But how—”

“If he thinks you’re dead, he won’t look for you.”

Rose stopped hugging her knees. She sat up straight. “Dead?”

“Drowned.” Will gestured at the lake. “A suicide.”

Rose opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She looked at the lake and remembered the despair she’d felt when she’d asked Will how long it took to drown.

“You’ll come down here one night,” Will said, when she didn’t speak. “And row out into the lake and throw yourself in.”

Rose glanced at the rowboat. “What about my body?”

“Never found.”

“Do you think Henry will believe it?”

“No way of knowing. But if he does—”

“We’ll do it.” Anything that might mislead Henry was worth trying. “When?”

“Next full moon. So you can see to walk here.”

Rose nodded.

“It’s full moon now. So, in two weeks I’ll make sure I’m dismissed—”

“Dismissed? Why?”

“If both of us vanish the same night, there’ll be suspicion, don’t you think? Especially if your body isn’t found. But if I’m dismissed for bad conduct, and then two weeks later you drown in the lake...there’s no connection between us.”

Rose tugged on her lower lip. He was right. “All right. Let’s do it like that.” She tilted her head to one side and looked at him. “You have good ideas, Will Fenmore.”

He smiled and shrugged and pushed to his feet. “We should get back. It’s nearly luncheon.”

Rose stood.

“Let me see your cheek.”

The light touch of Will’s fingers as he examined the scratch made her skin tingle. Rose stared up at him. Such blue eyes. Such a plain, kind face.

Her gaze seemed to be caught in his. She couldn’t look away. She felt the warmth of Will’s fingers on her cheek, saw him squeeze his eyes shut, heard him mutter “God give me strength” beneath his breath.

“Will...”

Will bent his head and kissed her.

Surprise held her utterly still—but the gentle touch of Will’s lips didn’t disgust her, didn’t make her afraid. Instead, Rose felt a tiny flicker of pleasure.

Will lifted his head. His eyes were very blue, very serious, as he stared down at her.

“Do it again,” Rose whispered.

He obeyed. His kiss was as light as a butterfly’s wings brushing over her skin.

Rose closed her eyes. There was such sweetness in Will’s kiss, such gentleness, that her lips quivered open. Will hesitated, and then kissed her more deeply. Still, fear didn’t come. There was only pleasure humming inside her, warming her skin.

Rose shyly kissed him back.

Will’s arms came around her. Panic speared through her as he gathered her more closely to him. She stiffened and tried to push free.

Will released her immediately. He stepped back. Dismay was stark on his face. “Countess—”

Rose pressed her hands to her mouth. “It wasn’t your fault.” Her voice shook slightly.

“Yes, it was.” Will took another step away from her. “Countess, I promise it will never happen again.”

“Don’t promise that,” Rose said, lowering her hands. “Will, it’s all right.” And amazingly, it was. She took a deep breath and walked over to him and tentatively took his hand. “Will...I like you, too.”

He stared down at her. The emotion in his eyes was raw, powerful.

Something clenched painfully in Rose’s chest. Sudden, foolish tears came to her eyes. She blinked them away. “Let’s go back to the hall.”

After luncheon, Rose retired to her bedchamber. She looked at herself in the mirror, seeing black ringlets and hazel eyes. She traced the scratch on her cheek with a fingertip.
I hope it leaves a scar
. It would make her less beautiful.

If she wasn’t beautiful, Henry Quayle wouldn’t want to own her.
You’re mine
, she heard his voice whisper in her ear.
You belong to me
.

Rose shivered and turned away from the mirror.

She sat down at the escritoire and took out her calf-bound journal. She hadn’t written in it since Henry had left.

Rose turned to the last entry, dipped her quill in ink—and hesitated. The journal was a catalogue of misery and despair. It seemed wrong to write about Will in it, as if Henry would somehow taint him.

She put the journal back and took out a new one. The calfskin was unblemished, the first page as pristine as freshly washed linen. Rose dipped her quill in ink and began to write.

Today Will Fenmore kissed me
.

She paused, remembering the moment, remembering the sweetness of Will’s kiss, the gentleness, and then she continued writing.
I never thought I could enjoy a man’s touch, but with Will, I did.

With Will, the world became a different place. It became full of hope and promise.

Will makes me feel safe
, she wrote
. He makes me feel that anything is possible. He makes me dare to dream again.

I think I could love him.

When Rose finished writing she looked around the little bedchamber. She didn’t want to leave the journal where Boyle might find it.

The room was paneled in dark wainscoting. Darracott Court, where she’d grown up, had had such paneling too—and cunning little cupboards hidden in the walls.

Rose spent half an hour examining the wainscoting. The panels sounded hollow in the corner between the fireplace and the outer wall, but press as she might, she couldn’t find a hidden cupboard.

A glance at the clock told her it was nearly time for her afternoon ride. She hid the journal beneath her mattress and rang for Boyle. She’d search again tonight.

…

They took a picnic hamper with them, and after Rose had fed the squirrel, Will spread a map of the American colonies on the ground and told her what he’d learned about them. “What do you think?” he asked when he’d finished. “Do you have a preference?”

Rose shook her head.

“I’m thinking one of the northern colonies. They have fewer slaves.” Will glanced at her. “I don’t think it’s right to own people.”

“I agree.” She was Henry’s slave—belonging to him body and soul, his to do what he liked with.
No one deserves that
.

Rose looked at the map, picking out the names of the northernmost colonies. Massachusetts. Pennsylvania. New Hampshire. In a few months, one of those places would be home.

“Would you like to live in a town or buy a farm?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.” Rose cocked her head and looked at him. “Which would you prefer?”

“I’d like to breed horses.”

“Breed horses? What a marvelous idea!”

Will didn’t smile. His eyes were serious. “You need to think about it, Rose. It’ll be your money that pays for it.”

She shook her head. “Not mine; ours.”

“Rose—”

“
Our
money.” She reached out and took Will’s hand. “I want you to have a horse farm.” She bit her lip, and then asked: “May I live there too?”

“Of course, but Rose...it’ll be a simple life. You’d likely be happier in town.”

She shook her head. “A simple life is what I want.”

Will stared at her for a moment, a frown creasing his brow, and then his face relaxed in capitulation. “All right, but if you change your mind—”

“I won’t.” She couldn’t imagine anything more perfect than a farm with Will. She leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Will became utterly still. “Rose...”

“If you want to kiss me, you may,” she whispered.

He groaned low in his throat and bent his head to capture her mouth.

Rose closed her eyes. Will’s kiss was slow and gentle. Warmth filled her.
This is how it’s meant to be. Joy and pleasure mingling
.

Time ceased to have any meaning. Seconds blurred into minutes. When Will finally broke the kiss, she almost protested.

“We should stop,” he said.

Rose gazed at him. She couldn’t seem to find her voice.

“Rose, if you look at me like that—”

“Sorry.” She looked down at her lap, feeling heat flood her face.

“Don’t apologize.” Will put his arm around her, pulled her close, and settled her against him.

Rose leaned her head against his shoulder. Will smelled of leather and horse and sunshine. “We’ll plant fruit trees,” he said. “And come summer there’ll be apples and peaches and plums for us to eat.”

Rose nodded, feeling his solidness, his warmth.
This can’t be real.
It’s too perfect. It must be a dream.

But Will’s arm around her shoulders was real, just as the taste of him in her mouth was real, and the sound of his voice spinning dreams for them was real.

That night, after the servants were in bed, Rose wrote in her journal.
The dreams I had when I was a girl—of heroes rescuing maidens, of true love that lasts forever—the dreams I put aside when I reached adulthood...Will makes me dream those dreams again. When I’m with him, I believe that anything is possible.

I think I could marry him.

She reread what she’d written and laid down the quill. “Am I being a fool?”

Will was just a man, not a hero out of a tale of long-ago chivalry. Was she imbuing him with qualities he didn’t possess, making him into something he wasn’t?

Rose rubbed her brow. She pushed back the chair and began searching for the cupboard she was sure was hidden in the corner of the room. As the clock struck midnight, she found it. The wainscoting gave slightly beneath her fingers, a crack appeared, and then a small door opened, revealing a narrow cupboard with four empty shelves.

Rose placed the journal on the topmost shelf and closed the door. With the tiny
snick
of the latch came a feeling of certainty. Will
was
who she thought him to be. His birth might be low, but he was as true of heart as Sir Galahad.

Chapter Four

JUNE 18, 1763

“It looks like rain. We’d better turn back.”

Rose glanced up at the sky, where dark clouds gathered. “Let’s picnic in the folly.” They’d barely reached the lake. She didn’t want to go back to Creed Hall. She wanted to stay outside with Will.

She took the hamper and rug and climbed the marble steps, while Will tethered the horses. The colonnade was Grecian—slender columns crowned with carved acanthus leaves—but the doors were French, delicate and diamond-paned. The gilded handle opened to her touch. A breeze gusted up from the lake, tugging her riding habit, sending dust scurrying across the marble floor.

Rose stepped inside. The circular room was cool and shadowy and smelled faintly musty. The sole piece of furniture was a marble divan between two of the windows. It had lion’s paw feet and scrolled ends and garlands carved along its edges.

She spread the rug on the divan and went back outside.

Will climbed the steps and stood with her under the colonnade, watching the rain advance. A whisper of sound swept across the lake. Its surface shivered.

A raindrop struck the steps, a second drop, a third—and then the sky opened above them. Rain drummed on the pantiled roof and streamed down the marble steps. The lake seethed as if it were boiling.

“Smell that,” Will said, putting his arm around her.

Rose leaned against him and inhaled deeply, smelling wet earth and wet grass.

They watched for several minutes before going inside. Rose removed her hat and gloves.

“Hungry?”

Rose shook her head. She sat on the divan, tucking her feet under her. The circular room was dark, the roar of rain loud. She felt as if she were in another world, a thousand miles from Creed Hall.

Will sat alongside her. He touched her cheek, tracing the scratch lightly. “It’s healing well.”

She had a flash of memory: Henry staring at her, possessive hunger in his eyes,
You’re exquisite, my dear
, then turning to reach for his whip.

Rose swallowed. She pushed the memory aside. “Please, Will...don’t ever tell me I’m beautiful.”

Will lowered his hand. He looked at her for a long moment, then his lips tightened and he nodded. “I won’t.”

She smiled, relieved that he’d understood why, that she didn’t have to explain. “Thank you.”

Will didn’t smile back. His expression was grim.

Rose tucked her hand into his. “Don’t think about Henry.”
And I’ll try not to, too
. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

Some of Will’s tension eased. He turned his head and kissed her gently.

Rose closed her eyes.

Time slowed down, while rain drummed on the roof and a cool breeze blew in through the open door. Pleasure built inside her. The only things she was aware of were Will’s mouth on hers, his strong, calloused hands cradling her face, the heat of his body pressed against hers.

Finally Will dragged his mouth from hers. “Rose...”

Rose opened her eyes and gazed up at him. He looked as dazed as she felt. She reached up and threaded her fingers through his tousled white-blond hair.

Will dipped his head and kissed her throat, tasting her skin with his tongue. Pleasure shivered through her. Rose’s fingers tightened in his hair. She arched her neck.

Realization came suddenly: they were lying on the divan. Will was half on top of her.

Her pulse gave a panicked kick. Rose shoved away from him and scrambled backward on the divan.

Will raised his head and stared at her, his expression bewildered—and then understanding flooded his face. He pushed off the divan and stumbled back several paces. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” His face was stricken. “I’m sorry.”

He swung around and hurried outside with lurching steps, like a blind man trying to run.

Rose squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Tears choked in her throat. The fear was gone. It had vanished the instant she’d seen Will’s face.

She blew out a shallow, hitching breath.

Will wasn’t Henry. He would never take pleasure from her pain. She
knew
that. So why was she afraid?

Because Henry had taught her to be afraid.

Rose opened her eyes. Anger kindled in her breast.
Damn you, Henry
.

She scrambled off the divan and went outside.

Will sat on the lowest step, his head bowed into his hands.

Rose hesitated.
Dare I do this?

Yes. She had to. To exorcise Henry. And because she wanted to marry this man. Because she needed to know whether she was making the right decision.
Best to find out now if I can bear it, before it’s irrevocable.

“Will.”

He stiffened, and then climbed to his feet. “Countess.”

“You’re getting wet.”

Will hesitated, and stepped up under the colonnade. Not toward her; away. His white-blond hair was plastered to his skull. Rivulets of water ran down his face.

Rose took hold of her courage.
You know he won’t hurt you.
But even so, fear was tight in her chest. Her heart hammered against her breastbone. “Will...I would like us to...to have union with one another.”

…

Will stared at the Countess. “What?”

He saw muscles work in her throat as she swallowed. “I would like us to have union with one another.”

“Why?”

“Because I refuse to allow Henry to win.”

The words were like a slap across his face. He felt the sting on his skin.

Will turned away from her. “That’s no reason to do it.”

He heard footsteps behind him, felt her hand on his back, warm through the soaked fabric.

“In America, I want to live with you...as your wife.”

It took a moment to understand what he’d heard.
She wants to be my wife?

“When we leave here, I want to leave everything about Henry behind. If I don’t learn not to be afraid, then part of him is going to come with us. I want to conquer this, Will. I want to conquer it
now
.”

Will stared at the streaming rain. The Countess wanted to marry him?

It was what he’d dreamed of. What he thought could never be. The difference between their births...

An honorable man would refuse. An honorable man would insist she marry within her class.

Will exhaled a ragged breath. “Rose...”

“Please, Will.”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Henry Quayle had been a nobleman, and he’d done terrible things to her.
If I marry Rose I’ll show her what real love is
. A man protected the woman he loved. He kept her safe.

Will opened his eyes. Rose’s hand was warm on his back.

He’d never hurt her. Never.
But by God I’ll hurt anyone who dares to try to harm her
.

“Will?” It was a whisper, shy, uncertain.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll do it.”

…

Will stripped to his waist and dried himself with the tablecloth from the hamper. His body was quite unlike Henry’s. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, his skin a golden brown, as if he sometimes worked without his shirt.

He didn’t remove his breeches, even though they clung wetly to him. He stood looking at her, the damp cloth balled in his hand. “Are you certain, Rose?”

Rose inhaled a shallow breath. She nodded.

Will put down the cloth and walked toward her. Rose held herself still with an effort of will.
He’s not Henry
. Even so, her chest was tight.

Will undressed her carefully, folding her clothes and laying them on the hamper—riding jacket, waistcoat, skirt, petticoat, stockings—until she wore only her chemise. She felt stiff and awkward standing before him, as if she were a marionette, her limbs made out of wood.

“Rose.” Will’s voice was so low she barely heard it above the rain. His hands were at her waist, a light touch that burned through the thin linen. “You can change your mind if you want to.”

“No.” She touched his hip, where the wet breeches clung to his skin. “You should take these off. They’re soaked.”

Will hesitated and then stepped back and stripped off the last of his clothes.

Rose watched as he dried himself. He didn’t look like Henry—the strong, hard thighs, the taut belly, the pale, crisp curls at his groin. Even the shape of his genitals was different.

She relaxed slightly.
It’s going to be all right
.

Their eyes met. All the air drained from her lungs. The fear returned. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, as he stepped toward her.

Rose tried not to tense as he stroked her cheek with light fingertips. She groped for her mother’s advice, given the day before her wedding.
Just lie still. It’s tedious, but over quickly. You’ll get used to it soon enough
.

She would get used to doing this with Will.

Rose took a deep breath and smiled at him. Her lips felt stiff.

Will took her hand and led her to the divan. Rose lay down awkwardly.

“Don’t worry,” Will said, as he stretched himself alongside her. “We’ll take it slowly.”

Fast would be better. Get it over with
. But her throat was too tight to say the words aloud.

Will kissed her temple and then his mouth moved lower, touching her cheek, her jaw, her throat. Rose held herself still and squeezed her eyes shut.
Hurry up
.

Will didn’t hurry. His mouth followed the line of her collarbone, stopping to taste the hollow at the base of her throat. Unexpected pleasure unfurled inside her as she felt his tongue against her skin.

Rose opened her eyes and stared up at the shadowy ceiling. Will licked again, and she felt the same tingling shiver of pleasure.

He kissed his way along the other side of her collarbone. Rose tensed in anticipation of what would come next. He’d open the chemise and grope for her breasts—

Will pushed up the short linen sleeve and placed a light kiss on her shoulder.

Rose released the breath she’d been holding.

He made his way down her arm, laying tickling, gossamer-light kisses on her skin, stopping in the hollow of her elbow, licking, tasting. Pleasure shivered through her again.

Will placed a kiss on her palm, then turned his attention to her other arm, stopping again at the hollow of her elbow. Rose tried not to move as he licked. She was beginning to feel rather warm.

Will raised his head and looked at her. “All right so far?”

Rose swallowed and tried to find her voice. “Yes.”

Will reached for the drawstring at the neck of her chemise. Rose tried not to stiffen as he bared her breasts, pushing the thin linen down to her waist.
Here it comes
.

But it didn’t. Will bent his head and placed a kiss at the base of her throat, where her pulse beat hard and fast. “Relax, Rose.”

Rose closed her eyes tightly and tried to.

Will’s fingers skimmed lightly over her skin, tracing her ribs, her belly, her waist, as if he was learning her shape.

Rose opened her eyes again. Outside, the rain drummed down.

Will continued stroking her. He circled her breasts, barely touching her skin, retreated, came back again, retreated once more. Rose’s skin began to tingle, to flush with heat.

Will bent his head. With his mouth, he traced the path his fingers had taken. A tickling lock of his hair brushed across one nipple as he tasted her belly. Rose inhaled. Her body quivered with pleasure.

Will raised his head. He lightly brushed the curve of one breast with his knuckles. “Well, Rose?”

“Well, what?” she managed to say. Her voice was husky.

“Would you like me to kiss you here?” His fingers skimmed over her skin, circling up toward the crest.

The muscles locked in Rose’s throat. She made a breathless sound.

Will took it for a
Yes
. He dipped his head. Rose felt the moist heat of his mouth, felt the touch of his tongue. She uttered a low groan of pleasure.

Will’s mouth became more eager. Rose clenched her fingers in his hair, trying to breathe as he kissed her breasts, teasing the nipples with his tongue, with his teeth.

He raised his head. “Still all right?”

Rose nodded, unable to speak.
I want more
. Will’s arousal pressed against her hip, burning through the chemise, but it didn’t scare her. Fear was crowded out by a feverish hunger for something she had no name for.

Will slid the chemise down past her ankles and discarded it. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered in her ear.

I’m not
. But the words stuck in her throat. His hand was sliding up her inner thigh, eliciting shivers of pleasure. Making speech impossible.

Rose felt no fear as his fingers gently explored, delving inside her. She gazed up at him, seeing the strong lines of his face, the blunt cheekbones, the tousled white-blond hair falling over his brow.

His fingers began to move rhythmically inside her, making her breath hitch and her pulse quicken. His thumb traced a circle, gliding over skin that was exquisitely sensitive. Rose couldn’t stop her hips from lifting off the divan. “Will—”

He laughed softly. “Like that?”

She couldn’t speak, could only nod as his thumb moved again, circling, making her muscles clench with pleasure.

Will removed his hand. Rose felt a sharp pang of disappointment.
No. Don’t stop
. She bit her lip to keep from saying it aloud.

Will pressed a kiss to her temple and moved down the divan. He urged her legs apart and knelt between them, opening her with his fingers, but instead of mounting her, he lowered his head.

Rose tensed. “Will, what—?” She lost her voice as he kissed her there.

Will held her hips down as he explored her with his mouth. It was a shocking, exquisite intimacy, a leisurely exploration that slowly became more urgent, coaxing a pleasure that was so intense it was close to pain—

A breathless cry broke from Rose’s throat. She arched her back helplessly.

When the shattering pleasure had subsided she opened her eyes. Will was watching her.