Captivating the Countess

by Patricia Rice

  To Rain’s surprise, the countess covered the duke’s hands with her own. Was she helping his father enhance his own healing powers? Rain waited with interest.

  “Nothing,” the duke admitted. “I haven’t the strength to generate heat even with Lady Craigmore’s aid.”

  That was quite possibly because enhancers only seemed to work with close family, husbands—or lovers—as his cousin Gerard had finally admitted. The earl’s wife had experimented with other Malcolms and enhanced no one else but the earl and her sister.

  Had Rain unconsciously taken Bell last night simply to enhance abilities he didn’t believe he possessed?

  Supremely aware of Bell’s petite femininity, he was pretty certain that had not been his incentive at all.

  “You must call me Bell as the rest of your indecorous family does.” She corrected the duke.

  Rain hid a smile. Few dared speak to his father with such familiarity.

  Not taking umbrage, the duke grunted agreement. “They learned that from their mother. My wife disliked propriety and thought titles a hypocrisy.”

  Despite the low-key conversation, Rain couldn’t relax. He was unaccustomed to losing, and this was a battle of life and death. He had to win this battle. He had no desire to be duke until he was old and gray.

  Once his father admitted Bell’s hands didn’t help, Rain stepped in. Generally, he focused on his patient and did not speak during an examination.

  In the interest of unscientific curiosity, he covered Bell’s hands with his own and used his voice. “According to an article in a recent medical journal, in dissecting cadavers, Baron Rokitansky discovered a condition involving the superior mesenteric artery where it compressed the duodenum against the abdominal aorta.”

  Rain used his best patient-doctor voice, a soothing murmur that seemed to calm his more excitable patients. He knew his recitation of the baron’s discoveries was enough to put him to sleep. He had no reassuring platitudes to offer, so facts were all he had. The condition he described was inoperable under current knowledge, and the theory was developed from dead people. He couldn’t cut open a dying man in hopes he could rearrange arteries and organs.

  As he spoke, Rain imagined the area he described, trying to fix in his mind his long-ago autopsies as a student. If the artery bent at a wrong angle, it might cut off circulation in the duodenum, thus backing up food and causing indigestion. He could almost see the problem in his mind.

  Bell’s hands were small and fragile between his and his father’s. Soft, tender, they heated his palms, providing an ease of tension he didn’t normally experience when examining a patient. He tried to concentrate on what it would take to straighten an artery, to ease the duodenum so it fluxed naturally. . . but her scent and touch distracted him.

  His body recalled the excitement of her inexperienced kisses, the way her nipples felt beneath his fingers and her soft cries when he caressed her. He’d used none of his usual finesse when he’d taken her, but she had responded as naturally as if she’d been made for him.

  He’d taken no precautions. She could be carrying his child even now.

  His palm grew hotter as he thought about Bell lying beneath him, welcoming him, growing big with his child. . .

  At the same time, he continued his discourse, moving their joined hands to a place where the energy flow indicated pain. The duke never complained, but then, he wouldn’t. Rain knew that his father suffered, which was why he didn’t eat. And here it was, the source. He’d not felt this odd knot of energy before.

  He worked out the details of the location hidden by layers of muscle, deep within the tissues. If he could only slide his thumb inside and bypass the compression, connect the duodenum directly. . . He directed the energy as he spoke, creating pressure that shifted the flow.

  “If we turn him on his side, reduce the pressure. . .” Rain continued talking as they worked. His father didn’t object. Perhaps he’d put him to sleep.

  He tested the area again, feeling the pain lessen. Odd, to feel someone else’s pain, but it seemed to make sense. They were all connected, if he just thought about it.

  “He’s sleeping, Rain,” Bell whispered. “Should we let him be?”

  Jarred back to the reality, Rain blinked and shook off the spell he’d talked himself into. His father lay on his side, breathing easily, looking relaxed. Perhaps the duke’s own healing touch had momentarily relieved the pain.

  Holding Bell’s hand firmly as a touchstone to reality, Rain turned to the anxious valet. “Continue the fattening diet—beef broth from fatty cuts for strength, potato soups with cheese cooked to a soupy consistency, creamy puddings with lots of sugar, anything he can keep down.”

  The valet nodded anxiously but knew better than to ask if the duke was better. Rain doubted it, but the experience had been too weird to not feel as if something had occurred. For one, he was almost certain his diagnosis was correct, as he hadn’t been before.

  Bell refused to let him go once they were in the corridor. “I felt heat this time. Does this mean anything?”

  Rain ran his hand through his hair, not wanting to speak his hope. “Only time will tell. I have no idea what we did, except I could feel his pain. And it seemed to decrease when we turned him over, which might confirm my diagnosis. Knowing what might be wrong doesn’t help when there is nothing I can do to fix it.”

  She nodded, wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him briefly, then fled.

  He understood. Exhausted, he was too weak to resist. He’d stand here in public and hold her until all the tension and roiling emotion settled down, as only Bell could settle them. He’d swear she would face a dragon with a smile and a teacup. He was the one who’d want a sword to slice off noses.

  Instead, he clenched his teeth and strode down to the shooting alley he’d created in the deepest corner of the cellars. Or dungeons, depending on how far back one considered the history. He needed to gut things for a while.

  Teddy was there ahead of him. “Shooting people before breakfast, Cuz?”

  “I could ask the same of you.” While Rain loaded harmless cartridges into his pistol, Teddy fired off wild shots that didn’t even brush the target.

  “A new artistic technique, decorating the wall with holes?” Rain held up his pistol, sighted, and shot off a volley as quickly as the pistol would allow. A hole developed in the center ring.

  “I do not understand women.” Teddy added ammunition to an old military pistol from his father.

  “You wish to understand them, why?” His sisters had convinced him long ago that women were from a different planet, if not universe. Acceptance that he’d never understand them had seemed easiest.

  “If I understood what they wanted, perhaps I could keep one around long enough to finish their damned portraits.” Teddy fired more slowly, hitting the outer rim once.

  “One assumes they receive little satisfaction in having their portrait painted.” Feeling a trifle more in control now that he’d blasted the center out of the target, Rain could find amusement in his cousin’s complaint. “Do you offer them the proceeds if you sell the portrait?”

  Teddy shot him a disgruntled look. “Of course not! How would I ever earn my way like that? Paint is expensive!”

  “I do see your predicament.” Tongue firmly in cheek, Rain rattled off another volley, deliberately taking out the second ring. “You have nothing to offer them but your charm and talent.”

  “I offer them all the comforts of my home, and I’m good in bed.” Teddy growled in irritation and fired another shot, hitting the outer ring again.

  “That may be enough for you, but I’m under the impression that bedplay is not enough for women. Try thinking outside yourself for a change.” Thinking about how good Bell was in bed threw off Rain’s next shots.

  What did Bell want? Rain loaded his weapon again and considered it while Teddy whined. He didn’t really know, he concluded, because women were from outer space. It irritated him that there were no bo
oks on the subject from which he could learn.

  “I need to ask more for my work,” Teddy was concluding when Rain returned to the conversation. “I’ll have to find a better gallery.”

  “Or a wealthy wife,” Rain suggested. “Instead of picking up stray cats without a farthing to their names, meet women with money and time on their hands. They might not make good subjects for your portraits, but they might be more appreciative of your attentions.”

  “Huh.” Teddy shot again, this time hitting a little closer to the center. “Make the social rounds? Drudgery, indeed. I’d have to find a tailor, I suppose.”

  Given that Teddy was wearing baggy corduroys and a paint-splattered waistcoat from a prior decade—Rain conceded that might be necessary. “Go to my man. I’ll tell him to bill me. We can launch you the way we launched the girls.”

  Teddy chuckled morosely. “I told Pamela I’d build her a theater when I came into funds. She told me she’d be old and gray before that happened. Think she’s a witch and knows something we don’t?”

  “One can hope.” Feeling somewhat grounded after this inane conversation, praying the theater suggestion was Teddy’s pie-in-the-sky dreaming, Rain cleaned out his pistol and set it back in the cabinet.

  He’d stop by his steward’s office and simply ask Bell what she wanted. He had wealth and power. He could provide anything she asked, if she’d stay.

  He was pretty certain he wanted her to stay. A woman completely unlike most flibbertigibbet females was a rarity he didn’t wish to lose, even if she disturbed all the ghosts in the castle.

  Taking the back stairs up to the north wing, hoping to steal kisses and maybe more in the privacy of Bell’s office, Rain was unprepared for angry voices when he reached the normally empty corridor.

  “That is completely unacceptable, sir. Stand back or I shall be forced to—”

  Bell’s voice. Fury rising, Rain took off at a run.

  Twenty

  Grabbing the umbrella she kept on hand, Bell jabbed the point at the slim young man who had dared to reach for her. His words had been beyond insulting. That he didn’t take no for an answer was infuriating.

  Lord Nevins paid no heed but grabbed the umbrella before she could run him through with the steel tip. While he struggled to wrench it from her grip, Bell kicked his kneecap, then trod his toe. She wore boots. He didn’t.

  Heavy footsteps pounded down the hall, and the door nearly soared off its hinges.

  It was a bit of a blur after that. Nevins flew backward, releasing his hold on the umbrella. Bell stumbled and reached for her desk to prevent falling. Fearing she’d faint, she began counting backward. Instead of feeling the usual spirits prying at her consciousness, she felt. . . a suffocation?

  Rain slammed his hard fist into the gentleman’s weak jaw, and she winced. The baron was not muscular. He staggered. Before the younger man could raise his fists, Rainford grabbed the back of Nevins’ collar and bodily flung him into the hall.

  Then he slammed the office door and locked it. Fury blackened the marquess’s eyes as he swung around to find Bell cowering against the desk, still holding her umbrella. She wasn’t certain she’d ever seen the self-possessed lord so very angry.

  “Do I murder him or just fling him into the snow?” he demanded.

  Before she gathered her scattered wits or examined the odd energy around them, Rainford crossed the small space and took her in his arms. “You didn’t faint.”

  So she hadn’t. Interesting. “Too furious,” she decided.

  As a reward, she clung to his welcoming embrace, relishing his hard chest and pounding heart just for a moment, just long enough to regain her equilibrium and stop the shaking. “He was under the impression that I could be bought.”

  It had been a very curious conversation, right up until Nevins had tried to touch her person, and she’d reached for the umbrella.

  “I’ll kill him,” Rain arbitrarily decided. “But I’ll throw him in the snow and let him freeze first. Maybe I’ll let him run and shoot him down like the vermin he is.”

  Bell offered a watery chuckle. Now that the moment of ugliness was over, she preferred a more tidy resolution. “Don’t, please. I believe he is a particular friend of Lady Dalrymple. It would be an embarrassment to her. I’ll ask Franklin to have his bags packed and removed to the carriage door. You needn’t do a thing. Why aren’t you upstairs in your study?”

  She’d been terrified that no one would hear her if she screamed. She was trying to be sensible and not weep like a schoolgirl, but she didn’t react well to confusion.

  Rain rocked her against him, refusing to let go. “It was stupid of me to treat you like Davis. You cannot work down here alone.”

  Returned to her reality, Bell shoved at his chest. “I will learn to handle idiots. I know how. I was caught by surprise that he seemed so very certain that I was available for a price. I stupidly tried to reason with him.”

  “To men of that ilk, all women have a price. And because you choose to take employment, he assumes you are no different. I had hoped that by seeing me treat you as the lady you are, the guests would respect you. I cannot believe Nevins is so abysmally stupid.” Rain reluctantly released her.

  “I’d like a bell pull installed.” Gathering her composure, Bell set aside her umbrella. “And I should like to go upstairs for some tea while I order Nevins to the devil.”

  “I would prefer you tell me to murder him and install your office in the library where no one ever goes,” he grumbled, leading her into the corridor.

  “Including most of your staff,” she reminded him. “I need to be able to speak with them upon occasion, and they’re more comfortable here. And you have given me permission to order them as needed without bothering you. Your time is better used elsewhere than murdering guests.”

  Bell wished she could explain the oppressive atmosphere she’d experienced in Nevins’ presence, but Rain wouldn’t understand if she couldn’t.

  Having him beside her as they strolled the halls created an intimacy almost as exciting as having him in her bedchamber. Whatever drew them together was almost palpable.

  She wondered if he felt it, too. Rainford was ever the proper marquess, his pale hair artfully arranged, his jaw shaven despite the fashion. With those jutting cheekbones, he had the icy look of a thunder god. Today, his cravat was a bit awry after the fisticuffs, and she daringly reached over to rearrange it.

  The iceberg glared down at her with an expression that should boil water.

  “May I come to you tonight?” he asked in cool tones that belied his expression.

  “Button is eager to take up residence,” she said in regret. “I do not know how we can be discreet.”

  “To hell with being discreet. Let me announce our betrothal and be damned to them all. Nevins and his ilk would not dare touch you then.”

  Bell couldn’t help her heart beating a little faster at his decidedly unromantic suggestion. She laughed a little to still her foolishness. “Ever the conquering hero, without an ounce of poetry in your nature.”

  He bestowed an icy glare on her, but even he couldn’t argue that wasn’t a real proposal.

  “The wedded state has never been my goal,” she continued before he could find better words. “You have heard the story of my mother’s destructive marriage? I know you are not a drunkard and destitution is not on your horizon, but marriage comes with a high price. I’d rather know that I can take care of myself.”

  And if he was to be a duke someday, his wife would very much need to stand on her own in a world of which Bell knew little.

  “I have never doubted for a moment that you can take care of yourself, possibly better than I can since I cannot be with you every minute. Admittedly, though, marriage entails dealing with my demanding family.” His words were dry as they entered the main hall to the raucous pounding of piano keys and a gaggle of children racing for the door. As departing guests cried commands to servants and others shouted farewells over the
cacophony, the parrot squawked its displeasure.

  “It is rather like an inn, is it not?” Bell suggested. “Marriage to you would be more like marrying the local pub owner. I can understand why your former fiancée quaked at the notion.”

  He shrugged. “The castle’s size has its purpose. Living in rural oblivion requires offering hospitality if I’m to keep up with political and economic affairs. In a few months, as members of parliament travel to London, many will stop here to consult with the duke.” He looked down at her with amusement. “You should listen and choose a proxy for your vote.”

  She didn’t have time to respond. A gentleman called for Rainford’s attention, and she saw the butler sorting through the melee of luggage and guests in the entry hall. She’d prefer to catch Franklin now than track him down in his lair later.

  The butler puffed up like an enraged badger when told Nevins had behaved inappropriately. Ensured that the problem would be removed, Bell went in search of tea. It had been a very eventful morning.

  “There you are, Bell,” Alicia cried as Bell stopped in the breakfast room to fill a cup. “We were just coming in search of you. Do you sing?”

  “Not a note,” she said complacently. “I don’t play the piano, either. My music teachers despaired of me. Now give me a list of numbers to add—” She laughed as Alicia waved away her talent with distaste.

  “Teddy refuses to participate in any more dramas. We need more talent for the evening’s entertainment. Do you think we could have the children sing?” Alicia winced as someone hit a bad note in the music room.

  “Why not something a little more sedate this evening, like cards? Or charades? Then you’ll have time to talk to the governess and ask if any of the children might sing and give them time to practice.” Which reminded her that she needed to check on Drucilla. Had she gone out with the rest of the children?