His Christmas Countess

by Louise Allen

  ‘Yes. And you have bought a stack of neckcloths and at least two waistcoats, and a new evening suit and three pairs of boots.’

  ‘I have.’ Yes, his mouth was just twitching at the corner.

  ‘One has to dress,’ Kate drawled, risking it. ‘At least that was what I heard one lady say to another while I was in the fitting room at Mrs Bell’s.’

  ‘That is absolutely true. Think what a spectacle Bond Street would be if one did not.’

  ‘Especially if Prinny was on the strut.’

  Grant shuddered. ‘I did not need that image being put into my mind, thank you!’ He picked up a large flat box from the floor. ‘And what does this contain?’

  ‘Um…I was hoping it was something you wouldn’t see in broad daylight,’ Kate confessed.

  Grant weighed the box on the upturned palm of one hand and looked at the shop stamp on the lid. ‘Ah, the cost of this, I imagine, is in inverse proportion to the amount of fabric it contains.’

  ‘It was a trifle expensive. I was hoping it might be the sort of thing that would get me chased around the bedchamber.’

  ‘But not spanked?’ Grant had a speculative gleam in his eye. ‘Try it on for me, and we’ll see.’

  ‘At four o’clock in the afternoon?’ Her pulse was racing along with her imagination.

  ‘I really cannot persuade you out of the idea that there are respectable times and places for lovemaking, can I?’ Grant piled the parcels on the bed on to the floor, then sat down and pulled off his boots.

  ‘I can be persuaded.’ Kate picked up the box and whisked into the dressing room. ‘Close your eyes.’

  He was quite correct about the cost. If looked at dispassionately, the negligee consisted of nothing but floating panels of pale blue silk gauze, a large number of silver ribbons and dark blue silk flowers appliquéd in various strategic positions. Crushed up it would fit in a soup bowl and, as a garment, it was utterly impractical for anything except tormenting one’s husband. She had thought it delicious the moment she saw it.

  When she looked around the edge of the door Grant was leaning against a bedpost, arms crossed, eyes closed. He was wearing nothing but a severe expression. Once, Kate would have been alarmed, now she could read him well enough to know she was being teased, especially as there was nothing to disguise the fact that he was finding this arousing.

  She tiptoed up, swirled round so her gossamer skirts whispered across his legs and ran to the other side of the bed. Grant’s reflexes were fast and he was on her heels, reaching for her as she scrambled across the bed, silk panels flying. Kate made it to the other side just as Grant somersaulted across the bed and landed on his feet in front of her.

  ‘That is the most outrageously provoking garment I have even seen.’ He was breathing far harder than the amount of activity justified.

  ‘And you have seen many?’

  Kate could have sworn he had actually growled, although as she found herself seized, upended and face down over Grant’s knees, she could not be certain.

  ‘Now, then, let’s check the workmanship.’ One large hand at the small of her back was more than enough to hold her down, even if she had wanted to struggle, which she did not. A wriggle or two, though…

  There was a flurry of fabric, a whisper of silk, and then there was nothing over her buttocks but air. ‘Quite impractical,’ Grant observed. ‘I cannot imagine how this would keep you warm on a chilly evening.’ There was a tantalising pause, then one palm moved slowly over her right buttock. ‘This would, though.’

  It was only a light smack, more noise than anything. Kate squeaked, then gasped as he did the same to the other buttock.

  ‘Warmer? Certainly pinker.’

  What was warm was the thrust of his erection against her stomach. Kate decided she liked this game. ‘Beast! Savage!’ She wriggled against him and was rewarded by a flurry of light open-handed slaps. She realised the wicked sensation of being powerless while Grant did what he liked was making her excited, breathless and very, very needy. ‘Grant?’

  ‘Hmm?’ She felt the pressure of his lips on one sensitive buttock. ‘Shall I stop? Perhaps you are right and this isn’t the thing to be doing in the afternoon. We could get dressed and discuss the Parliamentary report in the Times.’

  ‘You haven’t checked the design of the front of the negligee. What if they stinted on ribbons?’

  ‘What an appalling thought. I would have to wrap you in a cloak and take you straight back to the shop to demand a refund.’ He turned her so she was sitting on his thighs and tipped up her chin. ‘A very becoming shade of rose. Are you flushed because you enjoyed being spanked, or at the thought of being carried through the streets in nothing but this flimsy thing and a cloak?’

  ‘Both,’ she admitted as he began to untie the ribbons, counting as he went.

  ‘…nine, ten…’ His voice was not quite steady as he gave up on the little bows and lifted her, then brought her down so she was straddling him as he sat. ‘I need to see it in motion,’ he said, his voice husky as he lowered her with aching slowness until he was sheathed inside her. ‘Like that.’ She held him, burrowed close against him so the friction of the fine gauze fretted her nipples, and his, and felt the control he had been tantalising her with snap. ‘Kate.’ He broke in six powerful strokes, took her with him into the whirlwind and then stayed, deep inside her, his arms around her, his forehead on her shoulder.

  Just as she was sliding into sleep Grant murmured, ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

  ‘Of course not. I knew you would never hurt me.’ She sat back, ran one finger down the straight line of his nose and smiled when, eyes still closed, he put out his tongue to catch the tip. ‘And you aren’t cross about all my shopping?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Grant opened his eyes and fell back on to the bed, bringing her with him. ‘I’ve kept you locked up in Northumberland away from all the shops for months.’

  ‘I’ve been extravagant, though.’ He shook his head, but she persisted with her confession. ‘I’m…nervous. It took my mind off things. It’s quite dangerous really, spending all that money. It must be like gambling or drink.’

  To her surprise he didn’t laugh at the notion. ‘You are probably right. But don’t worry, if you can see the danger, then I doubt you are in it. But don’t be nervous, Kate. I’ll look after you. I won’t let the society sharks near you.’

  ‘I know.’ But you can’t protect me from the monsters I’ve unleashed myself, my love.

  *

  Grant climbed to the next step on the grand staircase leading to the ballroom of the Marquess of Larminster’s ballroom, the setting for the marchioness’s ‘surprise’ birthday reception for her husband. The event was a surprise for no one, least of all the long-suffering and newly sixty-year-old marquess, but he enjoyed indulging his wife and she enjoyed parties, the larger the better.

  It was not the event that Grant would have chosen for Kate’s introduction to London society, for the place was full to bursting and the noise level indescribable. It was also packed with the important people Kate needed to make a good impression upon if she were to obtain the entrée to the right circles and the friendship and approval of the ladies who made society go round. And they were married to the men Grant mixed with socially at his clubs and would be forming alliances with, and against, in the House of Lords.

  As he stood with as much patience as he could muster in the receiving line, he looked down at his wife again, still coming to terms with how sophisticated and elegant she looked. It occurred to him that the height of his hopes had been that she would ‘do’, pass muster, not be a disaster. How little faith he’d had. Somewhere, always in the back of his mind, was the image of the bedraggled, exhausted, desperate woman in that bothy, the knowledge that she was not trained up for this world, that she carried scandal with her.

  Despite coming to know her—her courage, her humour, her intelligence, her breathtaking natural eroticism—he had still taken it for granted that sh
e could not cope with this world with its dagger-sharp criticism, its rivalries and sophisticated pleasures.

  ‘Grant,’ Kate murmured. ‘We’re moving again.’

  Up another step, almost at the top now. She was still nervous, he could see the almost imperceptible tremor of the beading around the bodice of her gown, but she looked magnificent. Not a traditional beauty, she would never be that, but somehow something better. Elegant, charming, warm, he thought. And sophisticated with her new hairstyle. And the minx has been colouring her lashes with lampblack and, if I’m not very much mistaken, she’s using lip stain.

  Like a soldier she’d put on her armour to go into battle for him. She makes me so happy.

  The realisation hit him as though someone behind him had punched him between the shoulder blades. Happy. He was actually, positively happy. Not just now and again, like when he was playing with Charlie, or feeling the wind in his hair when he galloped unchecked across the moor, or won a hand of cards against Gabriel, but bone-deep happy. That had come with this marriage. Somehow he had moved, without him realising it, from simply coping with life and snatching what pleasure he could, to a feeling of inner contentment. But he had not been conscious of feeling happy. When did that happen? Just now? Yesterday? Weeks ago?

  A sharp elbow nudged him in the ribs. ‘Grant, it’s us.’

  ‘Sorry, air-dreaming.’ Hell, in a minute he’d be shouting with laughter, capering like a fool for a fascinated audience. Grant found a social smile from somewhere, plastered it on and advanced on the marchioness. ‘Lady Larminster, may I introduce my wife, Catherine?’

  ‘Lady Allundale.’ The marchioness raised artfully curved eyebrows as she studied Kate. ‘Delightful,’ she pronounced.

  ‘Lady Larminster.’ Kate’s curtsy was perfectly modulated.

  ‘Larminster, here’s Allundale’s wife at long last.’ The marquess inclined his head and beamed at Kate, who curtsied again. ‘You’ve taken long enough bringing her to town, Allundale.’

  Grant had no trouble interpreting that as, So what is wrong with her? ‘All due to my sins, ma’am. I’m greedy, jealous and possessive and don’t want to share her.’ As he spoke, he realised that was all quite true. He wanted to scoop Kate up in his arms and sweep her off back home. He wanted to do something about this strange fizzing joy inside him.

  ‘Well, now, there’s a declaration of the kind one doesn’t hear enough of in these cynical days. Do you hear that, Larminster?’

  Beside him he could almost feel the warmth of Kate’s blushes, but when he walked her away from the receiving line and could look at her face he saw the light dusting of rice powder had subdued the colour, or else she was pale through nerves.

  ‘She’s a bossy old besom,’ he said as he steered her into the reception room. ‘But she means well.’

  ‘I’m sure she does.’ Kate’s chin was up. ‘That was very gallant of you, to say those things.’

  ‘I meant them.’ You make me so happy. You have transformed my life. How the blazes did one say these things to one’s wife in the middle of this scrum? Surely there was a withdrawing room somewhere? Gabriel would have slipped a coin to a footman and would know the location of hidden nooks before he had even sized up the ladies at any social event. Alex, in the old days, wouldn’t have been much slower. But Grant had never enjoyed dicing with scandal under the very noses of chaperons and sharp-eyed husbands and had always conducted his affaires with considerably more discretion.

  ‘What is amusing you?’ Kate obviously didn’t find anything at all amusing about the hot, noisy throng and was eyeing them with a social smile on her lips and eyes as wary as any gladiator thrust into the arena, wondering where the lions hid and just how hungry they were.

  ‘I’m regretting not bribing a footman, that’s all,’ he said vaguely. ‘Come, let’s circulate and I’ll introduce you to some people you’ll like.’

  And, by a miracle, he managed to locate many of the acquaintances he had hoped to introduce to Kate. The pleasanter young matrons with small children of their own, the cheerful chaperons whose gossip was friendly, not vicious, and several gentlemen he could trust to treat her to polite and harmless flirtation or intelligent conversation.

  *

  After half an hour he felt she had relaxed enough to leave her with a group of his friends while he went to find her a glass of ratafia. When he got back she had Mr Whittaker choking with laughter over her description of their vicar confronted by the flock of sheep that wandered into the church during his sermon, pursued by a very amorous ram. By her side the Reverend Herbert, one of the Bishop of London’s more irreverent curates, was extemporising a sermon of his own on the subject of lost lambs while making eyes at two young ladies who appeared very willing to stray in his direction.

  Grant had never realised that Kate was a natural raconteur before, but she was holding her small audience gripped while, with perfect poise, she spun the tale in such a way that the poor vicar was described kindly and yet the scene was irresistibly funny.

  ‘Do let me introduce you to my sister, Lady Allundale. She pines for witty conversation.’ Whittaker took her arm, removed the ratafia glass from Grant’s hand and steered Kate off into the crowd. She seemed more than happy to go with him.

  ‘You look as nervous as a hopeful mama whose chick has just been launched into the stormy seas of the Season,’ a familiar voice remarked.

  ‘Alex.’ Grant relaxed a trifle. If Alex was there, then Tess was as well, so that was two more allies. ‘I don’t know about looking like a hopeful matron, but I’m certainly nervous—Kate is painfully shy about all this.’

  ‘She looks stunning. Very chic. I like the hair.’ His friend was watching Kate with the eye of a connoisseur.

  Grant narrowed his eyes at him, then told himself not to be ridiculous. This possessiveness played havoc with the common sense. ‘She does, but she doesn’t look like my Kate any more when she’s dressed up like this.’

  ‘Ah. Your Kate. I wondered how long it was going to take you to notice.’ Alex’s mouth twitched into its lazy smile as Grant frowned at him.

  ‘Of course I notice. She’s my wife.’ He did his best to sound offhand. This new awareness of his feelings was too sensitive to discuss, even with Alex.

  ‘No of course about it. Tess says we men have to be hit over the head with it before we realise it isn’t lust or liking. When did you get hit with the brick?’

  ‘An hour ago,’ Grant admitted. ‘At the top of the staircase, two couples from the head of the receiving line.’

  Alex’s hoot of laughter had heads turning, including Kate’s. She raised her hand in a little wave, then turned back to her new acquaintances. ‘No wonder you are looking vaguely concussed. Love does that. I assume Kate is aware of your feelings?’

  ‘What? Don’t be an idiot. Of course I’m not—’ Grant managed to get his snarl down to a whisper. ‘She makes me happy, that’s all. I realised just now that I hadn’t felt like this…for ever. And it is due to her. But that’s contentment and liking and lus—er, compatibility in bed. It is not love. Ours is a marriage of convenience, you know that. And stop mopping your eyes, it isn’t that funny.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No, it is not.’

  Alex rolled his eyes and returned his handkerchief to its pocket in the tails of his coat. ‘There have been times when I’ve been deluded enough to think you quite intelligent, Rivers. I will leave you to stew and go and see who Tess is making eyes at and rescue them.’

  ‘Don’t say anything.’

  ‘About what? The fact that you are happy? Or the fact that you’re an idiot?’ Alex strolled off, leaving Grant to practice deep breathing in the middle of the crowded floor in the intervals between greeting acquaintances, bowing to ladies and attempting to get his emotions and his brain into some kind of alignment.

  He was an adult male with considerable experience of life and women. He had faced his man in a duel, he had fought at Waterloo and somehow got out of tha
t intact, he had dealt with hysterical mistresses throwing the porcelain from under the bed before now. He wasn’t a romantic youth desperate to transform simple liking, affection and desire into some hearts-and-flowers nonsense that could only end in disillusion and anticlimax. He was happy. His marriage made him happy. That was a wonderful realisation and now he could just get on with his life.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kate was beginning to relax. In fact, she thought with a small start of surprise, she was actually beginning to enjoy herself. No one had pointed a finger at her, crying Fallen woman! or Blackmailer’s accomplice! as they did in her worst dreams. She could see no one who looked even faintly familiar, except for Alex and Tess, and her new acquaintances were all pleasant and even positively friendly.

  Grant had seemed a little strange for a moment while they had been waiting on the stairs, but perhaps he had been nervous for her, which was understandable. She had no idea how her shaky legs had got her up those stairs, but now she was happily answering questions about which days she was at home to visitors and promising to take Anna to call on Mrs Whiting, who had a baby girl almost the same age.

  She sensed Grant with a prickling awareness that had her glancing back over her shoulder with a smile, even before he arrived at her side. Was he proud of her? She hoped so, because she thought she was doing very well indeed.

  ‘My dear.’ He rested his right hand at the small of her back, a possessive gesture that made her shiver pleasurably. ‘I am afraid I must tear you away. If you will excuse us?’ He nodded and smiled and was perfectly polite as he detached her from the group and began to walk her back towards the entrance.

  ‘Grant, is something wrong? You haven’t had a message about one of the children, have you?’