The Christmas Countess

by Adrienne Basso

  “With a face and form like that, a dowry should be the last thing on a gentleman‘s mind,” Cranborne remarked. The viscount took a sip of wine. “It looks as if her circumstances might improve. Her brother is a very successful man, by all accounts quite wealthy. ‘Tis possible he will gift her with a substantial settlement, though her age might be a deterrent for some men.”

  “She isn‘t that old,” Cameron answered, quick to defend.

  “Of course not, but there are those who prefer a very young, impressionable, malleable bride.” Viscount Cranborne directed his wine goblet in a small salute toward his wife, who merrily danced by them. Marion lifted her eyebrow suggestively in answer and the viscount laughed. “Never could understand why a man would want a milquetoast as his lifelong companion. Damn boring, if you ask me.”

  Cameron had to agree. Yet for some unexpected reason the idea of Rebecca marrying did not sit well in his mind.

  And why was that exactly? The earl sighed, deciding it had to be a question of attraction. If he were able to view Rebecca Tremaine as simply an available woman—without the tangles and complications of Lily—he might at this moment be acting upon the attraction he felt for her.

  A most disturbing revelation, indeed. Cameron rubbed his brow in exasperation and gazed again at Miss Tremaine, who was now dancing with Lord Bailey. She was stylishly attired in a gown of violet silk, a few artfully arranged curls bouncing around her face, drawing attention to her lovely eyes. She had danced with two different gentlemen, smiling often with each one, though showing no particular favoritism toward any.

  She had not once smiled at him. Not through supper, not when evening tea was served, not when they had begun the dancing.

  He knew this because he had been watching her. Like a curious lad caught in the throes of his first crush his eyes had compulsively traveled in her direction time and again. Ridiculous behavior. One that surely would be cured with a stiff drink. Or two.

  Cameron started toward the table where the crystal decanters of spirits were prominently displayed, then in midstride suddenly switched directions. The music had ended, the couples were milling about waiting for the next piece to begin. Purposefully he strode over to Miss Tremaine. A hint of wary curiosity entered her expression.

  “Care to dance?”

  A spark of surprise showed in her eyes. She glanced away as if looking for a polite, reasonable way to refuse and he felt a surge of embarrassment. Damn! Did she truly hold so low an opinion of him that she would decline a simple dance?

  Without waiting for her reply, Cameron took her hand. She resisted slightly, leaning back on her heels. He tugged and she obediently moved forward. With a grimace, he led her to the makeshift dance floor.

  Initially, conversation was unnecessary, since the patterns of the dance required them to part often. But since this was a more casual affair, and not a formal ball, couples were lingering longer together and sets of dancers were merrily talking and laughing.

  He sought his mind for some safe subject on which to converse, but came up empty. In frustration, he gripped her elbow too tightly, causing her to pull away. His hand slipped and accidentally grazed her left breast, softly caressing its roundness, tenderly brushing over the nipple.

  Cameron heard the quickening of her breath, could feel her start to tremble at the unexpected contact. He opened his mouth to apologize, for it truly had been an accident. But his lips shut when he caught the expression of flushed desire on her face. She did not find the incident offensive or repulsive. Quite the contrary, in fact.

  An odd sense of satisfaction filled him at the knowledge that this unwanted attraction enthralling him was not one-sided. Clearly, it also affected her. He angled his head and caught her eye. Her answering gaze nearly burned through him. Cameron laughed. Affected her and annoyed her as much as him. Perfect.

  They came together for the next figure and she held herself rigidly as if fearing contact. He was tempted to move his hand over her shoulder and caress the exposed flesh of her delicate, creamy neck, but restrained himself. Instead, he offered a branch of peace.

  “I sincerely hope you did not get the wrong impression this afternoon from our conversation, Miss Tremaine. Granted, I was peeved at your criticism of Lily, however, upon reflection, I realize my tone and attitude might be misconstrued as dictatorial.”

  He had to wait until she rejoined him in the dance before hearing her reply.

  “You were quite clear when stating your position on this matter, my lord. I am not ignorant. I understood precisely what you meant.”

  He frowned. He anticipated that she would most likely not make it easy for him to extend a peace offering, but he had not expected such a frosty reaction.

  Determined, the earl tried again. “Any distress I might have caused you was unintentional,” he said.

  She glanced at him askance. “Frankly, I am shocked that you have given the conversation any additional consideration. I did not for one moment imagine that you spent the remainder of the afternoon cursing and gnashing your teeth over my remarks. Especially since you made it adamantly clear that my opinion is neither sought nor welcome.”

  Cameron craned his neck forward as his collar suddenly felt a bit too tight. “That is not precisely true.”

  She scrunched her brow. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm. Forgive me if I am skeptical of that idea, but I fear that my opinion is only sought if it concurs with yours, my lord. Is that right?” She daintily raised herself up on her toes and skillfully executed the next steps of the dance.

  He snuffed his rising temper. “What I mean to say is that it was not my intention to intimidate you.”

  “I assure you, my lord, you did not.”

  Her tart response put an unexpected smile on his face. The woman had gumption, that was certain. “What is it you want, Miss Tremaine?” he asked. “Truthfully.”

  She looked startled at the question and then uncomfortable. “I highly doubt you want to hear it.”

  “Oh, but I do.”

  She made a graceful turn, her back to his, then whispered over her shoulder. “I want what I cannot have and realize in order to survive, I need to discipline myself to amend my desires. I want peace in my soul when I wake in the morning and a feeling of contentment during the day. I want the heaviness in my heart to lessen, to be replaced with laughter and the occasional joy of real happiness. In short, my lord, I want the impossible.”

  “Those seem like reasonable, attainable things,” he countered.

  “I want to mother my daughter.”

  His footstep faltered, his heel skidding on the hard wood floor. She was correct. He did not want to hear that bitter truth. He opened his mouth, speaking without thought. “You are a young woman. You could marry, have other children.”

  She gasped, stiffened and he was certain would have ceased dancing if he had not been holding her hand in his own.

  “A child is not an interchangeable item, with one being just as good as another,” she hissed.

  Something inside his chest wrenched. God help him, his tongue could be lethal at times. “Forgive me. That was an appalling, insensitive remark.” He lifted her arm aloft and she twirled beneath it in perfect time to the music. “I made the assumption that because you were critical of Lily you held her in little regard.”

  She swallowed visibly, drawing his gaze to her throat, which was bare of jewels. “One has nothing in the least to do with the other. I care for Lily far more than I ought. More, you tell me, than I have a right.”

  “You have misconstrued my words, Miss Tremaine. I do not object to your having an affection for Lily.”

  “An affection?” She shook her head. “I am supposed to be content with something as tepid as affection when my heart longs to be someone important, someone special to her?”

  The earl felt a wash of unwelcome guilt. “Unfortunately, we do not always get what we want in this life.”

  “An interesting observ
ation from a man who has everything.” Cameron was looking directly into her beautiful blue eyes when she spoke. He saw a flare of emotion, quickly shuttered. “I know I must learn to be content with what I can get or else I shall constantly be miserable. But pray, do not expect me to be pleased about it.”

  He wanted to dismiss her reaction as melodramatic, but the honesty of her words and the heartfelt emotion in them haunted him. “Miss Tremaine—”

  The music ended and the room became suddenly quiet, forcing him to hold back any further comments.

  “Thank you for the dance,” she said, tugging her hand out of his grasp. “And the enlightening conversation.”

  She dipped a shallow curtsy, low enough only to avoid insult. Cameron grimaced in understanding. He could not blame her.

  He wondered how she would react if he grabbed her hand and tucked it in the crook of his elbow, forcing her to stay at his side. He did not take her for a woman who would make a scene, but his judgment had been so poor in so many things concerning Rebecca Tremaine, Cameron knew the risk was too great.

  She glided away from him and he felt an unexpected wave of longing. It had been a mistake to ask her to dance, a mistake to probe too deeply into her feelings. If he had any sense he would cease tormenting them both and keep himself as far removed from her company as possible.

  He made his way toward the opposite side of the room. As he lifted the crystal decanter of port, the earl heard the rustling of a silk gown. He turned, glowering when he caught Marion‘s interfering gaze upon him. Sometimes his cousin saw too much.

  “I sense an undercurrent of romance in the air tonight, Cameron,” she declared, holding out her empty wine goblet for a refill. “The Christmas season does carry a very special kind of magic for these sorts of things, you know. I think it is absolutely marvelous.”

  “And I think you have drunk too many glasses of wine,” the earl responded, adding but a splash of liquid to the goblet.

  “Nonsense.” She drained the small sip he had given her and extended the glass, demanding more. “‘Tis about time you thought about your future. You aren‘t getting any younger, you know.”

  “Marion,” he warned in his sternest voice, regretting that he had not bolted from the room the moment his dance with Miss Tremaine had ended.

  “Oh, do stop trying to be so fierce,” she countered. “I have known you far too long to take that sort of behavior seriously.”

  And he knew Marion too well to argue. The effort would hardly be worth the result. Thankfully, Marion‘s husband was within earshot.

  “Take charge of your wife, Cranborne,” the earl called out. “Or else I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

  The viscount obligingly came forward. Marion‘s face pulled into a sour expression as she turned to her husband. “That‘s it! First thing tomorrow after breakfast we are going to organize an outing to the woods.”

  “The woods?” the viscount questioned.

  “Yes,” Lady Marion answered. “We need to gather mistletoe. This manor needs a lot of mistletoe.”

  “Why mistletoe, my love?”

  “Because my cousin is a pig-headed brute!”

  The viscount blanched. “I fail to see the connection.”

  “I have my heart set on at least one Christmas romance this season and it will never move forward unless there is some kissing. No, a lot of kissing.” She lifted her goblet and took a long sip. “I fear if I leave it to my cousin, there will be no magic this season. And I am determined to have some. Mistletoe is but the first step in my plan.”

  Chapter 8

  The moment she was able, Rebecca quietly slipped away. The music room had become stuffy and she told herself she needed fresh air. She was feeling light-headed, a belated reaction, she was sure, from her encounter with Lord Hampton.

  She should not have danced with him, even though he had given her little choice. Ostensibly he appeared to be trying to make amends for his dictatorial behavior earlier in the day, trying to clarify his position on the matter of Lily. Yet despite any initial good intentions, the result had fallen far short of the mark.

  His attempt at an apology had merely succeeded in distressing her further. And the things she had said to him! Rebecca shut her eyes in mortification, aghast that she had revealed to him her inner pain about Lily. A pain she had yet to fully comprehend, one she certainly had not mastered. A pain that she knew now would never completely heal.

  But it wasn‘t only thoughts of Lily that rattled Rebecca tonight. Being so near the earl emphasized and illuminated this baffling attraction she felt for him. An attraction that frankly embarrassed her because it was so ludicrous.

  She thought she was being fanciful when she suspected he glanced at her bosom before leading her onto the dance floor. And then his fingers had brushed across her breast. Accidentally? Who could say for certain? Yet more disturbing than the act was her shivering, physical reaction to his touch.

  It was a basic, primal feeling. She tried to ignore it, to pretend it did not exist. Tried and failed because something inside her wanted to acknowledge it, and even more scandalous, answer it. No matter how many times she sternly told herself she could not tolerate another minute of these discomforting feelings, they refused to retreat.

  Rebecca went down the hall, thinking to make use of the stone balcony off the second floor sitting room as a place for private reflection. As she walked down the candlelit corridor, the clock chimed the quarter hour.

  The door to the sitting room stood open and she paused for a moment to see if there was anyone about. Thankfully, the room was deserted. Rebecca entered, telling herself she would stay only a few minutes, no more than a quarter of an hour.

  Unlocking the French door to the wide balcony, she stepped outside and filled her lungs with slow, deep breaths of air. The air was chilled, the night sky clear and twinkling with stars. She shivered, and a feeling like ice traveled down her spine and settled in the pit of her stomach. Knowing it was more than the weather that put this chill in her heart, Rebecca nevertheless decided she could not stay outside too much longer dressed in only her evening gown.

  She returned indoors, thinking briefly about retiring for the night, but that smacked too much of cowardice. She would not hide from the earl. She moved to the hearth, seeking the warmth of the modest fire glowing in the fireplace. From the corner of her eye she noticed something moving into her line of vision.

  A man!

  She jerked her head, her heart beating like the fluttering wings of a bird, fearing it was Lord Hampton. Fortunately, it was her brother, Daniel, who stood in the doorway. Releasing a small sigh, Rebecca collected herself.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked, coming into the room. “Lady Charlotte and I noticed you left the music room in a hurry.”

  “I thought I had been discreet when I exited.”

  “I doubt anyone else was aware.” His brow wrinkled in concern. “Are you feeling ill?”

  Rebecca considered her words. Daniel had stood by her these past weeks, supplying comfort and advice as best he could, a solid reminder that she was not totally alone. Yet what could she say? The earl is being territorial about Lily, but even more distressing there is an unwelcome attraction between him and me.

  What lunacy. Rebecca sighed, deciding there was no need to muddy the waters trying to explain something she did not even pretend to understand herself.

  “It has been a trying day,” she finally admitted. “We went to see the vicar and his wife this afternoon. Lily came too.”

  “That‘s unusual.” Daniel settled himself in the chair closest to the fireplace. “I thought children were relegated to the nursery for most of their day.”

  “Apparently Lily is not like other little girls. It seems that there are many unusual, far from ordinary things occurring when it comes to raising her.”

  “You don‘t approve?”

  Rebecca could not contain her most unladylike snort. “My opinion is neither sought
nor appreciated.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Oh, yes.” Rebecca began to pace. “Lily threw a tantrum in front of the vicar‘s wife when she did not get her way. It was disgraceful behavior for a child of her age and completely unwarranted. When I commented upon it to the earl, the lethal warning in his voice to keep my opinions to myself was hard to mistake.”

  She paused, took a deep breath, then resumed her pacing. “He cannot seem to understand that my motives were pure. I only want what is best for her. I thought that by being honest and direct with him he would appreciate my concern, would consider my admonition in the spirit upon which it was offered.”

  “I take it that is not what happened?”

  “Alas, no. I was merely fooling myself when I believed he would listen to me. Even worse, he seized the opportunity to make it more than clear that my future contact with Lily rests on his whims. ‘Tis maddening.”

  Daniel scowled. “We are here at the earl‘s good will, Rebecca. Which could evaporate at any time. I assume you wish to stay and spend more time with the little girl?”

  Rebecca stopped her pacing abruptly. His impersonal tone struck at her emotions. “For pity‘s sake, Daniel, she isn‘t just any little girl.” She‘s my daughter! The thought reverberated in her mind, the pain of being denied her rightful place in Lily‘s life burned at her soul.

  “In the eyes of the world, and the law, that is precisely what she is to you.”

  “Oh, God.” Rebecca covered her face with her hands. Hearing the words, the truthful words, felt like a knife-point stabbing her heart. How could she bear it?

  “If you‘d like, I shall consult another lawyer,” Daniel offered, his voice contrite.

  Rebecca lifted her head. “Do you think that would help?”

  He shrugged. “This situation is so unique, so odd, ‘tis impossible to find someone with experience in a similar matter. Yet there still might be some legal recourse for you.”

  She hesitated. Having to conceal the truth about her identity was the most bitter experience of her life. More than anything she wanted a chance to be a true mother to her child, to love and nurture her. But at what cost?