A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World

by Jo Beverley

  “For my sins, I’m sure. After my exertions in the north I deserve delightful idleness, but it seems Rothgar seeks to employ me, and I’m sure Father has demands. And here you are, not as happily situated as I’d like.”

  “I thought you lived a life of leisure.”

  “I may not toil at the routine work of my sinecures, but I’ve been given them so I can toil in other areas. I’ll always be at your service, however.”

  She put a hand on his arm. “I know you will. It’s such a comfort to have you back. I do need to talk to you, Perry, privately. There are so many things.…”

  “So it would seem. Send to tell me a good time tomorrow.”

  Which would be after tonight.

  “What’s amiss?” he asked, and she quickly smiled.

  “Nothing but my scandal.”

  “Come and dance your worries away.”

  As they went that way she said, “If anything could, it would be a dance with you. Though Lord Dracy is almost as fine a dancer.”

  “Is he?” Perry asked.

  “I was surprised too, but apparently a life in the navy includes time ashore, sometimes in elegant surroundings. Sometimes with fine ladies.”

  She did not want to think of his fine ladies.

  “He tells you of his adventures?”

  “We converse easily, on many subjects,” she said as they took their places. “Ah, there he is in the ugly robe. He looked better as Neptune, but he’s freed himself of most of the costume.”

  “I heard he was disfigured.”

  “The mask hides it. It’s not so terrible when one gets used to it.”

  “Is it not?” Perry said, looking at her. “I rejoice for him.”

  The dance began, and Georgia stepped out lightly, feeling almost carefree at last. Perry was back. He was master of Town and court intrigue and had always been her best adviser and friend. He’d soon smooth out everything.

  A good thing he didn’t know about the wager and tryst, however, or he’d sort that out too.

  Dracy watched Georgia, though he made sure not to insult his partner by it. He’d worried when she’d been summoned to a leading role in the demonstration of the dove, but he should have known that was Lady May’s milieu.

  He’d been jealous of the Dionysus she’d greeted with such joy. Merely a brother, he’d learned—the fribblous Peregrine Perriam, come as the god of drink and mayhem, but able to make her happy, damn him.

  He saw a family resemblance, even though Perriam had brown hair and clean-cut features. It was in the eyes, perhaps, and in expressions and gestures.

  Dracy made himself look away and relax. Georgia would be safe with her brother, perhaps safer than she was under his protection. Perriam must understand the choppy waters of the beau monde far better than he. But, he suddenly wondered, would the brother’s arrival interfere with their nighttime tryst?

  That would not be allowed.

  Chapter 24

  The clocks were striking two when Georgia left Carlisle House accompanied by Dracy, Perry, and Jane. Her parents had returned home earlier and were probably already in bed.

  All the better, as long as Perry didn’t take the notion of coming with her to Hernescroft House to talk about her problems instead of returning to his own rooms. If he suggested that, she’d protest that she was too tired. In truth, she was wound up like that silver dove of peace, as if she could spring into action at a touch.

  It was all so ridiculously dangerous, and she was trying to be sensible and good.…

  She could claim that as they’d both won, neither had, and therefore neither owed a debt.

  The carriage stopped by the building where Perry had rooms, and he climbed out, saying his good nights. One problem averted, but they’d soon be home, where she’d have to make her decision. She was sure Dracy was looking at her, but she concentrated on the darkness outside.

  “We’re here.”

  The carriage had stopped. He climbed out first, then assisted her and Jane to alight.

  A footman knocked at the door, which opened, and they were home. Her august ancestors looked down in the candlelit gloom, and it was as if they all frowned at her.

  “Good night, Dracy,” she said, calling the wager off.

  “Good night, Lady Maybury,” he said, accepting her unspoken decree.

  There, and it was better so, she told herself as she went up to her room.

  Jane assisted her out of the gown and stays.

  “What shall I do with the gown, milady? There’s not too much to it without the head.”

  “Put it away somewhere. It might form the base of another. But remind me never to assume the guise of a bird again.”

  “Very well, milady, but why?”

  “I don’t like to be predictable. Bring my washing water and then get to your bed. I’m sure you’re as tired as I am.”

  “You’ve powder in your hair, milady.”

  “And there it will stay until morning. But I will need a bath then.”

  “Very well, milady.” Jane curtsied and left, and Georgia turned to the mirror.

  How oddly pale she was, in her white shift and powdered hair, loose and tangled. Her scarlet lips did look grotesque. She tried to rub away the rouge with her shift, but a stain remained.

  Soiled dove.

  Scarlet woman.

  Where was Dracy now?

  Jane returned with a jug of steaming water and poured some into the basin. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you need, milady?”

  “Nothing. Good night, Jane.”

  Jane curtsied and left and Georgia knew she’d have no more interruptions unless she sought them.

  Her white linen nightgown was spread on the bed with the green silk robe beside it.

  She draped the nightgown over the screen around her washstand and went behind to take off her shift and wash. Even when alone, that was her habit, a habit she’d been trained in from infancy. She even bathed in a shift, in a tub with curtains modestly gathered around.

  How could she ever have imagined standing naked in front of Dracy?

  But she had imagined it, and him undressed as well.…

  She washed, whirled in confusion. She could keep to her room and keep safe, but Perry was back and soon Dracy would be free to return to Devon. She might never have such an opportunity again.

  She dried herself and put on the nightgown, but she didn’t go to bed. She paced. Why was it so hard to be sensible and virtuous? All she had to do was get into bed and stay there. She knew Dracy wouldn’t invade.

  She picked up the robe from the bed to put it on a chair.

  But why? She already knew she was going to do it.

  Her nightgown. It dated from before Dickon’s death. Had she worn it for him?

  No. It was a plain one, and she’d always worn finer ones when he’d told her he’d visit her bed. As on that last night…

  She buried that memory.

  Tonight would be sinful, but it wouldn’t be adulterous. Neither she nor Dracy were committed to another. All the same, she wished she’d purchased new nightgowns. The plain ones she had were in excellent condition, so it would have been an extravagance, but she’d never considered such things in the past.

  Would Dracy really ask her to strip naked for him?

  Could she do it?

  How strange that she could mingle with hundreds in a costume that gave the illusion of bare breasts but faltered at the prospect of exposing them to one person.

  * * *

  The footman brought Dracy hot water. He would have assisted him, but Dracy sent him away, only asking him to first bring port. He stripped off the classical robe and raised his hands to untie the mask. Then he paused to consider his appearance.

  He’d been a handsome boy, youth, and man and given no thought to it apart from appreciating that it provided a choice of lovers. He hadn’t grieved the loss of his good looks for long, especially when he’d found it didn’t limit his choices. But when he’d put on this mas
k, he’d been reminded of what had been.

  He’d minded then.

  Because of Georgia Maybury.

  He took off the mask, then turned from the mirror to wash, scrubbing the remains of the glue off his face. With so many obstacles in his way, it was madness to think his disfigurement important, but he wished it gone.

  He was still naked when the footman brought the port, but it was Jem, who thought nothing of it.

  “Are your wounds healing well, milord?”

  “Yes, thank you. I’ve always healed well. Good night.”

  Jem left and Dracy poured himself some wine.

  Beauty and the beast. If he succeeded in winning her, that would be how many would see them.

  The ticking clock seemed to mark time slowly. Had it been as long as he thought? Would she come?

  He shouldn’t be waiting for her naked. He reached for his robe but then went to drawer to take out another. A gift from a high-born merchant’s wife in Batavia, and of Chinese make. Red silk embroidered with a black dragon. As beautiful and impractical as Georgia’s finest gown.

  He put it on, fastening the long line of tasseled buttons at the front. If she came, if she asked him to undress, he could make something of the process. Laughing at himself, he sat in the armchair facing the door, the one she’d sat in a few nights ago, in fine white linen and pale green silk.

  Beauty and the beast.

  If he won her, the beau monde would speculate about why she’d entered such a mismatch. They’d say that Lady May needed to flee her shame and bury herself in the country. That Lady May had found her grand suitors gone and had to take the only man who’d have her. That Lady May had a taste for monsters. As with Charnley Vance.

  She wasn’t coming, and he should be glad of it.

  He wasn’t, selfish bastard that he was.

  She’d revealed a chink in her armor—her sadly wanting marriage bed and her curiosity about the possibilities. Even a kiss had revealed the untapped passion that seethed in her.

  He could release it. He silently toasted the ladies of his past who’d found it exciting to teach an angelic youth how to pleasure them. Some had liked it sweet, some had liked it naughty, and some had needed to be pushed to the edge of fear to achieve their full release. Those were the ones who’d favored him most after the wound.

  He would discover Georgia’s tastes and pleasure her until she was bound to him forever.

  He rose to set the stage. He extinguished all the candles but one, and set that far from the bed. It was possible Georgia had never seen a naked man and never been naked herself in front of one. He wanted to pleasure her, not shock her.

  If she came.

  He touched the decanter of port. Rich, strong, and sweet. He’d no idea why ladies rarely drank it, for they always liked it when they did. There was only one glass, but sharing would be part of their pleasure.

  He picked up the vial of oil he’d purchased from an Oriental shop far from the fashionable parts of London. The glass was a swirl of jewel-like reds and oranges ornamented with gold. Held to catch the candlelight, it glowed like fire. Like the fire he intended to ignite.

  If she came.

  He’d had them blend the perfume of the oil to his design—spicy and musky. It was completely unlike her perfume, for there was nothing of pretty blossoms about it. He’d no wish for the oil to tell tales, so he’d used it on himself here. He’d sent Georgia a book scented with it to explain any trace she carried back to her room.

  If she came.

  He set the vial by the bed and turned down the covers to expose the sheets. Then he sat in the armchair again, sipping port and appreciating the cool breeze that came in through the window. The clock ticked away the minutes, and then he heard another noise. He watched the door handle move down.

  She had come, and his heart began to thump.

  She slipped into the room, wide-eyed, hesitant, but blushing sweetly in that sea-foam robe. Quickly, quietly she shut the door, but stayed against it, looking at him.

  She was dressed as before in robe over white nightgown trimmed with a frill at neck and wrists. This time, her loose, disordered hair was powdered white. He regretted that, but it created a magically fey effect.

  In all his preparations for this moment, he hadn’t anticipated the erotic power of Georgia Maybury, fairy princess.

  Chapter 25

  She whispered, “Dracy?”

  He rose and went to her. “You’re like a creature from myth and magic.”

  “So are you. Dragons?”

  “Never fear. They only eat virgins.”

  Her brows rose. “How many virgins have they eaten, then?”

  He laughed at her way of picking up on an idea, but softly. Her parents slept on the far end of the corridor, but noise could carry.

  “None, but they’ve nibbled their way through many more experienced women.”

  He wanted her to know that, to remember what he’d said before and believe it. He brought her hand to his lips, and instead of kissing it, nibbled gently on a finger.

  “I should be shocked,” she said unsteadily. “You’re a thorough rake.”

  “To be condemned to rake coals in hell? Surely to deserve that fate a man must be cruel. I assure you, I’m never cruel to ladies in the night.”

  He dipped one of her fingers in the wine and then sucked the wine off.

  Her breasts rose and fell from just that.

  He dipped his own finger and offered it to her.

  After a moment, she licked the wine off.

  His heart pounded, but he said, “Do you like it?”

  “It seems a good enough port.”

  Again he laughed. Why had he thought she’d not have tasted port wine? This was a woman who’d smoked a pipe for the experience and held an entertainment of living statues, male as well as female.

  But with the males emasculated.

  He offered her the glass. “More?”

  She took it and sipped.

  “Who goes first?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Our quarter hour of power.”

  Her hands tightened on the glass. “I’m not sure either of us should. It would be wicked.”

  “This is wicked. Who goes first?”

  She licked wine from her lips, which did nothing for his control, then said, “You.”

  “Why?”

  When she didn’t answer, he said, “You go first.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re not sure what to demand and are hoping to learn from me. If you go first you’ll follow your instincts and desires.” He stepped closer and put his fingers over hers on the glass. “What do you truly want, my fey Circe? What do you want to see, to do, to have done to you?”

  She took a step away from him, and her back came up against a bedpost so that the port sloshed in the glass. She took another drink, a gulp, and swallowed. “I want what we spoke of. To see you naked.”

  “Too easy,” he said and moved away from her to give her a better view.

  Slowly he unfastened the buttons; then he peeled the robe back to let it slither to the floor.

  She watched the whole time, wide-eyed and then slack jawed.

  But then she started out of her daze, collecting herself, and sipped the wine.

  Now she studied him, up and down, meeting the challenge, but concentrating as if expecting an examination later. Concentrating particularly on his rising erection.

  “Turn, please.”

  Amused by the squeak in her voice, he did so, slowly, but continuing until he faced her again, which he was sure was not what she’d intended.

  She surprised him by looking seriously at his face. “You have a lot of scars, in many places.”

  “None serious.”

  “I forget your navy past. That you’ve fought in a war. You seem…I’m not sure ‘gentle’ is the word, but…”

  “I hope I’m a gentleman, and I have no natural taste for violence of any sort.”


  “But you did your duty, and you’re always ready for it, aren’t you? As when you were attacked by thieves. I see the wound.”

  “Old habits take time to shed. I hope to become a thoroughly easygoing country gentleman in time.”