Joss and The Countess (The Seducers Book 2)

by S. M. LaViolette

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Good.” She looked away from him, embarrassed by the way she was behaving, as if both of them were not perfectly aware of what had happened.

  He was hardly in a position to demand answers from her—or anything, really. It would be up to her to fix matters between them.

  But not now. Not when she would have to see David in mere minutes.

  The journey to Selwood House was both too quick and too slow, leaving her enough time with her chaotic thoughts to become even less composed, but not enough time to get either mind or body under control. And the presence of the silent man across from her did little to help.

  She stared at Byerly House, which was across the square from Selwood House. The windows were dark and the steps were not cleared of the recent snow. Soon Charles’s neighbors would notice the signs of neglect if they had not already. Alicia shivered. She’d been foolish to play her games so near David—even though he’d not been in town. If he ever discovered her behavior it would make a handy weapon to use against her. Not that he needed a reason to torment Alicia, an activity which seemed to give him inexplicable pleasure.

  The carriage stopped. It was time.

  You are doing this for Elizabeth, she reminded herself.

  ∞∞∞

  Joss was still kicking himself about falling asleep that night.

  Why hadn’t he heard her leave?

  He knew none of that mattered. What mattered is that she had not wanted to wake him and speak to him. And obviously she had not wanted to see him since that night, either. She had essentially banished him from her presence. Again.

  And once again he’d waited in hourly expectation of being discharged—the toffs didn’t like evidence of their weaknesses right under their noses, and that’s what Joss was, a servant who’d seen his mistress at something less than her most proper.

  Not only had he witnessed the affair with Byerly, he’d made her climax in his mouth.

  Just thinking the raw words made him stiffen—not exactly something new. He’d been hard and wanting for days and should have blisters on his palms to show for all his nocturnal activity. Instead, all he had to show for it was yet another erection.

  No doubt that was all he’d ever get from her—an erection he would have to deal with himself. Well, he’d guessed as much when she came to him that night. It wasn’t as if he shouldn’t have known. Women like her wanted what he had to offer—oh, they wanted that so very desperately and would pay dearly for it—but they did not want him. Why would they? He was a big, ugly, butcher’s son; a brute of a man with the unfortunate habit of reading too much and getting ideas above his station. A whore.

  Or at least an ex-whore.

  God. It made him so tired. He should have stayed working for Melissa. Sleeping in a luxurious bed, eating rich food, fucking wealthy, eager women and being very well compensated for it. What kind of fool would leave that set-up?

  A special kind, that was for certain.

  So, here he was, a fool who was yanking his cock raw and wishing for somebody who didn’t even believe he was human.

  Knowing all that didn’t keep him from getting boneless with relief when Hiram, the footman she’d been using lately instead of Joss, came into the stables and told him to be ready to escort her ladyship somewhere that afternoon.

  The boy’s lips had been petulant, like those of a displaced lover. Joss had wanted to grab the young cockerel’s neck and squeeze him for his audacity. But then he’d realized he felt the exact same way. They were a right pair of idiotic bookends to think they had some claim on a woman who was as accessible as the moon.

  Joss’s mind churned in a way that left him nervy and angry. He was caged in here, barely a foot away from her and it was all he could do not to gawk at her. He tried to think of something else, to look somewhere else, but it was pointless.

  So, he stared at her from beneath lowered lashes like some hole-and-corner pervert; unable to get enough of this woman who tied him in knots.

  She was as gloriously beautiful as ever, her skin as pale as marble, her glossy blond hair pulled back to showcase her long elegant neck and exquisite features, her body clothed in the finest garments that money could buy.

  But it was clear that all was not tranquil in her wealthy world.

  She’d given him an abrupt little speech about her daughter and then turned to stare out the window. But Joss didn’t think she saw anything. He thought she was looking at something inside her head, something she didn’t like at all. He suspected that whatever was bothering her waited inside Selwood House.

  Joss had never been to Selwood House before and had not seen the current earl.

  They passed Byerly’s house—which had an air of neglect—but Lady Selwood did not seem to notice.

  The carriage slowed and she fussed with her reticule. He helped her down and escorted her up the front steps. A liveried servant opened the door before he could knock.

  When he turned to go, her voice stopped him.

  “I want you to wait inside, Mr. Gormley.”

  A man wearing the conservative black suit of a butler and cloaked in an overweening sense of superiority descended the stairs as they entered the foyer.

  “Good afternoon, my lady. His Lordship is waiting for you in the library.” His gaze flickered to Joss and the hovering footman.

  Lady Selwood began stripping off her gloves. “Good afternoon, Beamish. This is Gormley. He is here to assist with Lady Elizabeth.”

  “Very good, my lady.” He turned to the footman. “Thomas, show Mr. Gormley to the kitchen and—”

  “No.”

  All three men turned at her sharp command and Joss saw an expression of uncertainty on her beautiful features.

  She pulled off her second glove and slapped them both into one hand, the gesture a decisive counterpoint to her hesitation. “I shall not be long and I want Gormley close at hand when I am ready to leave. He can wait for me in the Yellow Saloon.”

  “Of course, my lady. If you’ll follow me.” The butler led them up the stairs.

  Joss had to hand it to Beamish, he had a face made for buttling and an unflappable demeanor that spoke of years of experience. Seating servants in sitting rooms was not normal behavior—even for American countesses.

  Joss had no idea what was going on here, but, whatever it was, she was afraid.

  Chapter Twelve

  Alicia hated this house.

  No matter how much she struggled to control her emotions, the reins always slipped when she stepped through the door and memories of the horror she’d endured during her marriage flooded her.

  Today she’d exposed her agitation to Gormley.

  Beamish was unflappable, but even he had been surprised by her unconventional request. She couldn’t help it; she needed Gormley nearby.

  Needed him. And when was the last time she’d needed someone? Or at least when was the last time she’d shown her need so very plainly?

  She would have thought she’d learned her lesson long ago, when she’d been a child of six.

  Her Aunt Giddy had made Alicia a doll out of an old sock. She’d sewed tiny clothing and stitched on a face and Alicia had loved that doll more than life itself. She’d named her Lily, and had confided in her, cared for her, and protected her from the other children in their rooming house, who’d mocked her cruelly for her attachment to a stuffed sock.

  She hadn’t cared. When Lily had been with her, she had felt so loved, so complete—even when her stomach had been gnawingly empty.

  One day a girl from the rooming house—a nasty, rickety thing two or three years older than Alicia—had stolen Lily and left her gutted and torn on the front stoop.

  Oh, how she’d cried.

  Giddy had repaired the doll but Alicia’s special confidant, her best and only friend, was gone: Lily was nothing more than a sock.

  So, Alicia had learned it was better not to show how much you loved something—it just drew attention, and bad attent
ion at that. She’d been so very good about hiding her love for years.

  But then she’d met her stepdaughter and made a dreadful mistake: she’d loved Lizzy from the first. And the earl had seized on her affection and used it to squeeze more money out of her and make her life hell.

  But had she learned from that?

  No. Here she was showing her need for Gormley. Would he end up discarded and gutted?

  Beamish opened the door to the library, pulling her away from unpleasant thoughts and shoving her into an unpleasant situation.

  David looked up from his great desk, coming to his feet, a welcoming smile on his face.

  “Alicia! How glad I am to see you.” He came toward her, bent to kiss her cheek and it was all she could do not to flinch away at what was, undeniably, the quick flick of his tongue against her skin.

  He smiled down at her, his probing, knowing eyes drinking in her discomfort. “Beamish, send up tea.”

  “That’s not necessary, David, I—”

  “Please, Alicia, it is Christmas—or near enough. Can’t you spare a moment for your poor, lonely stepson?” He pushed out his lower lip, an expression of mocking self-pity on his handsome face. “Soon you will take Elizabeth and I will be all alone in this huge drafty pile for Christmas and weeks and weeks afterward.”

  Alicia knew his words were his subtle way of reminding her that the only reason she was allowed to have Elizabeth for so long was because it was his will—which he could change at any moment.

  She smiled tightly at Beamish, who was waiting. “Yes, thank you, tea would be nice.”

  David gestured to the settee and chairs in front of the blazing fire, ushering her toward them, his hand hovering just over her shoulders, making her twitch, but never quite touching her.

  She sat in the middle of the settee, just in case he got any notions. But he took the seat across from her, crossing one elegantly pantaloon-sheathed leg over the other, smiling at her with a face that appeared completely devoid of guile.

  But Alicia knew better.

  She wondered how many people knew what lurked behind that handsome face of his.

  Not his wife, she suspected. The current Lady Selwood was a dull-eyed and phlegmatic woman who seemed consumed with her duties as countess—specifically her duty to produce an heir—and was either too incurious or too unimaginative to wonder what her handsome husband did with his time.

  He swept her with warm hazel eyes, the caressing look making her throat tighten. “I’d ask how you’ve been keeping yourself, Alicia but I can see you are well. Very well, indeed.”

  “Thank you, David. You are looking well, also.” And he was, but that was nothing new. Her dead husband’s son was a very handsome man. Tall and imposing like his father, he was the consummate aristocrat, his bone structure the distillation of hundreds of years of careful breeding and selection. His bones long and elegant, his features fine but not effeminate. Most people would consider him an excessively attractive man. Most people.

  “How are Rebecca and Amelia?”

  His full lips curved into a smile at her question, as if it pleased him. But Alicia knew better than anyone how furious his wife’s inability to carry a son made him.

  Three live births and four miscarriages and all he had to show for it was one daughter.

  Like his father, David burned for a son like an opium addict burned for his pipe. Without a son the earldom would descend to his cousin Cedric, a happy-go-lucky young man Alicia had met only once and liked very much.

  Both David and her dead husband, Edward, had hated Cedric virulently. It was the need for money and a loathing for Cedric which had driven Edward Selwood to marry Alicia, but those had not been the only reasons.

  If she’d been wiser, she might have looked more closely into the death of his two prior wives; but she had learned about their unpleasant ends too late to save herself.

  “Rebecca is enceinte again,” he smiled proudly, and Alicia had to clench her teeth to hold the bile at bay. “Amelia is budding into a beautiful young lady but she is still her father’s little darling at fourteen and has promised to stay with me until I am old and gray.” His smile made Alicia shiver. “Yes, they are doing well, thank you for asking, Alicia.” He said her name the way all Englishmen did: Ah-lee-cee-yah. For some reason it always made her cringe. “They will spend the holidays with her parents at Kingsford and all Rebecca’s siblings will be there. It will be a joyous event.”

  “You must regret that your duty is keeping you in town.” She knew that was the last thing he felt about being away from his wife: regret.

  His smile deepened at her subtle dig. “I am, indeed. But I’m afraid my mistress is a demanding one.” Wicked glints lit his brown, beautifully lashed eyes at his words, which were not exactly proper when spoken with such relish. Especially given what Alicia knew of him and his flesh-and-blood mistresses. He chuckled. “My mistress being a position on His Grace of Beckingdon’s council, of course.”

  “Of course,” she echoed.

  The door opened and a maid appeared bearing a tray.

  David gestured to the low table between them. “Will you serve, Alicia?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” she murmured, glad to have something to occupy her hands, which seemed determined to fiddle and twitch, as they always did in his company.

  He turned to the pretty young maid, who was smoothing her skirts with hands that trembled worse than Alicia’s.

  “You may go, Molly.” The girl darted from the room in a manner that spoke volumes, David’s amused eyes following her. “One of the girls Rebecca brought with her from The Willows. Very shy, quiet, and diligent.” He grinned. “Nothing quite like a country lass when it comes to working hard to please her master, is there? But skittish, I’m afraid.”

  Loathing and fury welled up inside her but she lowered her eyes to the tray, anger making her hands as steady as boulders.

  “I take mine black, Alicia.”

  “I recall that.” She did not look up.

  He chuckled. “Of course you do. You have always been so sedulous when it comes to taking care of my needs and desires, haven’t you? A perfect step-mama.”

  A flurry of violent, painful, and humiliating memories rampaged through her mind and the urge to flee almost overwhelmed her. Wisely, she ignored it.

  “Speaking of remembering,” she said. “Have you found a new governess for Lizzy?”

  “Why no, my dear, but then I haven’t been looking.”

  Alicia’s head whipped up. “But it has been months now. I thought perhaps . . . ”

  David’s expression did not alter, but she felt the shift in him, all the same. He became more . . . alert, his warm brown gaze arrested, his concentration that of a rapt child who didn’t want to miss a moment of suffering after tearing the legs off some insect.

  “Yes, what did you think?” he prodded.

  “She is alone at The Willows for much of the time, David. She needs a companion.”

  “Not if she does not live in the country.”

  Her heart leapt “You mean she will stay in London?” She hated the hope she heard, knowing he would latch onto it, exploit it.

  He did.

  “Oh, no, no, no. That would be far too arduous for a girl with her condition.” He glanced at the pot, which was still suspended, and raised his eyebrows, forcing Alicia to turn her eyes to her task, swallowing her scream and her urge to fling the boiling water at his head and use the pot to crush his skull and—

  “I am beginning to believe she needs constant care, Alicia. The care of professionals.”

  She put the lid on the teapot with a clatter and stared at him. “Please tell me you are not going to put her in one of those places.”

  The expression on his face sickened her: it was arousal, pure sexual arousal. Just like it had always been when it came to taunting her, tormenting her.

  He gave her an injured, pouting look. “I have not made my decision yet. I’m looking for only the be
st. She is my sister.” He set the hook a bit deeper. “You know my father entrusted her to my care rather than—” he stopped and gave her an apologetic smile, as if he’d just stopped himself in time. “Well, rather than anyone else’s.”

  Her care. He meant Alicia’s care. Edward had deliberately left his daughter in his sadistic son’s care so that he might have some leverage to use over Alicia, a way to control her—to control her money. And, oh how clever that had been. Even in the grave he was directing her life, determining her future, and bleeding her dry.

  “I can give her better care than she would receive anywhere, David. I could pay for the best care that—”

  He raised one hand in a halting gesture and chuckled tolerantly. “Please, you are becoming excitable, my dear.” This time his smile let slip a hint of the cruelty that defined him. “A bit of your American passion coming out, I daresay.” He shrugged. “We shall have to spend some time together—work closely with one another—on a solution for my sister. I look forward to that.” His eyes gleamed and his slick, red lips curved into a smile. “But right now, I am parched.”

  It was all she could do not to fling herself across the table and scratch out his eyes. But that had worked out very badly for her the only time she’d tried it and she’d not seen Elizabeth for more than six months. He’d kept her at a painful distance, but not her money, of course.

  David began talking about some of their mutual acquaintances while she resumed the feminine ritual and struggled to regain control of herself.

  Alicia had been twenty-nine when she married the Earl of Selwood, who’d been in his mid-sixties. David, his son and heir, had been thirty-four.

  At first Alicia hadn’t believed the younger man had been bothered by his father’s marriage. Indeed, David had acted openly welcoming. His wife had never been warm, but neither had she been disrespectful.

  Although the earl had needed money, he’d not been utterly below the hatches like so many of his class. Even so, he’d needed to sell all but two of his estates, his seat—the Willows, which he could not sell—and a smaller property brought to the marriage by the earl’s first wife.