The Substitute Countess

by Lyn Stone

  Her erstwhile father would probably be glad of company in the penal colony, so she supposed she would have to forgive him for creating this horrid mess.

  In truth, she wanted to forgive him. Laurel could not forget that Hobson had been the only one to visit her at the convent, to bring her gifts and show pride in her accomplishments. Somehow, he had assumed the place of father in her mind even then.

  “Are you ready to go down, dear?” Mrs. Grierson asked, tucking an errant strand of hair behind Laurel’s ear in a motherly gesture.

  “As ready as I shall ever be.” She took a deep breath to fortify herself.

  “Come now, don’t frown so! And do pinch your cheeks to pinken them, won’t you? You look pale as death. Always wished I were blond, though, despite the paleness. But you should think color, perhaps lips.” She nattered on about a perfectly divine reddish lip balm she had heard about from some lady she had met. Meanwhile, Laurel girded herself for what was to come.

  “Ah, there he is now! Look, Laurel, do you know him?”

  Laurel exhaled slowly as she regarded the man standing at the foot of the stairs, waiting.

  Until that moment, she had not realized how deeply she had wished him to be Jack, no matter the intent he might have for coming. But it was not him. Instead, this man did appear the rough and untidy sort that Mrs. Grierson had described.

  Summoning all the courage she could muster, Laurel descended until she stood face-to-face with the stranger. “I believe you were looking for me,” she stated.

  “Mademoiselle Smythe? Oui. Monsieur Nicot asked me to find you and deliver this on my way to Florence. I was delayed two days in Reims, so forgive me if it is urgent.” He handed her a letter.

  Laurel’s legs nearly folded beneath her in relief. She accepted the missive with shaking hands and managed a word of thanks. The man nodded, turned and left immediately.

  “Well, won’t you open it?” Mrs. Grierson asked. “It’s from my son-in-law so I should know its contents, shouldn’t I? Perhaps it’s news of my daughter! She could be increasing, in which event, we must return to Paris at once! Hurry, child, open it and see!”

  Laurel had no reason to keep it private. She tore open the letter and unfolded it. It was an authorization to draw on funds from a bank in Florence where Nicot knew they were headed.

  In an added note, Nicot stated that he had realized belatedly that his wife’s maman would never remember to pay Laurel, so he had arranged her salary himself. He apologized for neglecting to reassure her before she departed from Paris.

  Laurel refolded the paper and smiled at Mrs. Grierson. “He assures me you need not grant me any funds from your own purse, ma’am. My services will be paid for on his own account out of a Florence bank. He must have a very high regard for you to assume my salary, don’t you think?”

  Mrs. Grierson beamed. “Indeed! For a Frenchman, he is a priceless match for my Margaret! Always thought so. Now come...my fiancé will be waiting!”

  Laurel laughed with relief as Mrs. Grierson rushed ahead into the dining room. Pausing just outside the open doorway, Laurel smoothed a hand over her stomach to quiet the burgeoning nausea she had felt since hearing that some man was asking for her.

  Nothing but a messenger, a Frenchman, a traveler hired by Nicot. She closed her eyes for a few seconds to regain her composure before going in to eat.

  “Laurel? Or is it Laura now?”

  She opened her eyes and blinked twice. Right in front of her stood Jack.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jack grasped Laurel’s arms to keep her upright. He regretted surprising her so that she nearly fainted. Her eyes flew wide as her gaze locked with his.

  “I’ve come for you,” he said simply.

  She didn’t reply. He hated the fear and resignation he saw in her eyes, the surrender evident in her dejected sigh.

  He lowered his mouth to hers and took it in a demanding kiss, hoping to stir her spirit to anger, at least. Anything was preferable to this attitude of defeat, even her fury. That, he could deal with.

  Jack fully expected her to jerk away and deliver him a sharp slap as soon as she got over the shock of being kissed so soundly in a public place. Her mouth remained motionless, pliant under his as he plundered it like a rake of the worst order.

  He was not prepared when her surprise dissolved, her hands slid around his waist and she responded with a passionate moan of welcome.

  His head spun with relief and his body responded with sudden need of her. The kiss deepened; his hands and arms grasped her desperately of their own accord.

  “Sir? Madame!” a starched voice intruded.

  Jack broke away, realizing suddenly where they were and what he was doing. The manager, stiff as his starched collar, regarded them with a jaundiced eye. “Would you like a room, sir?” he asked in a sonorous voice. English. Cockney, with pretensions, Jack decided.

  He glanced around and noted that he and Laurel were the focus of everyone in the atrium and those who could see them from their seats in the dining room. Shocked stares from all.

  “A room would be most convenient,” Jack replied as haughtily as he had been asked. “The best available, if you please.”

  “May I have your name for the book, sir?” the manager asked with a barely concealed sneer and a jaded look at Laurel that said he thought she was no better than she should be.

  “Elderidge,” Jack said with a lift of his chin as he slid his arm around Laurel’s shoulder. “The Earl and Countess of Elderidge.” He felt Laurel stand straighter, her shoulders squared beneath his one-armed embrace.

  The manager gulped audibly, then recovered. “Of course, sir, if you will follow me?” Doubt apparent, the man bowed slightly as he passed by to lead them to the stairway.

  Jack remained silent, as did Laurel, when they entered the suite that must have belonged to the master of the mansion when it had been designated as that.

  He gave the man a coin and closed the door in his face. Then he turned to Laurel. “So, here we are.” Jack was at a loss as to what he should do next. He could hardly resume that kiss, given the look of outrage on her face now. Fury, accomplished.

  “That was uncalled-for!” she said, her voice low and fraught with wrath. “I have never been so embarrassed in all my life!”

  “We certainly made an impression,” he agreed as he began strolling about the room, examining the expensive accents of porcelain figures and gold leaf frames.

  “You are wretched!” she exclaimed, folding her arms tight across her chest and staring out the window.

  “Sorely wretched with discontent,” he admitted. “Nearly mad, in fact. That’s why I’ve come.” He lifted a little shepherdess from the table and smiled down at her. She reminded him of Laurel except for the chipped bonnet. He set it down and turned to her. “I can’t live without you.”

  “Ha! You would have dragged me through the courts and had me sent half the world away!”

  “Had you not the good sense to leave when you did, I might have done precisely that. My temper is abominable. But it is also short-lived, Laurel. I want you to come home.”

  “How did you find me?” she asked, rubbing her arms as if she were cold.

  “Neville helped me track you to Paris. Once we learned your destination from the baker, I sent him home to Miranda and came on alone. You cannot begin to imagine how relieved I am.”

  She looked confused, upset, torn, too much like she had when she first saw him downstairs. Jack wanted her self-assured and in command of herself again, the Laurel he knew she could be. That was not trying to fix her, was it? Only snapping her out of one mood into another.

  “So will you come home with me or are you afraid to risk my company?” he asked.

  A fist pounded on the door. Jack cursed roundly at the interruption and went to open it, ready to give that pretentious manager a boot down the stairs.

  “What?” he demanded as he flung open the door.

  The fist hit him square in the
nose, surprising Jack so that he lost balance, tipped backward and landed on the floor. When he looked up, he saw a total stranger rubbing his knuckles and glaring down at him with eyes as dark as hell itself. “Who the devil are you?”

  “I am Paolo Giordano! This young woman is not to be dishonored. I offer her my protection.” He beckoned to Laurel, his Italian accent softening from the former harshness he had used on Jack. “Come away with me now. This blackguard will plague you no more!”

  Laurel had a hand over her mouth, and Jack could swear she was about to laugh. His temper flared, as much at her as her sworn protector. “She is my wife, you idiot!”

  Giordano scoffed. However, he backed up a step when Jack pushed up from the floor and stood.

  Laurel hurried over and placed herself between them, facing Giordano. “He speaks the truth, sir. He is my husband. I beg you not to injure him further. Please go and assure your Mrs. Grierson I am in no peril. She must be worried after that scene below.”

  When the man hesitated, she reached for his hand and shook it firmly. “Thank you ever so much for thinking of my safety. Oh, and congratulations on your engagement.”

  He nodded once as he shot Jack a final, narrow-eyed look of warning.

  Laurel closed the door and leaned back against it, looking up at him with barely concealed satisfaction. “Your nose is bleeding all over your neckcloth,” she informed him.

  He touched his nose and grimaced when his fingers came away red. “So it is. I’ve not been planted a facer like that since I turned twelve.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t return the favor.”

  “My temper does have limits. The man thought he was justified and protecting you. I could hardly blame him for that after the spectacle I made of us downstairs. So you know him well?”

  “He’s the fiancé of the woman to whom I am companion.”

  “To whom you were companion,” he corrected, testing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger to see if it was broken.

  “I don’t know what to make of this, Jack. Your coming for me, I mean. Do you still intend I should be punished in some way, or do you now believe me innocent?”

  He unwound his neckcloth and began mopping blood from his nose with it. “I want you back is all. We’ll begin again. No secrets, no hidden motives, no further talk of deception.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “Your admitted deception regarding our marriage or what you believe was mine?”

  “Either one. We are married, Laurel. For better or worse, remember?” He looked down at the linen he held, nearly soaked through with red. “Damn me, I’m bleeding to death, and you want to talk of placing blame?”

  She shook her head and gave a sigh. “I won’t go back with you. I cannot.”

  Jack stilled, ignoring the pain lancing through his nose. “Why not? I told you it doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t care!”

  She looked sad. “But it does matter and I do care, you see. I refuse to live as your wife knowing you will never trust me, that you believe me capable of such avarice.” She opened the door. “Go home, Jack.”

  And then she was gone, right out the door before he could move to stop her. Jack let her go, cursing under his breath when a fresh rivulet of blood splashed his shirtfront.

  At least he knew where she was and whom she was with. He would follow her to the ends of the earth if need be, but he would never give her up.

  He went to the washstand and poured water from the pitcher into the fancy basin. The bloodied nose was nothing. He deserved at least that much for embarrassing Laurel. There hadn’t been more than a brief urge to retaliate, and even that died when he realized why the man had hit him.

  The bloke had a mean punch, he thought as he dampened the cloth and set about making himself presentable.

  Laurel had a protector for the nonce and the man was engaged to someone else. That was comforting. It would provide Jack time to persuade Laurel, to show her how much she meant to him. He sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to throw her over his shoulder and haul her back home by force.

  Oddly enough, her refusal of his offer to reconcile had convinced him of her innocence as nothing else could have done. Her running away and changing her name should have been proof enough, but he had put that to her fear of punishment.

  Now she knew he wouldn’t do that to her, and still she refused. So the money and title were not what she had been after. She hadn’t a greedy bone in her sweet little body or she would have leaped at the chance to go home with him.

  How would he convince her that he now believed that only Hobson was to blame? Telling her outright wouldn’t do. She’d think he was lying only to get her back.

  He needed a plan.

  * * *

  “Paolo insists you stay and travel with us,” Mrs. Grierson declared to Laurel after she learned what had happened above stairs. “I haven’t dismissed you, dear. You are still in my employ and shall be until we find you another position! That husband of yours sounds like a perfectly horrid man!”

  “No, he’s not horrid,” Laurel argued, “but I cannot go back to England with him. He believes I tricked him into our marriage for his wealth and a title.”

  The woman harrumphed. “What is so wrong with that?”

  Giordano frowned at her.

  Mrs. Grierson leaned toward him and covered his hand with hers. “Not to worry, my darling man, your fortune means nothing to me.”

  “She’s right,” Laurel added for good measure. “Money is the least of her concerns, trust me.”

  He inclined his head and smiled at Laurel. “Mrs. Grierson will need a chaperone until our marriage. You should not go back with him,” Giordano said emphatically. “You will accompany us. It is settled.”

  “As far as Florence,” Laurel agreed. “I’m certain I shall find something to do there.”

  “An excellent plan,” Giordano said. “I will help you find a position, that I promise you.” His dark gaze caught hers and held it, causing a shiver to ripple along her spine. Laurel felt uneasy.

  “You must stay with me at least long enough for our wedding,” Mrs. Grierson said, turning a sweet smile on her fiancé and giving his sleeve a fond pat.

  Laurel didn’t know if she could tolerate attending a wedding, seeing everyone else so happy when she felt so bereft.

  She tried to continue hiding her feelings for their benefit, when she only wanted to retire and cry herself to sleep. It was hardly past midday, however. She had an entire afternoon to endure, knowing that Jack was somewhere on the premises.

  She feared seeing him. If he insisted a bit more vehemently, or simply kissed her again, she might abandon her principles and go back to him. Doing that might satisfy her for a while, but in every look he gave her in future, she would be searching for his doubt. Once the newness of their physical joy passed, he might begin to hate her.

  She knew only too well how closely love could be related to hate. Laurel had experienced Jack’s hate, but only through Hobson’s words, not face-to-face. That she could not bear to witness.

  Laurel admitted that she loved him and knew that he probably loved her, too, but love alone was a fragile thing and not at all dependable. When not conjoined with trust, admiration and respect, it was little more than a powerful physical thing. That would not be enough to sustain a marriage.

  “Oh, God,” she murmured, covering her face with her hands, forgetting everything but her unhappiness. She wanted so much for things to be as they had been.

  If only she could have remained that starry-eyed bride who saw no faults in him. If only Jack had never learned of her true identity and decided she was not to be trusted. She knew she would never be happy again.

  Arms surrounded her but they were not Jack’s. Too soft, too gentle, too redolent of rosewater.

  “Oh, my dear child! That despicable man upset you so! Paolo, what must we do?” Cornelia Grierson leaned her face against the top of Laurel’s head. “Poor girl, you need a mother.”

&
nbsp; “She needs a husband,” a deep voice declared. Not Paolo.

  Mrs. Grierson released her and Laurel uncovered her eyes. Jack stood there looking down at her. She knew he was going to do it. He would insist on her going back with him. Then he would kiss her senseless.

  “No,” she whispered. She rose from her chair, looking him directly in the eye. “I do not need you.”

  “I love you, Laurel,” he said, hurt written all over his face.

  She closed her eyes against the sight of his pain. “It is not enough.”

  He sighed. “What more do you want from me?”

  “Go home, Jack,” she said again.

  “Not if you won’t come with me. I’ll have to stay with you.”

  That brought her up short. “You can’t do that!”

  He said nothing, but his stubborn expression spoke volumes.

  “I’m not staying here,” she said. “I’m going to Italy with Mrs. Grierson.”

  Jack shrugged. “I’ve never been to Italy. Not past the ports at any rate. I expect we’ll love it.”

  Laurel threw up her hands and moved a few feet away from him, giving him her back. She was causing a scene in the dining room, but she didn’t care. Let them look.

  “This won’t do, Jack! You can’t simply follow me everywhere I go!” She rounded on him, shaking her fist. “I cannot be what everyone wants me to be, you hear?”

  “Neither can I. Let’s adjust our expectations a little and simply be who we are,” he said. “After all, no one is perfect.” She could tell he meant every word. “But you make me want to be, Laurel. You make me try for it.” The sincerity was there in his eyes.

  “Damn you, Jack! You are the most exasperating...”

  “Fool. I know,” he finished for her. “One of my greater defects, but I’m working on that.”

  “Stop putting words in my mouth!”

  She moved farther away before he got close enough to kiss her. He meant to. She wanted him to. But if he did, she would be lost, thrust back into that role she could no longer fill.