The Substitute Countess

by Lyn Stone

  After all, she saw him for what he was now—driven, obstinate, quick-tempered and far too used to having his own way. “You are not the man I thought you were,” she accused.

  “If you expected perfection, you should have taken vows at the convent, Laurel.” He looked deadly serious.

  “Leave her alone,” Giordano demanded. He was standing now, his hands fisted, his expression warning.

  Laurel turned away and hurried out of the dining room and up the stairs to her room, not caring if a fight ensued. She did not want to be there to see it. She feared she might cheer on the Italian despite Jack’s already injured nose.

  She needed to think what to do next. She did not want to be Cornelia Grierson’s companion, chaperone or anything of the like. And she certainly didn’t want to return to the convent.

  She knew in her heart she wanted to be Jack’s wife, despite the problems between them. But she could not be as she had been before, weighing every word she spoke, doing his bidding about what duties to undertake, fitting her moods to jolly his at every turn. She threw herself facedown on her bed, too angry for tears.

  Chapter Twenty

  She was angry, yes, but Laurel knew she would get over it. For all his faults, he was Jack and she loved him. He was the one suggesting they begin again and be who they really were this time. But did he really mean that?

  They would surely clash wills again, even more frequently, if she stopped acting the part of the ideal wife and countess. Could she count on him to tolerate her as she really was?

  Mrs. Grierson entered her room without knocking. Laurel wished the woman to perdition. Why couldn’t everyone just leave her alone?

  “Perfectly played, my dear! I see you’ve mastered the art of managing your man! Good show. Would you like a tot of this brandy?”

  Laurel heard the clink of glass and sat up. “Managing? What do you mean?”

  “That little scene below certainly put him in his place. From now on, he’ll step lightly around you, probably do anything you want. I predict you’ll have flowers delivered before tomorrow,” she prattled on. “A trite ploy, but ever their first gambit to mend a rift.”

  “Flowers?” Laurel scoffed. Then she recalled the bouquets that had appeared in her bedroom after she discovered his deception about their marriage. His first gambit. It had softened her, she remembered.

  “Roses, perhaps, or something more exotic. He seems the sort to try for uniqueness.” Mrs. Grierson grinned as she rolled the brandy around in the glass and offered it.

  Laurel accepted the snifter and inhaled the mellow scent of the liquor before taking a sip. It burned. Warmed. Comforted. She took another.

  “You shouldn’t relent until he sends jewels,” Mrs. Grierson advised.

  “Jewels?”

  “Oh, yes. I expect he will begin with something modest, since he won’t want it to seem he’s attempting to purchase your regard. Probably pearls.” She pursed her lips and quirked them to one side for a moment as she swiveled her glass and watched the liquid coat the sides of it. “You should hold out for emeralds.”

  Laurel almost laughed. “I care nothing for jewels, and he knows it.”

  “Ooh, how mean on your part to tell him such a thing! Limits his ploys, you see. But you mark my words. He’ll follow us to Italy. He won’t give up. I know his sort.” She pointed at Laurel with her brandy glass and offered a canny chuckle. “Determined as the devil himself!”

  “How do you know his sort?” Laurel asked, knowing she might be sorry she did. But Mrs. Grierson had stirred her curiosity. This was certainly a Cornelia she had not seen before, and it offered Laurel a much needed diversion.

  “I wasn’t always this age, you know. Married at eighteen, a mother at nineteen, widowed at twenty. I’ve survived two husbands since.” Her blue eyes danced with memories. Or perhaps anticipation. “Now I’m fifty-eight. Paolo will be my last. Being so much younger, he will surely outlive me.”

  “Do you truly love him?” Laurel asked. This attachment had taken hold so quickly, it seemed impossible, as did Giordano’s attraction to the matronly Cornelia.

  “I love his flattery and his interest in me. What woman wouldn’t? He’s entirely too quiet, too proud and a bit stuffy. But that’s common to his station, don’t you think? He’s from wealth, after all, so I doubt he can help it. Nothing wrong with his looks, though, you have to admit!”

  “He looks very well,” Laurel agreed. Giordano was definitely not ugly, though his appearance hardly appealed to her. She found his intensity...disturbing.

  How could she ever have agreed to travel to Italy with a man she felt that way about? Hadn’t Jack cautioned her several times about her overly trustful nature?

  His saying so had angered her because she had thought it condescending to her and all women. All he had been trying to do then was warn her in particular, not insult her entire gender. Still, she had failed to consider then that it might be true. Life in the convent had sheltered her so, she had never learned to look for or expect any danger until it was nearly too late.

  She had trusted Mr. Hobson, then Orencio and finally, Jack himself. Three mistakes out of three men surely proved him right about her.

  She had been naive and in need of protection then, two things she must admit to herself and change immediately, for she had almost committed another mistake. Perhaps Mrs. Grierson was like her and should be more wary, too.

  “We shouldn’t go to Italy, either of us,” Laurel declared.

  “What? Why? Of course we must go. It’s all arranged. Paolo is taking care of everything.”

  Mrs. Grierson laughed again and hopped onto the bed beside Laurel, her short legs dangling. “He’s so sophisticated, isn’t he! So very sure of himself. I like that in a man.”

  Perhaps a little too sophisticated and sure of himself, Laurel thought. However, if he were overly charming and ingratiating, she would mistrust him even more, she admitted. He had done everything right, nothing wrong and said precisely what was expected of him.

  Perhaps that was it. His lack of any apparent shortcomings made him seem less human and, oddly, less trustworthy than a man who would exhibit some. It was as if he were hiding his true self behind that facade of perfection. She worried about Mrs. Grierson, but knew the woman wouldn’t listen to her doubts.

  Instead, Laurel tried another tactic to persuade her not to go off with a man she hardly knew. “Your daughter will miss you if you go to Italy to live, especially when she begins her family. Think how you would miss her. She’s very fortunate to have you as a mother, Mrs. Grierson.”

  “Oh, call me Cornelia, please. This is a woman-to-woman discussion, not one of employer and employee or even mother to daughter, though I should like it if you were mine.” She gave Laurel’s hand a pat as it rested against the counterpane. “Margaret never listened to a word I said, probably because I talk too much.”

  Laurel declined to comment on that particular truth.

  “Oh, yes, I’m well aware of it, always have been, but I can never seem to control it. I don’t think Paolo cares a fig. Ofttimes, he actually seems to listen!”

  Laurel laughed with her. Perhaps she didn’t need Laurel’s concern, after all, and she certainly wouldn’t welcome it. Cornelia must know a great deal more about men than the average woman since she had dealt with so many husbands. The woman was certainly old enough to make decisions for herself.

  Downing the remainder of her brandy in one swallow, Laurel coughed and laughed again. “You know, Cornelia, I feel much better.”

  “Brandy is magic!” The woman beamed and clinked her empty glass against Laurel’s. “Now, here’s what you should do...”

  Laurel paid scant attention. Her mind was on Jack, wondering if Cornelia was right and he would follow them to Italy. Would her going, just to see if he would follow, be a fair test of his resolve to have her back? Was she ever to keep testing him?

  Going seemed wrong to her, especially since she had already made up her mind.
Every instinct within her sounded a warning not to go, and she would take heed this time.

  Jack might have been a bit more politic when advising her to be more discerning about people and their intentions, but she couldn’t deny that he had been right.

  In that respect, she should have looked past his words and realized his deep concern for her welfare. He could seem domineering at times, but his heart was in the right place. Jack cared. He loved her. And he was as new to this marriage business as she was. They both had much to learn in dealing with each other.

  Perhaps she ought to consider whether she could place enough trust in Jack now, instead of the other way round.

  “I have decided. I will go back with my husband,” she told Cornelia, interrupting the flow of advice with her pronouncement. “Tomorrow I shall tell him so.”

  “So soon?” The woman sighed.

  “I want to. I will.”

  “Well, I suppose you must do as you think best.”

  “It will be the best for everyone involved, especially me,” Laurel declared.

  “In one way, I am happy you have made up your mind this soon,” Cornelia admitted. “Paolo has been much distracted by all these hysterics. That man of yours might not survive any further fisticuffs.”

  Laurel nodded, suppressing a laugh, amazed at how her heart had lightened with her firm decision. “I wish you would come with us as far as Paris, ma’am. I have a feeling it would be better if you do.”

  “Oh, no thank you, dear. But I must go downstairs and tell Paolo immediately that you aren’t coming along,” Cornelia said, sliding off the bed and straightening her skirts. She set down the glass. “But I shan’t breathe a word of it if your man’s still within earshot. You should be the one to tell him.” She grinned and pinched Laurel’s cheek. “Besides, he should have at least one more sleepless night on your account, don’t you think?”

  It was wicked of her, perhaps, but Laurel thought so, too.

  She fell asleep dreaming of their reunion and awoke with a hand clapped over her mouth and nose. A forearm across her chest held her flat.

  “Make a sound and I’ll kill you!” The gruff voice rasped in her ear. “I’ll kill anyone you summon, too. Nod if you comprehend.”

  Laurel nodded, frantic to breathe. She recognized the accent. Paolo Giordano. When she glanced down, moonlight through the window glinted off the knife near her throat.

  “Good.” He lifted his arm from her chest, but kept the blade close to her neck. “Now you will rise and put on your shoes and cloak.” Both lay upon the bed next to her. “I warn you again, do not alert anyone. The knife will silence you, and if the Englishman or Cornelia come in, I shall kill them.”

  She nodded again and he took away his hand from her face. “What do you want?” she gasped.

  “Shhh. You will not be harmed if you do as I say.”

  As if she would believe that! But she did believe he would kill with no hesitation. What could she do? Perhaps if she offered no resistance, he would lower his guard and she could escape. Here in the hotel, there was no place to run without endangering the life of anyone they encountered.

  She slipped into her half boots and donned her cloak, ever aware of the blade hovering near her neck.

  “Now quietly walk in front of me,” he demanded as he took hold of her upper arm. “The point is at your liver and that is a painful way to die.”

  They exited the hotel through the door to the gardens and Laurel knew she was doomed to go with him. His grip was punishing. Even if she could jerk free and run, he would catch her, kill her and get away before anyone could answer her scream. “Where are you taking me?” she whispered.

  Less anxious now that they were outside and not likely to be overheard, Giordano answered in his usual oily tone. “Where you will bring me a fortune. Blond women as lovely as you are much in demand, a welcome addition to any harem.”

  Laurel shook her head in disbelief. “You never had any intention of going to Italy!”

  He laughed softly. “Gullible females. How easy you are to collect.”

  “So I am not the only one,” she surmised.

  “Hardly, as you soon shall see. Move along. The tide waits for no one.”

  They were approaching the harbor’s shoreline and she spied the small boat and another man waiting.

  Oh, God, they were going out to a ship and were going to sail immediately. Jack would believe she had run away from him again and not even look for her this time. And even if he did, he would never find her.

  * * *

  Jack had devised no plan except to begin again with Laurel and do as he should have done at the outset. First thing tomorrow he would send flowers to her room. He thought that flowers had probably influenced her a little to forgive him before.

  The clock chimed two and still he couldn’t sleep. His whole face ached and he couldn’t breathe through his nose. By morning, his eyes would be black. Perhaps he would play on Laurel’s sympathy. He wasn’t above using anything at this point to get her agreement to come home.

  A staccato knock sounded on his door. He got up, pulled on his breeches and went to answer, hoping against hope that it was Laurel needing him in some way. Any way at all.

  He no sooner had opened it a crack when Mrs. Grierson pushed past him and whirled around. “They are gone!”

  “Who?” She was staring pointedly at his bare chest, so Jack grabbed his discarded shirt and pulled it on quickly.

  “Your wife and my fiancé!” she declared, sweeping one arm wide. “They’ve run off together, into the night!”

  “Don’t be absurd! You’re imagining things,” Jack said. “If he’s not in his room, that doesn’t mean—”

  “I saw them!” Mrs. Grierson insisted. “I thought I heard his footsteps in the hallway and feared he was going out to meet someone. I watched from my window to see where he was going and there were the two of them, headed through the garden! Together!”

  She was frantically wringing the front of her nightdress as she released a loud sob. “You have to go after them!”

  Jack wondered if the woman was one of those like the dowager, stirring up trouble for the sake of drama. “And you think he was with Laurel? It must have been some other woman. Did you actually see her?” He was not about to chase down the Italian and some lightskirt he was dallying with before wedding this older woman.

  “I know it was Laurel! She’s not in her room. Her half boots are missing and so is her cape. Oh, God, I would never have believed it of her....” She lapsed into tears and wailed.

  Jack grasped her shoulders and shook her. “Listen to me! Laurel did not run off with him willingly. How long have they been gone?”

  “I came to you straightaway. Moments...perhaps ten. Oh, I can’t think!” She sobbed.

  “Which ship were you to take to Italy?”

  She shook her head violently. “I don’t know!”

  “Gather your wits, woman, please! Was anything said about it?”

  Her weeping subsided to frequent sniffs. “He spoke of a ship but did not say its name, only that we would have a cozy cabin. And all the time he planned to—”

  “He planned,” Jack insisted. “Laurel might have run from me, but she would never betray you with him. He’s kidnapped her.”

  “But why?”

  “Ransom, maybe. Or maybe he’s a slaver. No good purpose, that’s certain. Which way were they going when you saw them?”

  She pointed toward the harbor as she wiped her face of tears with her other hand. “You’re probably right, damn his eyes. She’d not have gone of her own accord. Just yesterday she confided she was going home with you. I told Paolo of her decision last night.”

  “So he snatched her up because it would be his last chance at her. He must know I’ll be after them,” Jack said, hurriedly donning his boots without bothering with stockings.

  “Oh, no, he won’t think that,” she argued, bitterness in her growl. “He called you a milquetoast and believes you
incapable of fighting.” She blinked up at him and sniffed. “Are you?”

  “He’ll soon find out, that I promise!” Jack yanked on his coat, stuck his pistol in the pocket and headed for the door.

  “I’m coming with you!” Mrs. Grierson announced.

  “No time for you to dress. Wait here.”

  She ignored that and trailed after him at a run, nightdress flapping and her slippers pattering away on the stairs behind him.

  He figured she would give it up once they reached the gravel path, but heard her huffing just behind him. “Go back, ma’am,” he called over his shoulder. “This could get ugly!”

  “Uglier...the better,” she retorted, short of breath. “He used me...to get to Laurel.”

  Jack went straight to the harbor. Rowboats bobbed against pilings at the pier and there were several ships anchored much farther out in the deeper water. The moon was high and full, casting a ghostly light over everything.

  “Tide’s coming in,” he muttered, figuring he had only a few hours to determine which ship. He paused and squinted at their outlines, hoping to eliminate those too small to accommodate passengers.

  Then he realized that the Italian might not risk taking Laurel to one that transported regular travelers, one where she might beg help and escape him. Damn the man, he could be carrying her to any vessel out there!

  “Look!” Mrs. Grierson cried, pointing as she danced up and down at the edge of the water. “Just there, see?”

  Jack followed her finger and saw the boat, a dinghy with three figures in it, one of them rowing against the force of the tide. Just then, one stood. He saw the flash of blue-white gown, the sweep of the cape as she swung it at the others. Then she jumped. Her action tipped the small craft over.

  “Laurel!” he shouted.

  Jack shucked off his coat, kicked off his boots, splashed into the surf and leaped into the nearest boat. He untied it from its mooring, grabbed the oars and began rowing for all he was worth, praying that Laurel knew how to swim.

  The tide would bring her closer if she kept her head, rode the waves and didn’t give up.