The Countess Confessions

by Jillian Hunter

  “What about her father?”

  “I can only sacrifice myself to marrying one of them.”

  “Ha, ha, my lord. What I meant is, can he be trusted with your secrets?”

  “As of now he doesn’t have an inkling that I am anything but a besotted fool who fell in love with his daughter over an epistolary love affair that her brother evidently initiated and encouraged during this past year.”

  “You are a remarkably driven man, my lord.”

  “I should be driven to an asylum for accepting this responsibility.”

  “And now you shall have a wife, a countess.” Winthrop looked wistful. “Do you still plan to retire in London when this operation is finished?”

  “I have not yet planned how I am to conduct a believable courtship with a woman I’ve known for mere hours and love for reasons I have yet to invent. Do you have any suggestions as to how I should go about this?”

  “You have never lacked for lady admirers,” Winthrop said carefully. “I don’t think I could give you advice on doing you know what.”

  “Tossing a willing woman over my shoulder and into bed is not the same as wooing a gentlewoman. There is an interlude between that must be correctly staged.”

  “I am confused again. Isn’t she elated that she will become the first Countess of Shalcross?”

  “She certainly didn’t throw herself at me in gratitude.”

  “What did she do?” Winthrop asked, glancing up now as if he’d finally realized that this marriage might not be one made in heaven.

  “She threw down her wig.”

  “Good God. Is she bald, my lord?”

  Damien laughed. “She has a mane of flame-red hair, and from what I’ve seen the spirit to match.”

  “She’ll need pluck to live at your side, my lord,” Winthrop said without glancing up. “We shall have to look at the bright side.”

  “She’ll need more than pluck to stay alive. She walked into a hornet’s nest tonight.”

  “May I ask why you feel compelled to become her guardian? Has her beauty blinded you to common sense? Protecting her cannot be more important than honoring your mission.”

  Damien turned from the mirror. “Marrying her and honoring the mission have become one and the same task, I’m afraid. One of us will have to carry a message to Heath Boscastle in London to warn him about the assassination plot. A slight detour to secure a special license is also in the cards. Canterbury isn’t far from here. Show the letter of carte blanche to the clerk in the archbishop’s office.”

  “And you plan to make a few additions to your current wardrobe, I hope?”

  “I don’t have time for that. Ply your needle if it gives you pleasure. In the meantime let’s give Sir Angus a hasty funeral. I hope that we will never see him again.”

  Chapter 17

  “How could I have been such a ninnyhammer?” Emily said as she dropped down onto the end of the bed.

  “It’s a little too late to ask yourself that now,” Iris said. “Perhaps we’ll both wake up tomorrow and discover we had a bad dream.”

  “But I saw the future so clearly,” Emily said, staring at the wig that Iris was burying under a loose floorboard. “Camden would realize we were meant to be together during the ball and ask me at the last minute to dance. Afterward we’d stroll out onto the terrace with all our friends, who would say—”

  “Come to your senses, miss. Your future is a Scottish earl,” Iris said with the subtlety of a wave crashing against a cliff.

  “I don’t want to marry him, and he isn’t a Scotsman.” Still, he was a blackguard, and the mere memory of his chiseled mouth on hers made her feel restless and overwarm. She hadn’t guessed for a moment he might be deceiving her. It hadn’t taken him long to see through her game. “I should at least have been able to regard him in the light before I agreed to marry him.”

  “The same could be said for him.”

  Emily smiled, remembering the look on his face when he realized she had red hair. He had seemed pleased. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Iris put on her stern face. “You have no choice. And if I were you, I’d be grateful to him for having the decency to propose. He’s heroic, and while you might have drawn a long queue outside that tent tonight, no one else is standing in line for your hand.”

  Emily frowned. “He doesn’t want to marry me. If I were him I’d be halfway to London or wherever he lives by now. He doesn’t owe me anything, least of all a proposal.”

  “He came bursting into this house and confessed you had been together all night.”

  Emily sighed. “True, but he was only trying to placate my father.”

  “He confronted your father.”

  “That’s true, too,” Emily murmured.

  “He’s the most adventurous man we have met in this village. True?”

  “Adventurous or not, we don’t know the least thing about him. Everything he said could be a falsehood. I might as well marry a stranger.”

  “But without him you may not live at all.”

  Emily didn’t respond, and watched for several moments as Iris rearranged the perfume bottles on the dressing table according to size. “Dear heaven. Will you stop doing that?”

  Iris made an impatient noise. “We shall have to make the best of this.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Think of it as a fairy tale.”

  “Not all fairy tales have happy endings. And which heroine should I be? Rapunzel? No. The earl has already rescued me from a tower. I believe that under his guard, my perils have only begun.” It didn’t take a soothsayer to predict that the earl would continue to seduce her while they “courted.” She would have to prepare herself for a lot of kissing.

  “I feel guilty now for the part I played in this imbroglio,” Iris confessed as she began to brush out Emily’s hair for bed. “I encouraged you to carry out your ill-fated plot, and not for entirely unselfish motives, either. Whatever good fortune you found could only benefit me. If I hoped for love or merely a more eventful life than the dull one we live, it could come only by your social elevation, which we both know means marriage.”

  “Hush up, Iris. Your chatter isn’t helping.”

  “I didn’t wish to watch you wither away as a spinster for the rest of your life. Nor did I want to be the maid to one. But now? Who knows? This could all be a blessing in disguise.”

  “Do not ever mention that word to me again.”

  “I was desperate once myself,” Iris went on in a reflective voice as she sat beside Emily on the sofa.

  “Not to get married.”

  “No. To escape my guardian.”

  “You mean your uncle?”

  “I’d prefer not to be reminded he’s a relation. I don’t want anything to do with him, although I still say a prayer every night for his seven children.”

  “Seven. That number again. How old were you when you left his house?”

  “Thirteen. And after I became a companion to the old widow, I swore I’d never let anyone clout me on the head again.”

  “No one has hit you in this house,” Emily said gently.

  “I thought there was going to be a fight tonight, miss. I swear I was more afraid of your father and the earl getting into fisticuffs than I was of those men in the tower.”

  “I know.” Emily shook her head.

  “Perhaps you have to look at this as fate.”

  “Fate? That word is also to be banished from our conversations.”

  “Miss, my dreams didn’t come true, either. I’d hoped by now that I’d be a doting nursemaid to your children. Once I even hoped I’d find a man to marry.”

  Emily smiled at her. “It’s still possible.”

  “It certainly is. I’m about to become lady’s maid to a high-ranking noblewoman. I’ve come up in the world.”

  She and Emily stared bleakly into the blazing fire that warmed the small bedchamber. “Don’t you find him handsome?” she whispered, putting her arm around Emily.


  Emily frowned, transfixed by the flames. “You had a look at him in the hallway. I’m sure you could see that he’s very handsome.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, all I noticed was that he was tall and brawny and had red hair.”

  “And blue eyes,” Emily murmured. “I’ve never seen such a vivid blue before. He took my breath away. And he took away my dreams, too.”

  “I’ve never seen a fire burn in the hearth like that,” Iris said in alarm. “What did you use for kindling?”

  “The rest of that worthless love potion.”

  Iris gasped, pulling her arm free. “You didn’t!”

  “I just told you I did.”

  “Why?”

  “What good is it to me now?”

  “What good? I’ve no idea. But burning it might render it more potent.”

  Emily laid her head against the sofa.

  “I lost any chance to win the man I thought I loved. I walked into a den of traitors, at least one of whom wants me dead. I am marrying a man who will resent me forever.”

  “He will expect something in return.”

  “Well, any man would.”

  But Damien wasn’t just any man. He’d wanted to hide in her tent, and he had. And even though Emily was no expert, she knew she could travel halfway across England before she’d be so wickedly kissed and aroused and rescued by the same man in a single night. And he hadn’t once lost his confidence. During their kiss he had been planning what he would do when he returned to the tower. And she hadn’t thought of Camden at all. She hadn’t been the least bit rational.

  She sat up, startled, at the loud hiss that came from the fireplace.

  Both women gasped at the large cobalt-bronze flame that danced up high into the chimney and disappeared. “What was that?” Iris asked, squeezing back against Emily.

  “It wasn’t the Holy Ghost. It looked like—”

  “Don’t say it,” Iris muttered. “Whatever it was has gone. Perhaps the potion contained some ordinary volatile substance that has burned itself out.”

  Emily exhaled in relief. “Oh, of course. That would explain why when I spilled it on the earl’s palm he complained that it stung like mad. It did, too. I tried to rub it off with my thumb and I can still feel a tingling sensation there, now that I think of it. Poor snails. I’d never use anything that nasty to get rid of them.”

  “It didn’t seem to work on the earl, either.”

  “Never have I known a man less intimidated by a threat to his mortality,” Emily said in agreement.

  Iris snorted as she rose to fetch a wet cloth from the washstand to place between Emily’s fingers. “Never have I known a lady less intimidated by a threat to her morality.”

  “If he has deceived me and does not appear on Sunday as he promised, I’ll have to contend with danger to my mortal life, and my morals will be the least of our worries. Yes, Iris, I said our worries. We were both seen last night. Perhaps we should dye your shining tresses a dull brown.”

  Iris’s mouth tightened. Her golden hair was her glory, and Emily felt spiteful that she had suggested such a cosmetic insult. “I’m sorry,” she said, staring up at Iris’s troubled face. “The earl said that we should expect to make sacrifices.”

  “That’s fine for you to say. You are about to become a countess.”

  Emily sighed. “You know I wouldn’t allow anything to happen to you. Still, as highly as you seem to think of the scoundrel, he is only one man against how many traitors across England, I cannot guess. Must we entrust ourselves to a stranger? He could be as ruthless as the members of that clandestine society, for all we know.”

  “Except that Michael knows him and considers him a friend,” Iris reminded her. “If not for their acquaintance, we would be hiding in the closet together.”

  “That is still a possibility. It’s gone two o’clock, and you have not heard—”

  “Hoofbeats?” Emily rose and peered through the window curtains. “I hear a horse in the distance. If you listen—”

  “In the distance?” Iris stared at her. “How can you tell if it’s coming or going?”

  Emily’s heart quickened. She was trying to control her nerves, but at this rate, Iris would arouse all her secret fears. “The only way I’ll know is to stand here and watch.”

  “I shall sneak out onto the terrace first,” Iris said grudgingly. “I can take a look at the road behind the house.”

  “That is brave of you, Iris. I admit I’m impressed by your courage.” She also found her maid’s valor peculiar, but then Iris might have become temporarily unhinged by what had happened.

  “Often it takes a war to bring out the warrior in us, miss.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Socrates. Did you have a brandy while the drama downstairs was unfolding?”

  “The entire night has been dramatic,” Iris said.

  “Yes. Well, the worst thing we can do is to become hysterical and act as though we have a secret to hide.”

  “What if the earl doesn’t return on Sunday? What if after he’s had a good think, he decides to abandon you?”

  “Then hysterics might be an appropriate response.”

  Chapter 18

  Michael glanced around at the young woman tiptoeing across the terrace with a glass of brandy in her hand. That Iris knew he was sitting on the steps at three o’clock in the morning came as no shock on a night like this. Poor girl. He knew she fancied him. She was wrapped up like a mummy, a cloak fastened at the throat over her nightclothes, her cap covering half her forehead.

  “Oh, sir,” she whispered, handing him the brandy before she dropped down onto the step below. “Why did you allow it to happen? No, you did more than that. Not only did you allow it, but you encouraged it. Passing your sister over to a stranger, a man immersed in things I don’t want to believe exist.”

  He looked down into her worried face. Hard to see how green her eyes were in the dark. “I allowed it because I love her and didn’t want her to be without a protector for the rest of her life.” The brandy did not appeal to him. He set the glass beside him on the step. “You helped her as much as I did. Why?”

  She sighed and fussed about with her cloak. Michael supposed she’d never sat alone with a man except him before. “I’m as guilty as you, it’s true. I couldn’t stand back and become the maid to a lonely spinster, committing us both to lives of misery. Now look what happened. Murder plots and a sudden marriage. How well do you know the earl? You didn’t give me a decent answer in the woods.”

  He folded his arms over his knees, propping his chin on his wrist. “I know he’s a brave fighter. He’s ambitious and he keeps his thoughts to himself. I’m not surprised he’s involved in suppressing a revolt. He’s one of those men who always has to prove himself, and I can’t say why.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I was afraid of that. You’re never going to set down roots, are you, sir?”

  “Who knows?” he said with a laugh.

  “The lady who wins your heart had best be prepared to make a home wherever you lead her.”

  “So, you haven’t any urge to wander, Iris? No desire to travel and see the world?”

  “No, sir. Even sitting out here on the steps makes me long for home fires.”

  He pulled a gold curl loose from the back of her cap. “Why didn’t I ever realize how lovely you are?”

  “For the same reason I pretended not to notice that you are a delightful rogue.”

  He tugged on her curl. “You’re like a sister to me.”

  “You’re like the brother I’m glad I never had.”

  He let go of her curl. “But you aren’t my sister.”

  She pulled off the cap and shook out her hair.

  He watched it unravel like a spool of deep gold thread. “Look what you’ve done to me. I hate it when my hair is untidy and I have no comb.”

  “You look fetching,” he said quietly. “I feel almost like Rumpelstiltskin.”

  She tucked her
hair back under her cap. “A brother would never say that.”

  He wanted to pull off her cap again and ask her to walk with him in the garden. “But you’re not my sister.”

  “Is the earl— Please tell me again how well you know him.”

  He took the glass of brandy she had brought him and emptied its contents into an urn overflowing with geraniums. “I know him well enough that he is the last man I would have chosen for Emily.”

  “Sir!”

  “But now that her life is endangered, I can’t think of a man I’d rather choose to be her husband.”

  Chapter 19

  Damien struggled to stay asleep. His hands moved over the bare breasts and bottom of the woman sitting on top of him. Her red hair spilled against his chest as she kissed him on the mouth. His body begged for release. She whispered something. He couldn’t make out what.

  His erection was the only answer he could give her.

  She seemed so familiar to him, but he couldn’t put a name to the face. Were her eyes green or brown? His hands slid down her back, grasping her ass, urging her to take him inside her. She felt warm and wet against his groin. He raised his hips. He needed her.

  Take me.

  Why did she keep teasing him?

  She lifted herself up, and in her smile there was a promise. His throat closed. He wanted to say that he would worship her if he lived through her teasing. He wanted to kiss her again as he thrust into her, but she was fading.

  Emily.

  That was her name.

  He said it aloud, and then she disappeared.

  He opened his eyes and it was daylight. He was as hard as a lance under the bed sheets and unhappy with his predicament. He didn’t move, letting the sexual ache recede until gradually he realized that the palm of his left hand still burned from whatever substance had been in that bottle. The whole of his body, in fact, radiated an uncomfortable warmth. He sat up, the dream receding as he recalled the events of the previous night.

  Winthrop bustled into the room, ever alert to the moment when Damien awakened. “You have perfect timing, Winthrop,” he said sourly.