An Unexpected Countess

by Laurie Benson

  She tugged his coat off his shoulders and he quickly shrugged out of it, all the while never breaking their kiss. His fingers dipped into the lace neckline of her gown and yanked it down. When he was able to raise her breasts out of her stays, he broke the kiss and let out a sigh.

  He lowered his head to her chest and trailed his tongue down and around her nipple before taking it into his hot mouth. The sensation of him sucking on her was like nothing she had ever felt before. As she dug her fingers into the hard muscles of his arms, she could feel those muscles flex through his linen shirt. At some point he must have spun them around, because now the door was at her back, and she was thankful to have something to lean on.

  ‘I wanted to do this last night,’ he said, kissing his way to her other breast while his hand caressed the outside of her thigh through her gown.

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘Your damn dress was too tight.’

  Never again in her life would she wear a dress with a bodice that was so well fitted. With every suck on her nipple there was a pull between her legs, as if they were connected by an invisible thread inside her. She wanted to take her hand and rub between her legs to stop that tingling sensation, but she was afraid he would notice.

  Suddenly Hartwick was caressing the inside of her thigh. The inside! How had he got his hand there without her even realising it? The pads of his fingers traced circles towards the area that was making her so restless. The first time his fingers slid across her, she jumped from the unusual sensation. But the second time, her hips followed his movement and she wanted to tell him to do it again.

  ‘Damn, you’re so wet,’ he groaned against her breast.

  Her face heated with embarrassment. She tried to push his hand away. ‘Sorry.’

  He wouldn’t let her. Instead he moved his mouth to her ear and slid a finger deep inside her, making her moan. ‘Don’t ever apologise for that. I want you wet.’ He inserted a second finger and began to thrust them in and out of her while he nipped at her neck. The sensation had her grinding herself against his hand. It was as if he knew her body better than she did.

  ‘Tell me how it feels,’ he whispered in her ear.

  He wanted her to form words? Now? She was having trouble recalling her name. ‘Incredible,’ she groaned, closing her eyes.

  He trailed his hot tongue along the shell of her ear. ‘You are so tight.’ He shifted his fingers inside her.

  She wasn’t sure what he did, but now she could barely breathe. It felt as if she was on the edge of a precipice wanting to jump off.

  ‘You’re driving me mad. I’ve thought about this lying in bed at night.’ He slipped his fingers out and began to stroke her slowly. ‘I’ve imagined spreading those lovely legs of yours apart. My mouth is where my hand is and I’m dragging my tongue across you. Then while I’m licking you, I slide my fingers inside.’ The minute he thrust his fingers back in, her legs began to tremble.

  ‘I’ve thought about doing those things to you many times and do you know what I’ve done while I’ve imagined that?’ he whispered into her ear.

  She swallowed hard and shook her head, unable to speak as he worked his fingers.

  ‘I’ve stroked myself to completion.’

  He crushed his lips to hers, swallowing her cry of release as she broke apart in his arms. This was what her body was straining to do. And this was what he knew she needed.

  Her eyes fluttered open as she pressed the back of her head into the door, needing something solid to bring her back from the cloud she felt she was drifting on.

  He was watching her intently. ‘I’ve tried to envision what you’d look like when you come countless times. You look even more beautiful than I imagined.’

  That simple statement washed away any embarrassment she was feeling. She brushed his skilful lips with the tips of her fingers and he kissed them.

  ‘I’m yearning to taste you,’ he said, removing a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, ‘but not from my fingers.’

  ‘Are you always so bold with your speech?’

  ‘I find with you I am. I hadn’t intended to tell you any of that or do any of that.’

  ‘Why did you?’

  He took a deep breath and, with a creased brow, put on his coat. ‘I have no idea.’

  She fixed her skirt and watched him adjust his cuffs. After what happened between them, it was surprising she could look him in the eye. And yet she found it impossible to look away from him and his warm smile.

  They had let their passions get the better of them. They couldn’t let it happen again. ‘We can’t keep kissing. If we continue to do this, we are bound to get caught.’

  He let out a long, resigned breath. ‘You’re right. It must be the last—the only—time we do that. And we should probably leave now before the Dowager finds us,’ he said before he froze and watched her adjust the bodice of her gown. ‘You have no idea how badly I want to assist you with that.’

  ‘If you keep talking that way, whoever sees us next is bound to know what we’ve been about.’ She opened the door and peeked out into the empty hallway. It was safe for them to leave.

  He rubbed his brow and followed her. ‘Very well, why don’t you tell me about what you and Katrina were discussing when you arrived. But I beg of you, do not tell me it involves your lovely legs in trews.’

  ‘She was telling me she thought it unwise for me to go for a drive with your father in Hyde Park.’

  His body went dangerously still and his eyes grew dark and hooded. ‘My father? You didn’t tell me he asked you to go for a drive last night?’

  ‘He didn’t. He approached me in the park today.’

  The anger rolling off him was almost palpable. ‘Why would you encourage an acquaintance when I told you to stay away from him less than twenty-four hours ago?’ he bit out.

  ‘I did nothing to encourage the encounter. He approached me before I even spotted him. After we talked briefly he asked if I’d like to go for a ride in the park with him.’

  The vein near his right temple appeared. ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I told him no.’

  ‘Exactly how did you say no?’

  She put her hands on her hips in response to his demanding nature. ‘I believe I told him that I knew what a drive like that would convey and I had no desire to make that statement with him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I barely know him,’ she replied as if it should be blatantly obvious. ‘I also have no desire to be in his presence. There is something about his manner that leaves me disconcerted.’

  Hartwick gripped her arm then immediately released it, as if he was surprised by his own action. ‘Has he made any inappropriate advances to you? Has he touched you in any way?’

  ‘Of course not. I’ve spoken to him in a ballroom and a public park, hardly the places he would do something so forward.’ Even though the conversation had been polite, the way Lord Blackwood had stood over her in the park had felt almost threatening, but from the controlled anger rolling off Hartwick, she didn’t think it wise to mention that.

  ‘I must go,’ he said abruptly. ‘Stay away from him.’

  He strode towards the door, but she grabbed his arm, pulling him back. She had never seen him like this. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’ve a pressing matter to attend to,’ he all but snarled before storming out the door.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hart rode to his father’s house as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. It was his worst nightmare come to fruition. His father was planning on using Miss Forrester in one of his sick twisted games and it was taking every bit of Hart’s control to keep his anger from exploding on everything and anyone in his path. Over the years he had learned that his best defence against his father was a calm demeanour. H
e was usually able to disguise his true feelings with a devil-may-care attitude. This time, he was having no luck.

  When Hart was young, his father would immediately dismiss any tutor his son grew attached to. Being away at school had been a reprieve for him. During those years his father had exhibited no interest in him at all. After graduating from Cambridge, he had immediately set up his own household using money he won through gambling. All his life, all he had ever wanted was to be free of his father’s control. Investing in racehorses gave him a means to do that.

  Yet the man found a way to extend his reach and Caroline had suffered greatly for it. Hart had wanted to marry her. And his father had gone to extreme measures to make certain that would not happen. He wasn’t certain why the man was fixated this time on Miss Forrester. He only knew he would not allow his father to prey upon her. He was putting an end to this game. Now.

  It had been years since he’d entered his father’s home. Would he even be admitted inside?

  He lifted the ring of the shiny brass doorknocker and rapped out some of his anger. Within moments, the door was edged open by Newcomb, his father’s butler. The condescending glare on the man disappeared the moment he realised Hart was standing before him.

  ‘My lord,’ the elderly man exclaimed, his expression shifting rapidly from a welcoming smile to concern, probably because he remembered the last time Hart was here he’d come to blows with his father over Caroline.

  ‘Is my father home?’

  ‘I shall see if he is receiving,’ he replied, escorting Hart towards the Gold Drawing Room to wait.

  The room hadn’t changed since he was a child and he could recall playing in it with his mother. The memories were faint—the smell of her perfume, the look of her embroidered shoes as he hid under the sofa while she laughed as she searched for him. This was one of the few rooms of the house that held good memories.

  Ten minutes had gone by and still there was no sign of Newcomb. It was apparent his father was home. If he hadn’t been, Hart would have been notified immediately. It was just one more of his father’s games. Well, he had never played by his father’s rules. And he wasn’t about to start now.

  Storming out of the drawing room, he took the chance his father was in his study. A nervous Newcomb caught up to him in the hall.

  ‘Can I be of assistance, my lord?’

  Hart waved him off as he continued towards the room he had always been summoned to as a child.

  Newcomb was fast on his heels. ‘My lord, my lord,’ the butler called to him in a state of nervous panic. ‘I’m certain you will not be waiting much longer.’

  It was a woman. It had to be. Would he be cursed forever with interrupting his father doing things he’d rather not see? But when he threw open the door and braced his stomach, he was surprised to find his father was alone, looking out the window at the back garden. He eyed Hart over his glass of wine as he took a sip.

  ‘Forgive me, my lord,’ Newcomb almost begged the Marquess as he hurried to stand beside Hart. ‘I told him to wait.’

  His father’s eyes narrowed on the butler before shifting his attention back to Hart.

  ‘I grew bored,’ Hart stated offhandedly.

  With a nod of his head, his father silently dismissed Newcomb.

  This room had also not changed. Every inch of the walls and ceiling were painted to give the effect of being inside the Coliseum. On all four walls of the fresco, hundreds of people in Roman garb were depicted in various poses sitting in the stands that surrounded the room. Some were looking down at the room’s inhabitants in scorn, some in amusement and some were too busy performing various sexual acts to even notice. Above them, the gods of Olympus looked down in judgment from a circle of clouds on the ceiling. Hart hated this room.

  Silence stretched between them, as it had since Hart was a boy. He’d be damned if he would be the first to break it this time.

  ‘I wondered how long it would take you to realise I wasn’t going to send Newcomb for you,’ his father finally said. ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘You and I need to talk.’

  His father took a seat at his large mahogany desk and gestured to the chair across from him.

  Hart had sat in that chair many times as a child to be reprimanded for some deed. He’d even named it the Chair of Despair. ‘I prefer to stand.’

  The faint wrinkles by his father’s eyes deepened as the man studied him. ‘As you wish.’ He leaned back and placed his feet on his desk with his ankles crossed. The shine from his Hessians competed with the gleaming wood of the desktop.

  ‘Stay away from Miss Forrester.’

  A sly smile slid across his father’s mouth. ‘I was not aware the woman was under your protection.’

  ‘You know she is not.’

  ‘And yet here you are, warning me away from her.’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t even begun to warn you away from her.’

  His father took a slow sip and his watchful eyes narrowed. ‘I take it your presence here means you’re aware I spoke with the lady today. That was quick.’

  ‘I was at Julian’s when she arrived at Lyonsdale House with his wife. It came up in conversation. I’m not sure why you have developed a sudden interest in the lady, but I firmly advise you to curtail it. She is the dear friend of the Duchess and the daughter of an American diplomat. You will not toy with her the way you did Caroline.’

  The sly smile on his lips made Hart want to punch him. ‘Are you certain you wish to discuss Caroline with me? You were not interested in hearing how I amused myself with her the last time you were here. That day your only interest was in drawing blood.’

  Hart crossed his arms to prevent himself from reaching across the desk and throttling the man a second time. He purposely relaxed his fingers so his father would not witness them digging into his biceps.

  He knew exactly what had happened between Caroline and his father. He knew Lady Helena Wentworth had befriended her at his father’s request. On the night of Caroline’s sister’s engagement ball, Helena had helped his father seduce the innocent Caroline. Her parents found out and were going to cast her out once Lord Blackwood refused to marry her, but Caroline’s sister had begged them not to.

  He had been ignorant to all of this. At the time of Caroline’s sister’s engagement, he had been in Dover, collecting information on a conspiracy against the Prince Regent. Two weeks later when he returned to London, he had been met with the news of Caroline’s death from a fall down the stairs in her parents’ home. He knew what had happened because her sister had given him a note she had found addressed to him in Caroline’s room. The tear-stained letter explained all of it and she had apologised for what had happened between her and his father. He would never know if she had been carrying his father’s child. He would never know if her fall was an accident. He suspected it wasn’t because she had written him the letter.

  ‘You were planning on asking for her hand, were you not?’

  It was just as Hart suspected. ‘What have I ever done that warrants the way you behave towards me? The way you treat those close to me. Tell me,’ he spat out.

  His father studied his glass that he swirled on the desktop.

  ‘Tell me! What would cause a father to take away what his own flesh and blood holds dear? No man does that. You behave like a spoiled child who needs to be the only one with the finest toys. You lie and cajole because no one would give anything to you freely. Why my mother ever agreed to marry you is a question I have asked myself for years. She was better than you. She was everything that is good in this world. And you are nothing!’ There was a sense of relief in saying those words—words that he had wanted to say for so long.

  His father abruptly stood and kicked his chair back. ‘You think her a saint, but she was nothing without me. Nothing!’ He was growing red in the face. ‘Witho
ut me she would not have had all of this. Her family had debts when I married her. I never promised to be faithful. I never promised even to like her. Yet your grandfather begged me to marry her. Did you know that? I saved them! Me and my money!’ The veins in both his temples were visibly throbbing.

  Hart had never witnessed his father lose control like this. It was the first time he had mentioned his mother to the man since he was seven and he watched them lower her coffin into the ground. On that day, his father had warned him never to speak of her again.

  Hart clenched his fists so hard it was a wonder his fingers weren’t breaking. ‘And you were happy to remind her of that every day of her life. I remember. I was there. I heard. You’re such a bastard!

  ‘I am not the bastard here!’

  ‘What did I ever do to you to warrant the way you have treated me? If you’re not the bastard in this, then who is?’

  ‘You are! You are not my son!’ his father screamed. The admittance of this revelation seemed to shock him almost as much as Hart and he rubbed his hand over his mouth.

  As if the words held the force of a thousand blows, it pushed every last breath out of Hart with a sudden rush. ‘What?’

  His father’s throbbing veins were still visible. ‘You want to know why I care nothing for you? Why I have never cared for you? I’ll tell you. Because that harlot mother of yours could not accept my mistresses and took a lover of her own. She spread her legs for another man. And I’ve been reminded every day you have lived that she played me for a fool! Me! She thought I would never find out. But you are proof that she did!’ The man was visibly trembling with rage as he raked Hart with his glare.

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘You have no notion of how badly I wish that were true.’

  ‘How do you know I am not your son?’

  There was a hesitation, as if he was debating with himself if he should tell Hart the rest. ‘Because I had not bedded her in months,’ he spat. ‘Then, miraculously, she is with child. You are not mine and I have never considered you so.’ If it wasn’t for the crazed state the man was in, Hart would have thought this was another game.