More or Less a Countess

by Anna Bradley

  Nick, afraid an immediate return journey to West Sussex would exhaust her, had insisted they remain at Lady Chase’s for the night, and Violet had spent the entire carriage ride from Bedford Square to Ashdown Park teasing him to tell her about her surprise.

  Nick took her by the shoulders and guided her across the room. “It’s not a library, but perhaps it will be, someday. And you’ve waited less than a day to see it, sweet,” he added with a chuckle. “You only found out about it last night. I don’t recall you ever being this impatient before.”

  “I’m only impatient for surprises from my husband, and if this is anything like my book, then I can’t wait another moment!”

  “Do as I say and you won’t have to. Stand here. This corner has the best vantage point. Yes, good. Are you ready?”

  Violet let out a little squeal of anticipation. “Yes! I’ve been ready!”

  He chuckled again and pressed a kiss behind her ear, then reached up, untied the knot, and slid the blindfold away.

  “Oh, my goodness.” Violet’s voice was hushed, and for a long moment she seemed unable to move. She didn’t utter another word, but stood quietly, her gaze sweeping from one end of the room to the other, her hand over her mouth. At last she took a step forward, but then she stopped again, as if she weren’t sure what to touch first.

  Nick cleared his throat. “I had extra tables brought in and arranged in a row so you’d have room to lay out pages side by side if you liked. You can use them as writing desks, too, but I had that one brought in in case you preferred it.” He gestured toward a massive mahogany desk situated in a corner of the room, next to a window. “It gets quite a lot of natural light in that corner.”

  Violet took a few hesitant steps toward it. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, running a hand across the polished surface.

  “The shelving is deeper than standard shelving, so you can store whatever you like in it. Your sketches, or books…” He trailed off, watching as she crossed the room to study the floor-to-ceiling shelves against a long wall of the room.

  “So many supplies.” Her voice was faint. “Paper of every size, ink, drawing pencils…you had all of this brought in for me?”

  “Of course, sweet. I imagined you’d want to write more books, and as fetching as I find your cobwebs, I didn’t like for you to be isolated in some dusty chamber on the third floor. There’s this sitting area, of course, and a place for you to sketch, there by the other window.”

  He waved a hand toward another corner of the room, where a smaller table had been set up, and with it a chair covered in a cheerful print of purple violets. Violet drew closer, and a soft gasp fell from her lips when she saw the handsome drawing box sitting on top of the desk. The lid was open, and inside was a collection of brass and ivory drawing instruments.

  She traced a finger over the inside of the cover. “You had it inscribed.”

  “Violet Balfour, Her Ladyship, the Countess of Dare, a gift from her loving husband Nicholas Balfour, His Lordship, the Earl of Dare, 1817.” Nick recited the inscription as he crossed the room to her. “It’s all very proper, but I like this one better.” He removed the top tray of instruments, then eased out a piece of wood that had been fitted to the bottom of the box.

  Violet smiled. “A false bottom.”

  “And another inscription. Read it to me, my lady.”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist as Violet read quietly. “For Violet. Your love taught me to see again. I am ever yours, Nick.” A sob tore loose from her throat, and she turned in Nick’s arms and pressed her cheek to his chest, her voice breaking. “Oh, Nick. It’s so much. Too much—”

  “No. It’s not enough.” He kissed the top of her head. “Open the top drawer of the desk, sweetheart.”

  Violet kissed the hollow of his throat, then wiped her eyes. “Oh,” she murmured in surprise when she saw what was in the drawer. “I wondered where this had gone. I thought I’d lost it.” She drew out the small sketchbook she’d started the day after they arrived at Ashdown Park. “Have you had it—”

  “The whole time? Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  She smiled. “It’s all right. I made it for you, as a gift. I always intended for you to have it.”

  “A gift only you could have given me. You’re the only person in the world who could ever have understood it was the one gift I needed more than any other. I love you so much, Violet.”

  He held out his hand to her, and she flew to him and threw herself into his arms. “Oh, I love you too, Nick. Thank you for my book, and for my writing room. I’ll have to come up with a new project to do it justice.”

  “Did you know parts of West Sussex are said to be haunted with ghosts and fairies? That would make an interesting book, wouldn’t it?”

  “Hmmm. Yes, but I think I’d like to spend some time on sketches first. I’ve an idea for a new sketchbook, and I’d like to do that before I start anything else.”

  He gave her a teasing smile. “Oh? What sort of idea? Horses, or dogs? Flowers? Kittens in a basket, perhaps?”

  “No. I have something else in mind. I think you’ll like it.” She took his hand to lead him from the room. “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

  * * * *

  Nick was sprawled in a chair beside the fireplace and Violet was sitting on the floor at his feet, her white night rail falling off her shoulder, the only sound in the room the faint scrape of her pencil across the page.

  She was taking a sketch of him, but it wasn’t just any sketch. This one was for a private sketchbook, for their own personal pleasure. He was dressed only in his banyan, his legs spread wide, the heavy silk gaping over his bare chest. “What will you call it? ‘The Besotted Husband’? ‘The Satisfied Earl’?”

  Her mischievous blue eyes flashed as she peeked at him over the top edge of her sketchbook. “Perhaps I’ll call it ‘The Bluestocking’s Triumph.’”

  “A triumph, indeed.” He watched with interest as her hand moved over the page. “Will you write an essay for it, as well?”

  She shrugged. “As you know, my lord, I treasure words, and I flatter myself I know a good many of them, but the adjectives that come to mind at the moment hardly do you justice.”

  His lips curled into a smile as her avid gaze lingered on his bare chest. “What adjectives are those, my lady?”

  “Well, I suppose if I must make do…” She cocked her head as she studied him. “Let me see. Broad, powerful shoulders, and a trim waist. A taut, flat belly, and…” She tapped her pencil against the page, drawing the moment out to tease him.

  “Yes?” Nick let his legs fall open a little wider, his body hardening with anticipation. “Anything else?”

  Her gaze darted lower. “Lean, muscled legs, a sturdy pair of knees, an intriguing sprinkling of dark hair, and I’ve never noticed it before, my lord, but you have lovely, ah…feet.”

  “Feet!” Nick tried to sound outraged. “Come now, Lady Dare. Surely you’ve overlooked something—something deserving of an adjective or two, at the very least.”

  “Hmmm. Well, I suppose there is one other thing, but paying it too much attention is dangerous, rather like staring too long at the sun.”

  The “it” in question twitched insistently against his stomach, determined to earn its adjectives. “Indeed? And why is that?”

  A sly grin flitted across her lips. “The more attention one pays to it, the more attention it demands.”

  Nick chuckled. “I don’t deny it’s a greedy appendage. Perhaps you should ignore it.”

  She darted her tongue over her lower lip. “Impossible, my lord. It’s quite good at making its presence known. Why, even now, when we’re not paying it the least bit of attention, it’s grown long and thick and…swollen.”

  The firelight caught at the sheen of moisture her tongue left on her lips, and the last of Nick’s restrai
nt ignited into flames of desire. “Put down the sketchbook, Violet.”

  “But I’ve nearly finished—”

  “Oh, you’ve finished, my lady.” He reached out and plucked the sketchbook from her hands.

  She squealed as he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. “Why, Lord Dare. I was under the impression you wished to encourage my intellectual endeavors. But if you recall, my lord, I did warn you, no gentleman would ever want a bluestocking for a wife.”

  He held her gaze, his gray eyes twinkling as he slid her night rail off her other shoulder. “You were wrong, sweet. Nothing less than a bluestocking would ever do for me.”

  Notes

  1. The Punishments of China, illustrated by twenty-two engravings, by George Mason and Henry Dadley, 1801. This book might well have been on Lady Chase’s library shelf, but the “death by a thousand cuts” illustration is a creation of the author’s imagination. There is no such plate, though a number of other punishments, including Bastinade and the Rack, are depicted.

  2. Casanova Blowing up a Condom, c. 1754.

  3. The description of the condom is taken from the Hunterian Museum catalogue. The museum currently displays a prophylactic device dated 1776, but it’s not clear whether the condom would have been part of the collection during the Regency period.

  4. The origin of the word “condom” isn’t known, but the term was in use as early as the early eighteenth century.

  About the Author

  Anna Bradley is the author of The Sutherland Scandals novels. A Maine native, she now lives near Portland, Oregon, where people are delightful and weird and love to read. She teaches writing and lives with her husband, two children, a variety of spoiled pets, and shelves full of books. Visit her website at www.annabradley.net.