Courting His Countess (A Historical Romance Novella)

by CJ Archer

  She spun round. "Nothing has changed between us, Thomas. Last night was a small detour in our marriage, a slight bend. Today the road is straight again. Do not expect forgiveness based on one night of passion." She was trembling and he reached out to comfort her, hold her, but she darted away.

  A cold lump of ice settled in his stomach. Had their love-making meant nothing to her? How could she not be changed by it? He had been, in the most profound way. Yesterday he thought he merely desired his wife and her forgiveness, today he knew he was falling in love with her.

  He dressed as she stood beside the door, a silent statue with her beautiful pale hair falling around her shoulders. Its unkempt state was the only reminder of their night together.

  At the door, he could not resist one final kiss to remind her of what she could have if only she would let him into her heart, and forgive him for something he regretted more than his apology could ever convey.

  She pulled away and he left. It felt like a gaping hole had opened up in his chest. He didn't go straight to his rooms. He needed to walk or ride or do something to exorcise the melancholy from his system.

  He opened the door to the Eastern Tower and ran up the circular stone steps to the battlement at the top. The cold wind slapped his face, waking him up, making him see that he'd been a fool to think his wife would forgive him after one night together. It would take time and many more passionate nights.

  Fortunately they had those. He wasn't going anywhere, not without her. Not anymore.

  He breathed in the sharp winter air. Down below, snow covered the Surrey countryside as far as the eye could see, its pristine whiteness broken only by the village, the bare orchard and the woods to the south. It had been Avondale land since the time of William the Conqueror, except during the brief years in which Wallan had owned much of it.

  Six years ago, his inheritance had felt like a noose around his neck. Now...now he liked it. He wanted to make it his home, with his wife and children, God willing. He would not let Wallan pull his strings anymore, and he especially wouldn't let anyone insult Rose again. Including himself.

  CHAPTER 7

  "You must come to court, Avondale," Henry Wallan said, stretching his legs toward the roaring winter parlor fire. He held out his wine goblet for Rose to refill. "You too."

  Rose poured Malmsey into her father's goblet and raised a questioning eyebrow at Thomas. He shook his head. He didn't want a refill.

  "I was intending to come for the New Year's Eve ball," Thomas said. "But I've changed my mind. I prefer to stay here."

  Rose paused with the jug halfway to the table. Why had he changed his mind? Lady Mossdale would be there, and his friends. Knowing her husband, he must want to see them.

  Perhaps she didn't know him well after all. Yet surely his change of heart couldn't possibly be because of Rose's refusal.

  He saw her staring and winked.

  Good lord. He had changed his mind because of her. She dropped the pewter jug on the table with a loud clank.

  "Stupid girl," Wallan said, moving fast to steady the jug. "You're spilling the wine."

  "My name is Rose, and next time, refill your own goblet. The jug is right beside you."

  She had the immense satisfaction of seeing her father's chins wobble as he spluttered a protest. "Are you going to let your wife speak to your guest in such a manner, Avondale? Six years in this place and she thinks she owns it."

  "Actually, I am going to let her," Thomas said. "And I'll have you know that my wife is anything but stupid. She managed this place years on her own and it's flourishing. I think she has every right to feel a sense of ownership." A small, smug smile played around his lips. "You will call her 'my lady' from now on," Thomas added, "since she is a countess and you a what...knight?"

  Wallan snorted. "How amusing," he mumbled into his goblet. He drank deeply then rested it on his large stomach as if it were a bench. "You know very well I haven't been knighted."

  Rose knew her father blamed herself and Thomas for his lackluster career. If only she had gone to court more often and charmed the queen. If only Thomas had not requested to be posted to Ireland, and instead gone to court and charmed the queen. If only, if only, if only. It was always someone else's fault.

  "So why aren't you coming to Richmond?" he asked Thomas. Rose did not expect him to address her unless he had to. It's how it had always been, even as a child. Indeed, the first real conversation she remembered having with her father was when he informed her she would wed Thomas. He hadn't even told her that her mother had died. One of the servants was given that task.

  "I've just returned to Lockhart and my wife," Thomas said, sounding both bored and annoyed. "I'd like to enjoy them for a little while before leaving for court."

  Wallan snickered. "Your wife will travel with you and the estate doesn't need you in winter. There. It's all settled. We'll all travel back to Richmond together in a day or two. In the meantime, I will enjoy your generous Avondale hospitality."

  "I wouldn't be so sure," Rose said, removing the trencher of sweetmeats out of his reach before he could take one, or all of them. "We are notoriously inhospitable here at Lockhart Castle. Why else would you stay away for so long?"

  "Perhaps it had something to do with your sharp tongue, Daughter."

  "My lady," Thomas reminded him. "And perhaps you didn't come because she wouldn't bow to your will and go back to court with you." His eyes flashed with anger. "Did she make her point too bluntly eighteen months ago? Is that why you didn't return earlier? Did you finally realize you couldn't force her against her will?"

  Rose tried to catch his attention but failed. She knew her father, knew the signs for when he'd been pushed too far. By the way his face reddened and his neck thickened so that it appeared as if his ruff would choke him, she knew he was already furious.

  "I think I liked you better when you were a bone-headed youth led around by his prick," Wallan said.

  "Enough," Thomas said quietly, ominously.

  "He was never bone-headed," Rose said. She didn't say anything about the prick part. Better to leave that alone since it was true.

  Her father's harsh laugh grated against her nerves. "You speak with such dishonor, my lady. Have you forgotten that I am the one who brought you two together? Don't pretend you didn't want this marriage. I made you a countess and I gave you your heart's desire."

  Oh no. No. Don't.

  "I know you wanted him. All the women wanted him. All the women had him too, although I saw to it that you won in the end."

  She sat down heavily just as Thomas shot to his feet. "Enough! I am not so good a host that I wouldn't throw you out on a December night."

  Her father simply smiled and rocked himself out of the chair. Rose turned her face toward the fire in the hope her burning cheeks would be attributed to the heat and not humiliation.

  "Very well, have it your way," Wallan said. He turned to go but stopped. "Wait. I just remembered something." He smiled first at Thomas then at Rose. She didn't trust him. He was up to something. He reached inside the pouch hanging from his belt. "I forgot to give you this letter. It's a personal message from Her Majesty specifically reminding you to attend her New Year's Eve ball. I think you'll find you'll be going to Richmond after all." He gave it to Thomas then walked out of the parlor, limping a little.

  Rose remained seated and watched as Thomas cracked the bold red seal and unfolded the thick cream parchment. "It is indeed from the queen." He read it then handed it to Rose. "Her words are plain enough. She's not asking us to attend, she's commanding."

  Rose scanned the missive twice before folding it. "Then we must go."

  "We could say I fell ill and you needed to nurse me."

  "My father would tell them otherwise. I wouldn't be surprised if this," she waved the invitation, "is his doing."

  "You think he has Her Majesty's ear?"

  "He may. It's not something we can risk. We must go to the palace." She stood and dropped the parchment on
the table. "It's almost time for supper. I'll inform Moon to deliver Father's to his room. I cannot sit at a table with him tonight."

  She made to walk off but Thomas slipped in behind her and gently held her back by her shoulders. He massaged his thumbs into the knots in her neck, below her ruff, and she tilted her head forward and groaned. She should move away, shouldn't let him touch her like this lest she succumb to him, but his thumbs worked like magic to ease the tension pulling her tight.

  "Stay awhile with me until you are feeling more relaxed," he murmured.

  "I am relaxed." She tried to move away but he held her and she didn't struggle. Another minute or two of his massage and she would be calm and—

  He kissed the back of her neck, just below her hairline. A tiny wisp of a kiss that nevertheless had a great impact. Heat coiled through her body, tingling her nipples and moistened her between the thighs. All from one little kiss. But it was the unspoken promise in it that thrilled her.

  Troubled her.

  Giving into her desire was one thing, and it made the act of getting a child easier, but giving into the emotions battering at her heart was entirely another. That she could not allow, or her heart would be damaged irreparably.

  "You get ahead of yourself, Thomas," she said, straightening and stepping out of his reach. "It will be some time before you can come to my bed."

  His wicked smile matched the gleam in his eyes. "Who says we need a bed?" He hooked her round her waist and reeled her in until her body slammed into his. "Or that we have to wait until tonight?"

  "We don't?"

  He kissed her lips, a light teasing peck that was much too brief. "We can do it right here in the winter parlor."

  "On the rushes?"

  "I'll lay down my cloak."

  "What about the servants? They might come in while we're..."

  He removed a key from his pocket and smiled against her lips before kissing her so thoroughly she wouldn't have cared who saw. He broke the kiss to lock the door and lay his cloak across the rushes near the fire. Then he picked her up and gently lay her down. It was so hot near the fire. Very hot. She needed to shed some clothes.

  He helped her, his fingers working fast on the hooks and eyes, the laces and points, until she was lying before him in nothing but stockings and garters.

  "Leave them on," he said hoarsely. His gaze raked over her, lingering on her breasts, her sex, her face, then he finally undressed too and it was her turn to admire. His body was powerful, the muscles in his arms and shoulders hard, his stomach ridged. A sprinkle of dark hair covered his chest and his manhood...moved! Her eyes widened.

  He laughed softly. "It salutes you."

  She reached up and gently wrapped her hand around his length. He groaned low in his throat and rocked forward on the balls of his feet. "As your superior officer, I command you to come here."

  Instead of lying over her, he performed a new trick on her with his tongue that had her gasping for breath before long and bunching his cloak in her fists as the dam burst inside her.

  Then he entered her, sinking deep inside, gently. Too gently. His rhythm was too slow, too controlled. She shifted out from under him and indicated he should lie down. He grinned when he realized she was going to ride him. The grin vanished amid a loud groan as she slid down over his manhood. Their skin was soon slick with sweat and Rose's hair, free of its pins, shielded their faces like a curtain as she rode him until he climaxed.

  Breathing hard, she collapsed on top of him and he looped his arms around her, trapping her precisely where she wanted to be. She rested her head on his chest and listened as his wild heartbeat slowed. She knew she must move away. The act was over and she had promised herself nothing more would happen between them. There would be no falling asleep in his arms this time, no caressing or talking.

  But she couldn't bring herself to move. He was still inside her and perhaps that was important for making a baby so she decided not to get up just yet. Besides, the white scar from his shoulder to his chest was fascinating. She traced it with her fingertip.

  "How did you get this?" she asked.

  "An Irishman's axe."

  "Did it hurt?"

  "Like the devil."

  "I don't want you to go back there," she said before she could stop and think. "Ever."

  His arms tightened and he nuzzled her hair. "I hope I don't have to. I did my duty there, some of it unpleasant. Her Majesty and her advisers may change their minds, however."

  Tears pricked her eyes at the thought of him leaving again but she forced them back and silently admonished herself for her sentimentality. She always expected him to leave again once they knew she was with child. Perhaps back to Ireland or more likely to follow the court from palace to palace, and his mistress.

  Lady Mossdale was never absent from any of the scenarios Rose could imagine for the future. In truth, she had no reason to believe this affection from her husband would last beyond the begetting of a child.

  I have to get away from you.

  His harsh words to her six years ago were never far from her mind and her heart. She must never forget them.

  Yet she almost did forget. Lying atop him, with his hand stroking her back and his warm breath in her hair, it was easy to forget. She wanted to forget.

  But she could not afford to be made a fool of again.

  "I'm sorry," he said huskily. "I wish I could promise you that a return to Ireland is not in our future. But I cannot."

  He did not mention any of the other reasons why he might leave her. Lady Mossdale, for example, or the fact that he simply didn't want to be with Rose after she'd produced the heir he'd returned home to make.

  CHAPTER 8

  Thomas found Rose in her breakfast room, already dressed and her hair done. "Merry Christmas," he said, holding out a small box.

  She hesitated then opened it. Her gasp was exactly the response he'd hoped for.

  "Shall I put it on you?" he asked.

  She shook her head and lifted the necklace off its padded velvet nest and held it up to the window. The day was dull but the large sapphire hanging like a teardrop from the thick gold chain sparkled. "It's too extravagant to wear except at a ball," she said. "I'll bring it to Richmond."

  "Do you like it?" He was painfully aware that she had not said so. Indeed, she seemed to be avoiding looking at him, concentrating more than necessary on returning the necklace to the box. She closed the lid and her fingers traced the twisted leaf pattern carved into the wood.

  "Thank you, yes. It's lovely." She stood and signaled for him to follow her. "I have a gift for you in my study."

  He followed her into the adjoining room which was mostly bare except for a small writing desk, chair and a coffer sitting on the floor nearby. It had probably gone unused the entire time she had lived at Lockhart since she preferred the larger master's study. She placed the necklace box on the desk and unlocked the chest using one of the keys attached to her girdle. She removed a package wrapped in paper and handed it to him.

  "I didn't know what to get you," she said. "And since you seem to like writing letters..."

  He unwrapped the parcel and opened the polished wooden casket to reveal a brass inkwell and pen stand. The inkwell sat on two hawk claws and the side was decorated with engraved, interlinking swirls.

  "Your initials have been woven into the pattern here," she said, pointing out the T and A.

  He lifted out the inkwell, inspected it, and replaced it back in the casket. "It's a grand piece. Thank you."

  "But you don't like it," she said, flatly.

  "I do. It's a beautiful gift. It will get a lot of use on estate matters, unfortunately. There'll be little need for written correspondence between us now." He wanted to kiss her but if her crossed arms were any indication, she didn't want him near. "You couldn't have known I was going to stay when you had it made."

  "You may still leave," she said, turning away.

  Yes, he may, if the queen wished him to return to Ir
eland. They'd already spoken of that, yet there seemed to be something else troubling Rose. Something that had nothing to do with Ireland and everything to do with his old affair with Temperance.

  It was becoming increasingly apparent that he had not yet won her over. After they made love in the winter parlor the day before, they had eaten supper together then gone to her rooms and made love again. Slowly, passionately. But she had become distant afterward and now...now she was still distant. He would give anything to have her speak to him as a loving wife.

  What would it take? Would she ever come to realize how sorry he was for what he'd done that night?

  He set the casket down and took her hands. She suddenly looked up and he saw the ache in her eyes. But it was fleeting, quickly replaced by that cool façade once more.

  "Rose, about Temperance...Lady Mossdale"

  She snatched her hands away. "Don't."

  "I have to. Rose, whatever was between her and me is long over. It never continued after...after that night. I left England and she wed a viscount with more money than the queen. We never communicated while I was overseas, and I soon realized I didn't love her after all."

  "Convenient."

  "Rose." He sighed and rubbed his temples. God, his head hurt. "I know it will take some time for you to believe me, but it's the truth. I hope one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me."

  "Forgive you for what?" she spat. "For sleeping with your mistress on our wedding night? Or for promising to remain her devoted lover? You say you did not communicate after you left, but I know that's not true. Lady Mossdale took great pains to tell me so."

  Oh God. It was worse than he thought. No wonder she spoke with so much venom. No wonder she hated him. "I wrote to her twice," he said. "The first was to explain why I had requested the post in Ireland, the second was almost a year later to tell her any obligation she felt toward me was ended. She had married by then too and I no longer loved her. Indeed, I don't think I was ever in love with her. Infatuation, perhaps, and lust. I did not write to her again." He drew a deep breath into his chest and held it, waiting for Rose to say something or at least give him a sign that she believed him.