The Reluctant Countess

by Wendy Vella

  “You would think his friends would tell him that he is making a cake of himself.”

  “Friends?” Patrick queried.

  Stephen snorted. “True, Brownleigh and Dapples are complete fools, both struggling to form a single working brain between them.”

  “Well,” Patrick drawled, still looking around the boxes. “I am not always honest with you.”

  “What!”

  Patrick hid his smile at Stephen’s bellow. It came as naturally as breathing to both men, this constant ribbing of each other.

  “I have never dressed in anything other than sartorial elegance,” Stephen vehemently declared looking down at his midnight superfine jacket with matching midnight and burgundy waistcoat.

  “As you say,” was all Patrick said, but it was enough.

  “At least I do not dress as though I am in a constant state of mourning!”

  “I dress conservatively, Sumner. Unlike you, I have no driving need to be the constant focus of all attention.”

  “Conservatively! Old Squire Pillsby has more flair than you, and he’s eighty.”

  Seeing a flurry of activity to his left, Patrick said, “Your mummy has arrived.”

  “Lord have mercy on my blighted soul,” Stephen groaned, as two boxes along from them a group of women burst into the Sumner box. All were dressed in the height of fashion and each was talking and giggling at an alarming rate. Patrick smiled as the sounds of laughter and loud voices reached them. Beside him Stephen slumped deeper into his seat. Patrick made a small noise that was a fairly accurate imitation of a chicken and sounded ridiculous coming from a man of his size.

  “Come,” he said. “We must welcome your family.”

  “Must we?”

  “You are the head of your family, man. For pity’s sake, had you no family, then you would have cause to whine!” Patrick snapped as he lifted the curtain for Stephen to precede him from the box.

  “Don’t take the moral high ground with me, Coulter. I know you only want a chance to check if your bloody countess has arrived or not.”

  “Please do not swear, Stephen, I find it offensive,” Patrick needled as they walked the few paces to his box.

  “Go to hell!

  “Mother!” Stephen said seconds later as he entered with Patrick behind him, a smile now firmly fixed to his handsome face.

  Patrick watched as Lady Sumner embraced her son. Most women touched cheeks or held out their hands, but not Lady Sumner—she hugged. Even if Patrick had seen her just a few hours before, he was still engulfed in her sweet-smelling embrace whenever they met.

  The Sumner Fillies, as Patrick privately called them, were all blond, blue-eyed, and pretty. Although Lady Sumner was now more rounded in the girth, she was still striking and had many men trailing after her. She had once told Patrick that while it was flattering, she could never replace her dear departed Herbert. Patrick didn’t understand this devotion, as his own parents had never shown any sign of caring for each other.

  Stephen managed to pull back from his parent’s clutches only to be engulfed by his three sisters, each a beauty in her own right. Lucinda, Maia, and Jennifer, each with a trail of admirers, and Lucinda was already engaged to Lord Palmerton. They all smoothed their brother’s coat and tousled his hair. Each loved him openly and he in turn did the same. The act he put on for Patrick was just that. Stephen would give his life for every member of his family. Their care fell to him and he never shirked in his duties.

  “Come here, Patrick.”

  Patrick moved into the welcoming arms of Lady Sumner and allowed her to hug him. She was the only one he allowed this close, and she never let him go until she was ready. When he first encountered her, he had stood as still as a large piece of oak, unused to all this kissing and hugging. Now, however, he just enjoyed the sensation of being loved.

  * * *

  Sophie was quite literally glued to the spot as she watched Lord Coulter accepting a hug from the large lady in the box across from her. She had never seen him so demonstrative in public. Indeed she had seen him hold no one close. Well, except for me, that is, Sophie thought, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

  “Letty, who is that?”

  “Who, dear?”

  “There,” Sophie pointed across the theater. “That box filled with blond women. Who is hugging the earl?”

  “Ah, Lady Sumner.” Letty smiled. “She is Viscount Sumner’s mother and the three young ladies are his sisters. Lovely woman, absolutely delightful. I will introduce you in the interval, dear,” she added, patting Sophie’s hand and turning once again to converse with Beatrice, who had accompanied them for the evening.

  Sophie wanted to pull her eyes away from Lord Coulter and look at the people mingling below, but she could not. Even when he was not looking at her, he drew her eyes. She couldn’t see his whole face, only the flash of white as he offered the ladies a smile. Sophie was uncomfortable with the jolt of jealousy she felt, seeing him with the other women. I should loathe and detest you for what took place in your carriage today, and yet I am drawn to you, she thought, confused by the conflicting emotions that battled inside her.

  “Would you care for a drink, Countess?”

  “No, thank you, Lord Tilton,” Sophie dragged her eyes from Lord Coulter and the bevy of blondes. She tried not to drink in public, as it often ended up spilled down her front, plus she got tipsy very quickly, and now more than ever she needed to keep her wits about her.

  “Is this your first trip to the theater this season, Countess?”

  Sophie stiffened as Lord Tilton pulled his chair so close their thighs brushed. She wished Letty had not accepted this invitation to share his box; she had no liking for the man.

  “Yes, my lord,” she said moving to the edge of her chair.

  “Then you must allow me to help guide you through the wonderful sights and sounds that are about to unfold.” He patted her gloved hands where they lay in her lap.

  Sophie said nothing; her best defense had always been to show as little interest as possible in the men who chose to pursue her; hence the ice maiden title.

  “You smell as sweet as my mother’s rose bower, Countess.” Lord Tilton leaned sideways to bury his nose in her hair.

  * * *

  “Did you growl, Colt?” said Stephen, once again sinking into his seat and readjusting his necktie, which had been seriously abused by his sisters. Lifting a gloved hand, he acknowledged the froth of young women who smiled and waved at him.

  Ignoring Stephen, Patrick kept his eyes focused on Sophie. She was uncomfortable with Tilton’s advances; he watched the ice maiden reappear as she lifted that delicate little chin, he just bet her eyes would chill even the warmest summer’s day.

  “Just make sure you leave his thumb and forefinger unbroken; a nobleman must be able to sign his papers and drink his libations, Colt,” Stephen drawled, watching his friend’s hands clench.

  “What!”

  “Tilton,” Stephen said, nodding to where Sophie sat, still as a statue. “I think he is forcing his attentions on your countess.”

  “Shut up!” Patrick fought the sudden urge to stalk into the box and pummel Tilton, then seize Sophie in his arms and leave. Bloody hell, he rarely lost control, and never in public.

  “Ho, is that the honorable Earl of Coulter I hear?”

  “Joseph!” Stephen said as Lord Hanley entered the box. He was an old acquaintance of both Patrick and Stephen’s, and Patrick had asked him to join them this evening. “Come join me, I am trying calm our large friend, as I fear he has blood in his eyes,” Stephen said, motioning to a chair to his left.

  “How so?” asked Lord Hanley, eyeing Patrick as he took the offered seat.

  “I will close your mouth permanently, Sumner, if you utter one more word.”

  Stephen, more than happy with his friend’s reaction to his taunting, closed his mouth and settled down to talk with Joseph, thereby allowing Patrick to brood.

  Sophie sat like a statue as Tilton tr
ied to converse with her, and Patrick knew now that this was how she dealt with unwelcome advances. He could see the tension in her shoulders and something inside him tightened at the vulnerability that obviously lay beneath the chilly façade. Even before he had forced himself on her and discovered her innocence, he had come to realize that she was no charlatan. Now, instead of exposing her to society, he wanted to take her as his own. Visions of her straddling his thighs had tormented him for hours. When next they made love, he would lay her beneath him and kiss every inch of her body until her eyes once again filled with sensual heat and then … “Damn I’m in trouble,” he muttered, adjusting his coat.

  “Come, Colt, sit, the show is about to start,” Joseph said, waving to the seat beside him.

  * * *

  Sophie was pleased when the play started; she had never been to the theater. Although she had the fear of the blackmailer and what had happened to her in Lord Coulter’s coach to worry over, for now she planned to enjoy this moment. After all, it could be her one and only chance. Wriggling away from the pressure of Lord Tilton’s thigh once again, she moved forward to look at the stage below. Holding her breath, she watched the curtains draw slowly back to expose a beautiful red-haired lady, and from the first note she sang, Sophie was entranced. She laughed and cried at the antics that played out before her, but not once did she turn away. When Lord Tilton tried to capture her attention, she remained stubbornly focused on the stage until the curtain fell to indicate the end of act one.

  “I will take the countess for a walk, Lady Carstairs,” Lord Tilton declared, without asking Sophie if she wanted to be escorted anywhere. She opened her mouth to refuse and then thought—if I am with Lord Tilton, neither Lord Coulter nor the blackmailer can get me alone.

  With a regal nod, just like Letty had taught her, Sophie allowed Lord Tilton to take her hand. Soon they were mingling with other theatergoers and with each step they took, Sophie felt some of her tension ease. Perhaps for tonight, Lord Coulter would leave her alone.

  “Tilton!”

  Viscount Sumner approached with his blue eyes twinkling and Sophie couldn’t help but return the smile. She had noticed a thawing in his attitude toward her of late, and he had come to her aid when Myles had become overzealous one evening.

  “I wonder if I may take your companion for a few minutes, Countess. I fear I have a weighty horse issue that Lord Hanley and I must have clarified immediately.”

  Lord Tilton preened, obviously pleased that he alone had been chosen as the authority on horse matters. Patting her hand he said, “I will be but a few minutes, my dear.”

  Sophie stiffened at his endearment, then nodded, eager for him to leave her side if only for a moment. Looking around, she wondered where the lemonade was; perhaps it would be better if she just returned to Letty …

  “This way.”

  Sophie had no time to pull free when Lord Coulter took her arm as he moved past. His grip, though not painful, was unrelenting when she tried to tug free. Almost running to keep pace with him, she tried to smile at the few guests who caught her eye.

  “My lord, release me at once!”

  Ignoring Sophie’s words, Patrick kept walking until he noted a small alcove ahead. Looking behind, he saw that no other guests seemed to have moved this way, so he dragged her inside, then releasing her, he reached up and drew the thick curtains shut behind them.

  Sophie kept walking backward until she felt the solidness of a wall. The curtains had darkened the small space and only a faint strip of light allowed her to see. She watched Lord Coulter move closer, dark eyes intent. Like a large predatory beast, he looked menacing and dangerous. He might appear an elegantly dressed gentleman, but the look in his eyes told her he was angry, very angry she realized as something twitched in his jaw, but there was something else in the depths, something she could not define.

  Sophie’s pulse began to gallop. Why did he not speak? She could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing and it seemed so loud in the small space.

  “I … I must go back before L-Letty misses me.” Why could she not find the countess when he was near? Draw on all that haughty indifference she used on others?

  Lifting one hand he cupped her cheek, forcing her to look at him.

  “I never intended to hurt you, Sophie. You are a lady and deserve my respect, I showed you none of that today and for that I will be eternally sorry.”

  She had not expected those words, yet she heard the sincerity behind them.

  “Whose child is Timothy?”

  “Mine!”

  She flashed him a ferocious glare and he had no doubt she would protect Timmy with her life if need be. Patrick admired that; not many men of his acquaintance expressed such loyalty.

  Her beauty was undeniable, yet there was more to this attraction they shared than mere beauty. She touched him, deep inside his soul. Something about this woman made him feel, made him crave, and Patrick had long since given up hope of experiencing either of these emotions.

  The ivory satin dress was a confection that floated over her body, caressing her breasts and falling in soft waves to the floor. Her hair, which Patrick knew was a long mass of silken curls, was bundled high, with several sparkling clips and ribbons holding it in place. She looked soft, beguiling, and Patrick wanted to taste her again, pull her close and drink from her lips, but he would not. His anger at himself and her lies still boiled in his stomach.

  “No, Sophie, he cannot be yours.” Patrick moved closer so his body brushed hers.

  “Please, I beg of you, my lord, question me no further,” Sophie whispered.

  “You ask the impossible, Sophie. You were a virgin and I took you ruthlessly because I believed you to be a widow.”

  “I-I have no wish to d-discuss what took place earlier t-today.” Sophie struggled to draw in a breath with him so close. She tried to break free, tried to leave, but he had her trapped. “Pl-please let me go.”

  Patrick’s eyes raked her pale features, unrelenting as he forced himself to ignore her pleas.

  “What secrets lie beneath that beautiful exterior, Countess? I will unearth each and every one,” he vowed, then he lowered his head. Patrick pushed his anger aside and lost himself in the feel of her lips and body against his. Sliding his arms down the satin length of her back, he pulled her closer.

  Sophie resisted, tried to break free, but he just held her tighter.

  Patrick had visions of her pale satin skin and how she had felt as he plunged into her slick heat, and his body was soon aroused to the point of pain.

  Sophie began to feel the sensual pull she had experienced earlier in his carriage. It suffused her body as his lips and hands began to stroke her. She had to fight it, fight him. Breaking the kiss, she turned her head to one side.

  “Let me go, Patrick.”

  “Never,” he vowed, kissing her neck.

  Panic that they would be discovered had Sophie struggling for release. She could not give in to the feelings his lips and hands were creating within her.

  “Sophie,” Patrick groaned as her attempts to break free pushed their bodies closer together.

  Desperate now, Sophie used a trick she had learned many years ago. Lifting her knee she jammed it straight into his groin. The earl released her and stumbled backward. Now free, she pushed past him..

  “P-please, Lord Coulter, do not come near me again. I implore you for your safety as much as my own.” Pushing the curtains aside, Sophie slipped away.

  * * *

  Stephen glared at Patrick as he sat down twenty minutes later.

  “You owe both Joseph and me your first firstborn child, Colt. Tilton is a crashing windbag who now believes we are in his confidences.”

  Patrick just grunted, as both his body and his pride were still severely wounded.

  Joseph nodded, looking morose. “He even asked us to hunt with him.” He shuddered.

  “I hope she was worth it,” Stephen spat and then glared at his mother as she shushed him from h
er box.

  Patrick looked to where Sophie sat. Once again, Tilton appeared to be leaning all over her. He wanted to shake her till her teeth rattled. The little vixen; what did she mean by kneeing him in the groin? At least he knew she could protect herself. Now that the blinding pain was easing, he almost felt a small measure of pride for the way she had stopped him. Certainly he would not have ceased for anything less than a threat to his manhood, and that thought worried him most of all. Only with her could he completely lose control of himself.

  “Please, Lord Coulter, do not come near me again. I implore you for your safety as much as my own.”

  Patrick replayed her words in his head, now that he could once again think clearly. Safety? Was she in some sort of danger? It was about time he did some investigating into his countess. Thinking of Sophie as his countess did not frighten him as much as it should have; in fact, it filled him with warmth.

  * * *

  The blackmailer’s next package arrived the following day. It came while Sophie walked in the park with Timmy; a small scruffy boy ran up and thrust it at her, then raced away before she could question him. Oblivious to the looks from her maid and Timmy, Sophie’s knees went weak and she collapsed onto the grass at her feet.

  “Are you well, my lady?”

  Sophie nodded to Jenny, then waved her hand about. “Just a little light-headed all of a sudden, Jenny. Please take Timmy to see the ducks and I will join you shortly.”

  “We will walk to the flowers, my lady, just a few feet away,” Jenny said, looking uncertain. Her mistress’s face had gone the color of milk. At least from there she could watch over the countess. Taking Timmy’s small pudgy hand in one of hers, she threw the countess one last concerned look and walked away.

  Sophie lowered her eyes to the package that now rested in her lap. She knew it was from the blackmailer; the writing was the same. With fingers that shook, she opened it and then had to bite her lip to stop from crying out as she pulled Timmy’s little baby bonnet from the paper. The note said, “I thought you might like this as a memento, Miss Beams.”

  “I know it’s you Jack Spode,” Sophie whispered, burying her face in the soft gray wool. She had made this for Timmy and could still see his little face smiling up at her in it. Why did he not ask for money? Why was he waiting? Sophie felt trapped. She wanted desperately to run to Monmouth and hide, but could come up with no reason to get Letty to let her leave London. If she told her about the letter, Letty would do everything she could to find the blackmailer and Sophie was terrified of getting her involved. If it was Jack Spode, he would not hesitate to harm Letty or Timmy. No, her only course of action was to wait until the blackmailer declared his hand, and then she would decide what steps to take.