The Countess Takes a Lover

by Bonnie Dee

  Meredith never found out how her husband would have reacted. She received news that he’d died of malaria. Since he’d left no heir to inherit the estate, a distant cousin took possession of it, but Meredith was left with a considerable income and her freedom.

  Over the next few years she concentrated on translating the bequeathed money into a small fortune, ensuring she’d never again be dependent on any man. Business became her passion. She loved to watch her investments and holdings grow.

  Only in the past five years had she finally come to an appreciation of other passions. At age thirty-one she’d met a man who showed her lovemaking could be pleasurable and fulfilling. A series of sexual adventures and experiments followed, and the countess gained a notorious reputation. She was someone a respectable woman would prefer not to invite to tea, but her title gained her admittance into society. Meredith lived in a strange limbo, as she had all her life, with no real friends or confidantes, merely an endless succession of lovers and social events to attend. In many ways, she was as lonely as she had been when floating around the count’s chateau all those years ago.

  With an irritated sigh at her melancholy, she leaned forward to crush out the barely smoked cheroot and close the racing form. She rang a bell, summoning Hawkins, her butler, and told him on which horse to place her bet. This was one of her little vices, a weekly gamble. She would never endanger her money by playing with serious money, but enjoyed the excitement and possibility of a small bet.

  Of course, there was nothing more invigorating than gambling on a human being. When she’d promised Lord Whitby she would take on the case of his son, she was fairly certain she’d already won Christopher over. He might take a little persuasion, but would eventually succumb to her. It was the process of seducing him that was thrilling.

  The kisses in the Botanical Gardens had been an exceedingly pleasant diversion. Feeling the change in him from awkward boy to aggressive man, from inexperienced, closed-mouthed presses of his lips to the hot, thrusting of his tongue… A shiver ran through her at the memory. She was entranced by the idea of taking his virginity, of teaching him about passion and revealing to him the side of himself he’d denied for far too long. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t wait to begin.

  After Christopher had left her that night in the Gardens, she’d sent a note asking him to consider her request to visit her country estate. A day of silence had followed before he’d replied. “I accept your kind invitation and would enjoy examining your plants. C. Whitby.”

  She had smiled on reading the somehow suggestive words, certain that he’d been completely innocent of any extra meaning when composing them. Or maybe he was aware of exactly what her invitation meant and unconsciously answered with words that expressed his true feelings. He’d like very much to examine her plants.

  Now, as she awaited Chris Whitby’s arrival at her country home, she smiled again, eager for the fun to start. If a mere kiss or two had stirred her, imagine the fireworks in store when passion was really ignited. This young man was exactly what she needed to bring some zest to her jaded palate. Experiencing sex with a virgin would make it new for her as well. And she’d ensure his experience was far more pleasant than her first time had been—memorable in a good way.

  Meredith summoned her maid to help her dress for the day in a buttercup morning gown that made a sunny contrast to her black hair and peach skin. Cecile brushed her hair, while Meredith sat plotting her seduction. She’d chosen the yellow because it was a sweet, youthful color. Today she wanted to present the picture of an innocent country maiden. She eschewed wearing any of her jewelry and had Amelia keep her hair down, twisting only a small knot at the back of her head. Tumbling ringlets added to the fresh-faced appeal she was promoting.

  She’d rushed Christopher too quickly last time, counting on nature to take its course and not taking into account whatever demons held him back from acknowledging his sexuality. This time she’d use her wiles, find out what kept him from fulfilling his natural inclinations and loosen the knots that bound him.

  A light spray of floral perfume completed her toilette and then, before she had time to begin fretting or fidgeting, she heard the sound of a carriage rolling to a halt on the drive in front of the house. She stood behind the curtain in the window of her salon and watched Whitby step down from the carriage and gaze up at the house. She felt she could see the intense blue of his eyes even from this distance.

  Servants carried his bags indoors and Christopher followed, squaring his shoulders as if he were going to meet the guillotine instead of a beautiful woman.

  Meredith turned from the window, checked her face once more in the looking glass, then walked down the hallway. She descended the main staircase slowly and regally. The moment she saw Christopher standing in the foyer, she fixed her gaze on his, holding him with her eyes as surely as if she embraced him in her arms.

  After a quick scan of her body, his bright eyes focused on hers. His posture was erect, back stiff, hands at his sides with the fingers lightly clenched.

  She appreciated the classic style and somber brown of his coat and tan breeches. Too many men were peacocks in garish, contrasting colors these days with cravats that held their chins so high they looked like show ponies. Whitby’s restrained style was much more attractive. The simple cut of his clothes accentuated the long lines of his body. She imagined what he looked like naked—not incredibly muscular since he didn’t, according to his father, pursue any sport, but probably lean and taut nonetheless. With any luck, she would know the answer in a day or two. From the way he was devouring her with his eyes, maybe sooner.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Whitby. I trust your journey was uneventful.” She extended her hand as she approached him.

  He bowed, took her hand and pressed his lips quickly to the back of it. “Very.”

  “Are you hungry? I’ve arranged for a light luncheon. It will be served on the veranda. If you’d like to refresh yourself first, Hawkins will show you to your room.”

  Half an hour later, he joined her at the table under the shade of the awning that protected them from the glorious sunshine. An assortment of fresh fruit and canapés were arrayed on silver trays. “Would you like something a little more filling?” she asked as he took his seat. “My cook can make you a full meal.”

  “No. This is sufficient. I don’t often eat at midday.” Christopher sat stiffly with his hands in his lap. His eyes scanned the gardens beyond the veranda, then came back to rest on her face. “Very beautiful,” he offered, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if he meant the gardens or her.

  “Yes. I’m embarrassed to say that, unlike you, I have nothing to do with my gardens. Not even the choice of plants, I’m afraid. I’ve left it all to my gardener. You’ll have to tell me if he’s done well. They look all right to me, but I’m no expert.” As she spoke, she prepared a plate and placed it in front of him, then poured tea for them both. “You must tell me what prompted your interest in plants.”

  A quick smile like summer lightning flashed across his mouth, then disappeared. “I suppose I’ve always liked plants because they’re so…restful. There’s nothing like a walk in nature to soothe one’s soul and put the manmade world into perspective. There’s an order and simplicity in nature that mankind has lost sight of.” He lifted his teacup and sipped.

  Meredith was surprised at his candor and the depth of his answer. She’d often taken long walks to put her life into perspective. Of course, she’d usually been working through problems in her head rather than taking in the beauty of the landscape, but his point was well made. “You find humans full of artifice?”

  “Not in primitive native tribes, but in European society, most definitely. Our society is based on acquisitiveness and the presumption that advancing financially or socially is the purpose of existence. People have deceived themselves about their true nature.”

  “Which is…?” She was intrigued to know what he would say. For a man who believed in the natural order of
things, he certainly seemed out of touch with his own primal nature and the passions and lusts that drove the human animal.

  He dipped his head, gazing at a strawberry on his plate. “I’ve spoken too much. I’m afraid I don’t often get a chance to share my thoughts, and it has made me speak inappropriately.”

  “On the contrary, Mr. Whitby, I’m fascinated by your views, and there’s nothing you can say that will cause me shock or disapproval. I agree that our society is based on deception and hypocrisy. I would have you always speak plainly to me, for I am as open to new ideas as I imagine you are.”

  Christopher paused with the strawberry lifted halfway to his mouth and stared at her. “I’ve never heard a woman speak so honestly.”

  “Trust me, monsieur, I am not most women. I’m considered more than a little eccentric.”

  “Then how in the world did my mother come to invite you to tea?” His cheeks flushed and he set the berry down. “Pardon me for such a rude question, but my mother is most conservative. I don’t quite understand how she befriended you.”

  Meredith considered her answer. Clearly the arrangement with his father couldn’t be mentioned, but remaining close to the truth would be best. “In all honesty, I am not a particular friend of your mother’s. Your father bade her invite me so I might meet you.”

  “Father? Why in the world would he do that, and why in the world would you come?”

  Here’s where her explanation got complicated and required an actual lie or at least a warped version of the truth. “I’ve seen you before, you know—at the ball given last month by Lord and Lady Atwater. Do you recall?”

  “I recall being coerced into attending by my mother, but I don’t remember seeing you there, and I believe I would. You make rather an impression.”

  “It was a well-attended event. I wouldn’t expect you to have noticed me in the throng, but I noticed you.”

  His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Because you were so still and quiet, a great contrast to the blustering, loud gentlemen trying to gain my attention. I thought you were a person to whom it would be interesting to speak. Before I could go over and do so, you left. I approached your father, whom I knew through a mutual acquaintance, and asked for an introduction that I might come to know you better.”

  Bits of the truth were in there. She actually did remember someone mentioning the Whitbys’ hopelessly socially inept son that evening at the ball as they pointed out Christopher skulking near a potted plant, but that was all the impression he’d made on her at that time.

  “Pardon me for saying that sounds rather preposterous.” The lightning smile came and went again. “I know I’m not that memorable of a person.”

  “Nevertheless, you made an impression on me.” She reached across the table, took the strawberry from his plate and lifted it to his mouth, both her hand and her eyes offering something.

  Christopher licked his lips as he regarded the berry. He slowly opened his mouth and Meredith just as slowly placed it inside, making sure her fingers brushed his tongue and touched his lips as she did so. She smiled. “You must think I’m a most forward and provocative woman, but when I find something I want, I reach for it.”

  His mouth closed and his jaw worked as he chewed the berry, then swallowed it. “I can well believe that.” His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “But I simply don’t understand how you could possibly be interested in me.”

  “Mm.” She smiled and sat back in her chair, lifting her own cup of tea and sipping it as she searched for an answer. She was happy to be able to speak the truth.

  “It has to do with what you said about humans having lost touch with their natural side. Mankind’s true nature is quite bestial underneath all the trappings of a civilized society.” She pressed her hand to her breast. “In here we have strong passions and desires that can’t be denied, only controlled to a degree. Who knows what stirs them and why? I saw you and wanted you. It’s that simple.”

  He stared at her, frowning.

  Meredith released him from her gaze and returned the conversation to more mundane channels, giving him time to digest her words. “Enough talking for now. You must try my cook Genevieve’s marvelous canapés and biscuits or her feelings will be hurt and then God knows what she shall serve us for dinner.”

  Christopher seemed relieved to turn his attention to his plate. He must have been quite hungry from the journey because he emptied it while she talked about how she’d come to purchase her house.

  “After my husband died and I moved back to England, I was happy to live in London for a while, but one beautiful afternoon I decided I’d had enough of coal smoke shrouding the air and filling my lungs. This estate was for sale, the last remaining Barrington having died childless, and I was able to purchase it. When we’re finished eating I shall show you around both inside and out. I’m very proud of all the improvements I’ve made.”

  “How long were you married, if I may ask? You seem so young to be a widow.”

  “Three years, which was quite sufficient given my husband’s disposition, and I’m not as young as you might think.”

  “How… Forgive me.” He blushed, revealing he’d been about to ask her age.

  “Older than you.” She smiled, enjoying giving him a little mystery to puzzle over. “And wiser I shouldn’t wonder. Perhaps I can teach you a few things after you teach me how to care for my plants.” She gave a suggestive pause, then added as a joke. “For instance, I could teach you to play whist unless you already know how.”

  He didn’t respond, clearly uncertain how to tease and flirt. Well, she would teach him to do that, too, before she was through with him.

  “Come now.” She rose to her feet, returning to the pretense that he was here merely to help her with her gardening problem. “Why don’t I show you my conservatory and you can tell me how to bring it back to life?” Lifting her skirts, she led the way from the veranda around the side of the house to the large glass enclosure she’d ignored since occupying the house.

  She unlatched and opened the door. Heat flowed from the unventilated room in a choking cloud. Walking into it was like entering a dry desert. “Oh, my. I should have had Klaus open it up to air out. It’s stifling.”

  Christopher followed her inside. She turned to him and saw beads of perspiration already shining on his forehead. Sweat prickled on her face, too, and she fanned it. “I told you the room had been neglected.”

  Together they surveyed the nearly empty building. A few dead potted trees huddled in one corner. Shelves intended for seedlings held only empty flats with powdery dirt in them. A dry fountain was the centerpiece of a slate path. Shreds of paint clung to a wooden bench, which sat just off the path. Once it may have been sheltered in a bower of green leaves, but now it squatted on bare earth.

  Meredith held up her hands, indicating the parched ground, devoid of life. “You see? I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  Christopher nodded as he took off his jacket, loosened his plain cravat and rolled up his sleeves. He didn’t seem to notice her any longer as he took stock of the building, walking up and down its length and opening windows and the overhead vents. He lifted a handful of soil and examined it closely before letting it sift through his fingers. Meredith was fascinated by the way the muscles moved in his forearms. They looked good with the sleeves rolled up, tanned and with a fine down of hair.

  He strode past her to stand before the shelving, testing the strength of the boards to see if any had rotted. Meredith might as well have been invisible for all the notice he took of her now that he was focused on the project. Her yellow dress, so crisp and fresh that morning, clung to her damp body now, as did the layers of undergarments she longed to shed. What would he do if she did just that—stripped one layer after another?

  She smiled at the notion. He would probably ignore her nudity and keep right on assessing the merits of climbing vines versus cacti. Standing quietly aside, she watched him work.<
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  Finally Christopher acknowledged her. “Do you have anything to write with? I’d like to make a list, and then I can draw up a plan to show you what I have in mind.”

  “No. I’m afraid I didn’t come prepared.” She brushed back damp tendrils of hair that clung to her forehead. “But perhaps we should go in the house now. I can provide you with what you need and, more importantly, we can cool down.”

  “It is a trifle warm.”

  “Just a trifle.” Too hot for a seduction.

  She opened the door and led the way into the relative coolness of the late-summer day. The breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle from the trellised vines near the greenhouse. The sweet aroma was a contrast to the dry, dusty smell inside the glass enclosure. Meredith imagined what it would be like when green life once more filled the conservatory, when she could sit by the fountain in the dead of winter and read a book. Although the renovation had begun as a ruse to get Christopher to her house, she began to be excited by the prospect.

  Walking swiftly to keep up with his long strides, she glanced at the young man beside her. What an unusual person he was, a potent mixture of keen intelligence and shy self-effacement mingled with an earthy sensuality that lurked beneath the surface. Meredith had no doubt his primal side could curl a woman’s toes once she’d tapped it. She’d felt the hunger when he kissed her the other night and it should be easy to rouse it again. A frisson of excitement tickled her insides at the prospect.

  They entered the house by the kitchen door and paused to clean up at the sink. Meredith washed her hands and face and smoothed back her hair, then dried herself on a towel as she watched Christopher do the same. It was completely improper to make ablutions in front of one another as though they were common laborers. The very informality was erotic. Water dripped from his forearms and elbows, wetting his rolled up sleeves as he splashed water on his face. His sandy hair darkened where it was damp.