Rogue Countess

by Amy Sandas

  “Accomplished at what?”

  “In the boudoir, old man.” Rutherford answered dryly. “He prefers to focus his energies on women of independent means, ladies who do not have to account for every penny, if you understand me. He never remains with the same woman for long. Your wife is the only exception to that rule as well, since he always goes back to her after a time.”

  “Is she a Cyprian?”

  “Rumor and gossip has paired her name with a few gents over the years. Men who could afford to keep a woman of her quality. But any assumption of her being a professional courtesan would be pure speculation. If there was any real association between your wife and any of the men mentioned in her company of the years, the details were handled very discreetly.” Rutherford drank from his brandy snifter. “And for some reason, Riley is the only man you ever see escorting her about town with any kind of regularity.”

  The baron was very likely the handsome buck he had seen her talking with at the masquerade. Jude directed his focus across the room at his wife and considered what his friend told him.

  “For the most part, she appears to be on her own,” Rutherford concluded.

  Was that why she said she would not allow an annulment? It didn’t sound like Lord Riley was a very reliable protector. Did she worry about being left with no support?

  No. That made no sense. She had a lucrative and successful business. She was capable, beautiful and apparently beloved by many influential members of the ton. Hadn’t she somehow managed to slide past a cardinal rule of one of the more elite gentlemen’s clubs in town?

  She turned her head and laughed at something one of her cronies said. Diamonds dropped from her lovely earlobes and glittered against her liquid black hair. He was forced to amend his earlier thought; she was very beautiful. Stunning actually, and in a way not many appreciated.

  Her thick black hair framed a strong but refined face that was bronzed from her time spent outdoors. Her brown eyes were the warm color of whiskey and sparkled with mischief beneath her arching black brows. And just below the outer corner of her right eye was a small beauty mark. The night of the masquerade when she had removed her mask, he had thought the mark to be a cosmetic application, but he had seen it again in Newmarket. For some reason, rather than being a flaw, the jaunty little mark made her look even sexier and more mysterious. Especially when she smiled and the pert arches of her upper lip lengthened as if holding back some delicious secret.

  As if sensing his stare, she turned her head to glance over her bare shoulder in his direction. Her smile was subtle and confident and told him she was fully aware of how her presence in the gentlemen’s establishment frustrated him. She was enjoying every second of it.

  It was spite then, he realized with a stab of vexation. Often that was the only reason a woman needed to wreak havoc in a man’s life.

  Maybe he should rethink his strategy. Anger was getting him nowhere and likely only strengthened her resolve to resist him. It might be far more effective to simply show her that he wasn’t going away, that he would be dogging her every move until she agreed that dissolving their union was the only way they would both get any peace.

  He smiled back at his wife, feeling as if he may actually have a little fun with this unusual situation. When her smile slipped just a little in response to his obvious change in mood, he grinned even wider. Yes, he thought, time for a fresh approach.

  He turned back to Rutherford.

  “Now, tell me about those men over there making fools of themselves hanging on her every word.”

  “If I had wanted to spend my evening going over old gossip involving people I don’t give a wit about, I would have gone to visit my grandmother,” Rutherford retorted.

  “Consider it a favor to a friend who will be held in your debt.”

  Rutherford smiled with roguish charm. “That sounds better. I do like it when people owe me.” He puffed up his chest in an exaggerated fashion. “It makes me feel powerful.”

  Jude’s smile was slow in forming. “Glad to be able to feed your ego, old man.”

  It was only an hour later when Jude seized an opportunity to approach his wayward wife. After saying her goodbyes, she left the main parlor of the club and Jude rose from his seat to follow her. She was left standing alone in the vestibule as a footman went to fetch her cloak.

  Jude stood in the doorway, watching her for a brief moment. She was beautiful and calm and displayed resolute confidence in the regal lift of her chin and the unabashed presentation of her more feminine charms. Jude’s gaze slid down over the rounded curves of her figure. Though she wasn’t wearing the overly corseted costume of the masquerade, her gown was still well suited to display her full yet graceful figure.

  He was certain he hadn’t made a sound, but she turned then as if alerted to his presence. By the widening of her eyes and sharp intake of her breath, he guessed she correctly interpreted the sensual interest in his eyes. But in the next second, she recovered herself and arched one of her fine black brows.

  “Still following me, I see.”

  Jude smiled, though there was nothing pleasant in the act. “It seems someone must ensure that you do not cause any trouble.”

  “And you have taken the distasteful job upon yourself? How dutiful of you,” she sneered with polite delicacy.

  “Unfortunately, as long as you remain my legal wife, you are my responsibility.”

  Anna laughed, but there was no amusement in her expression.

  “You have got to be joking. You wouldn’t know the meaning of responsibility if it kicked you in the arse.” He scowled at her crude turn of phrase. She turned to face him more fully, her lovely face clouded with growing annoyance. “Let me make something very clear to you, my lord husband. I have absolutely no need for your dutiful attention. I have come a long way without you and I intend to continue upon my chosen course whether you like it or not. I would suggest you step aside and stay out of my way.”

  “Now, that is something I cannot do.” Jude came forward then. The two of them faced off against each other in the center of the small room. Neither of them were going to back down. “Since you have declared your position in regard to this marriage, I am afraid you are stuck with me. You see, I have discovered a newfound desire to take my responsibilities as husband very seriously.” His blue eyes drifted down to the lush cleavage exposed above the edge of her bodice.

  “Are you threatening me?” Anna asked with incredulous surprise.

  “Not at all. I am simply making my position as clear as you have made yours.” He lowered his voice and declared in a tone designed to leave no doubt as to the sensual nature of his intentions, “I want you, Anna, and if you insist that we remain husband and wife, then it will only be a matter of time before our relationship becomes much more personal.”

  Anna gasped at the arrogant declaration, just as he intended. He wanted her to believe he would use her spiteful refusal to cooperate with an annulment against her. He wanted her to be wary of him and uncertain of his intentions.

  “You are out of your mind if you think I will have anything to do with you in that regard.”

  Though her words were strong and defiant, Jude detected a note of breathlessness in the swiftly uttered refusal. His smile then was one of genuine satisfaction as he shrugged and glanced over her shoulder at the footman approaching with her cloak.

  “I guess we will have to see how this scenario progresses,” he declared.

  He took the cloak from the footman and before she could object, he whisked it around her shoulders and used the edges still clasped in his hands to pull her toward him. She resisted at first, then took a stumbling step forward.

  It was a cheap trick to use his superior strength as a means of intimidation, but it served a certain purpose. Her hands came up to press against his chest as she fought to retain her balance and keep a modicum of distance between them. The swirling heat of sexual tension was undeniable when her body came in contact with his. He smiled in
pleasure and her whiskey-colored eyes glared up at him with undisguised animosity.

  He was gravely tempted to kiss her.

  “You have given your warnings and made your threats,” she said between clenched teeth. “But I am not easily frightened or manipulated. I have had many long years to strengthen my resolve and thicken my skin. I will not be bullied by the likes of you.”

  The depth of her determination was evident in her scowling features and Jude reluctantly admired her refusal to be cowed.

  “Don’t worry, darling,” he murmured in a tone more foreboding than soothing, “you may find my method of persuasion to your liking.”

  Then he released the edges of her cloak, stepped back to execute a formal bow and turned to disappear back into the inner rooms of the club. He didn’t bother glancing back, confident that he had left the woman with a few more things to think about.

  Chapter Seven

  Anna was spitting mad.

  She could actually feel the tips of her ears burning. And all of her fury was directed at one man.

  Jude Montgomery Sinclair, Earl of Blackbourne, was going to have to reverse the infuriating effects of his underhandedness to her satisfaction or she would be forced to…

  Well, she didn’t know what she would have to do. She couldn’t quite push aside her temper long enough to think that far in advance. Her mind kept circling back to an hour ago when she had ridden up to Lord Palmerton’s estate per their scheduled appointment. The man had a mare for sale that Anna intended to purchase for Charles. Their bloodlines were destined to produce some fine racing talent. She had seen the red mare a couple times in the past and had adored the horse’s fine russet coloring and long-legged stride. This purchase was the reason she had come to London. Charles, her four-year-old gray, had not been very compatible with the mares currently in her stables and Anna just had an instinctual feeling this one would be his perfect match.

  It was early enough in the morning by London standards that Anna had no qualms about dressing in her riding pants to go the short distance from her townhouse to Lord Palmerton’s. She owned several feminine riding habits, but she intended to put the mare through a few paces, and she couldn’t have the heavy divided skirts tangling with her legs. She had already dismounted Henry and handed his reins to a stable boy when Lord Palmerton came rushing out the side door.

  “Oh, Mrs. Locke, Mrs.…, er, I mean, my countess, er, my lady.”

  Anna frowned. News got around fast, she thought. At least the poor man didn’t seem disturbed by the fact that she had been going under an alias. In fact, she realized with narrowed eyes as the older portly gentleman reached her, he looked quite flushed with excitement.

  “Good morning, Lord Palmerton, you are looking well this morning.”

  “Indeed, indeed,” he answered as he took a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today, my lady.”

  Anna cringed. It was going to take a while to get used to the formal address. “No? But I was quite sure our appointment was for this morning. Did I get the date wrong?”

  “Oh, no. It was today. But when Lord Blackbourne came by almost an hour ago, I just assumed you would not find a need to come by as well. He had been quite impressed with the mare. He even paid for her in cash. Very generous, your husband. The horse will be delivered to Silverly tomorrow as promised. I can still take you round to see her if you’d like.”

  Anna was stunned. And furious. Her eyes were wide with disbelief as she stared at the man in front of her. After a moment, she realized he was looking at her oddly, waiting for a response.

  “No, my lord. That is fine, really,” she uttered, her jaw aching with the tension of holding back a scream of livid frustration. “I must have been a little confused in regard to Lord Blackbourne’s intentions, that’s all.” She turned back toward Henry, a blood-red cloud starting to form at the edge of her vision. “Thank you for your time, my lord.”

  She leapt into her saddle, barely using the leg up offered by the stable boy.

  He’d stolen her bloody mare. The bastard bought the horse right out from under her. She had no misgivings that this had been an unfortunate coincidence. This was most definitely intentional and hideously devious. And Anna was not about to let him get away with it.

  Rather than turning back toward her townhouse, she headed straight through town to the hotel where Leif had discovered her husband was staying. All she could think about was confronting him and demanding he release the horse to her.

  She walked right in the front doors of the hotel. There were not many guests milling about at that time of day, but there was enough of the hotel staff to stop and stare as she crossed the lobby in a long-legged stride. She went straight to the courtesy desk.

  “I need the room number for Lord Blackbourne.”

  “I, ah, I cannot give out that information, ma’am,” the young attendant replied with wide eyes.

  “Yes, you can,” Anna insisted between gritted teeth. “I am his wife and I need to speak with him. What is the room number?”

  “My lady.” A smiling older man approached her from the side. He was dressed in understated black with an exceptionally crisp white neckcloth. “If you would be so kind as to come to my office, I am sure I can assist you in some manner.” His small eyes scanned the room as he spoke. His concern was obviously with the developing scene she was causing in her riding gear and demanding tone.

  She turned to the man in black and her smile was amiable, though her tone was sharp as steel. “Lord Blackbourne is my husband. I intend to speak with him. Now. And either you will assist me by giving me his room number, or I will knock on every door until I find him.” Her smile widened. “I am sure you can see which would be the better option.”

  “I could also call for my employees to escort you from the premises.”

  “You could,” Anna replied. “But you won’t, because everyone will wonder what I could possibly have done to warrant such a drastic reaction. I am but a woman, after all.” Damn, but she hated using that tact. “People will be talking about it for days.” She continued in a calmer, quieter tone. “I wish to speak with my husband. That is all.”

  The small man met her steady gaze, considered her words and her demeanor and made a sharp and decisive judgment. “Give the lady the room number,” he said to the attendant without looking away from Anna.

  “Thank you,” she said with another pleasant smile as she took the small card scribbled with the room number and calmly turned away.

  Of course, the bloody bastard had taken a set of rooms on the top floor. As she made her way up the flights of stairs, she continued to fume over his conceit and righteous arrogance. He thought he could bully her into doing what he wanted? Clearly, that was his ploy, to steal her mare and offer a trade for her agreement to end their marriage. The fact that he wanted an annulment that badly only spurred her on all the more to make sure he wouldn’t get it. There was much she could do to sabotage his goal. The bastard was going to find out just how strong a spine she had developed while he had been gone traipsing about the globe.

  When she got to his room, she knocked sharply on the door. He failed to open it within ten seconds so she rapped on it again until she heard movement beyond. The door opened to reveal a young woman dressed only in a simple silk robe of emerald green. The belt was cinched around an impossibly tiny waist and her fine blue-black hair fell straight and strong down her back to dance about her narrow hips. Her skin was a rich burnished brown. Her forehead was wide and smooth, her cheekbones high and well defined. Her large almond-shaped eyes were a bright crystalline gray as she eyed Anna with faint curiosity.

  The strange and fascinating woman waited for Anna to speak. Her cool demeanor rubbed on Anna’s already raw nerves.

  “My apologies,” she said with sudden sharp impatience. “I must have been given the wrong room number. I was looking for Lord Blackbourne’s suite.”

  “You are correct. These are
Lord Blackbourne’s rooms.”

  Anna froze at the implication of what the woman said in her foreign, stilted accent, which somehow managed to sound sultry and inviting in its rough formation of the English language. Anna’s eyes widened with understanding, and the fury she had been trying to contain bubbled up once more to the surface. She noted in annoyance that the woman did not bother to step back to allow her entrance into the room. Instead, she rudely left Anna standing in the hallway. A trespasser into her husband’s life.

  “And who are you then? The maid?”

  The beautiful creature smiled with untouchable composure, noting the insult, but choosing to ignore it. “I am a personal friend. Shall I give him a message for you?”

  “No, I think I’ll wait,” Anna answered as she stepped into the room, sweeping past the slim woman. She paced the elegant spacious room twice in long, angry strides. She hardly noticed that the bright morning sun was almost high enough now to flood the room with light. She gave only the barest glance toward the coffee service still steaming on the small table by the window. What did claim her attention was that there was only one bedroom extending beyond the large sitting room and her agitation grew. When she turned back to the other woman in the room, she was a little surprised to see she hadn’t moved from where she stood in the open doorway.

  Anna stopped and returned the openly curious stare of Jude’s mistress and had to acknowledge why he would be attracted to her. The woman contained an inert and obvious grace that was both stately and modest. It was doubtful the regal beauty ever displayed such base reactions as impatience or distress. Anna looked into her face. The woman’s eyes were narrowed in wariness as she returned Anna’s regard. She was uneasy. Anna followed the woman’s gaze down to her left hand and realized she still held her training whip coiled in her hand. She had been holding it when Palmerton had told her of her husband’s perfidy and had been so distracted by her anger that she just never released it. In her pacing, she had been slapping it in agitation against her thigh.