The Cinderella Countess

by Sophia James

  ‘There would, your lordship. I thought you were very good at it.’

  ‘Thorn.’ Why wouldn’t she use his name? ‘You have had some practice, then?’

  When she smiled her dimples showed. ‘None at all, but I can recognise competence when I am confronted with it.’

  No one had ever said such a thing to him. Oh, granted, he often had praise from his lovers in bed, but it had never before been couched in quite such an endearing way.

  ‘I have read books on such things, your lordship. I know the works of John Cleland and the Earl of Rochester among others. I also provide medicines to a man in London and he often exchanges books as payment.’

  The last words were said with a tremble.

  ‘A voyeur, Miss Smith?’

  He ran his hand down her good arm, lacing her fingers into his own. The pulse in her throat was beating fast and hard. ‘Then allow me to show you more than the printed pages ever could.’

  Pulling her to him, he placed one arm around her so that they were chest to chest, the feel of her breasts against his own all rounded flesh and softness. God, she made him frantic and desperate without even a word.

  His lips rested gently on hers and he ran his tongue across them before leaning back. ‘When will your aunt be home?’

  ‘In an hour or so.’ Her voice shook, but she did not look away.

  * * *

  Did he mean to ravish her right here and now between the servants lingering somewhere outside and an aunt who would be home as soon as the clouds darkened the day?

  She had told him an hour, but a glance out of the window said it would be more likely half that time and she would not throw her virginity away on the chance of it.

  Was he asking that? Surely not?

  She faltered and tried to win back confidence, but when his hand cradled the back of her head and he slanted a kiss so that he covered her mouth completely, she held no chance of refusal.

  Her fingers came up to his hair, threading through the thick of cinnamon and gold and brown, an aching need building as she kissed him, finding her own pressure in the truth of what was offered. No small desire this, but the galloping heat of lust.

  His tongue came against hers and she opened further, allowing an entrance, the rest of her body feeling fluid in a shift of bone and blood. The room faded as did the day along with time and inhibition.

  She wanted more. She wanted what she had read of in her books at night when her aunt was asleep and she could imagine two people cleaved as one in the arms of passion.

  The strike of pure want left her breathless, a feeling of warmth and desire spreading to every part of her body so that the room fell away and good sense went with it. She curled into him without restraint, his hardening masculinity egging her on. She was no longer part of this world as her breath hitched and her head fell back.

  * * *

  The column of her throat was thin and pale as he nuzzled in, his other hand falling to one breast, feeling the nipple firm up against his touch. She was like liquid heat, the breath of her on his face, her fingers clenched around his arms so that her nails almost stung through the cloth of his jacket.

  Lifting his head, he took her mouth again, harder this time with a force that was undeniable. God, he was losing control, her thighs against his own, the thin layer of silk all that stopped him from finding her centre. He wanted to reach in and take, stamp her as his own and never let go. He wanted to lead her to her bed and make love to her till the morning in all the ways he knew how. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and place her in his carriage and make for his hunting lodge in Scotland, far away from anyone and anything.

  A knock at the door brought them back and away from each other. Lytton noticed how her fingers curled around the back of the sofa reinstating balance. She looked at him as if she was in a trance, as if she had no idea of what had just happened, her chest heaving and her lips swollen.

  Who the hell would be here right now? When the door opened the servant announced the arrival of Aurelian de la Tomber, his hat removed as he came into the room.

  Annabelle’s lips were reddened as she stood there and he knew his own arousal would be plainly evident behind the fabric of his trousers. Lian was a man who never missed a thing and his first words told him exactly that.

  ‘I passed two women at the front of the building who seemed to be heading this way. They should be here in a moment.’

  Annabelle tipped her head and left the room, her chamber lying through a small passageway behind them. Her absence left an awkward void.

  ‘That was Miss Smith, I presume? I hope you are being careful with her, for she does not quite seem the sort who might weather a dalliance. Weren’t these Susan Castleton’s rooms?’

  Lytton swore, caught in limbo between deceit and lies. He no longer knew quite what was the truth—a casual dalliance, an impermanent union, or a troth that might last a lifetime and beyond. For the first time in a long while he could not speak.

  She had floored him with her response. No woman before had ever made him lose control so quickly or warmed his soul with only a kiss. He felt confused.

  ‘I think I shall go.’

  ‘I will come with you.’

  Lian looked worried, but Lytton was too muddled to even stop him.

  A moment later they were outside after descending by way of the stairs, missing Annabelle’s aunt and her friend.

  ‘What the hell just happened in there, Thorn?’

  ‘I don’t know. I kissed her and the world shifted.’

  A hoot of laughter was disturbing. ‘When I first met Violet all I could see was her light. What do you feel when you kiss Catherine Dromorne?’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘What? Never?’

  ‘I haven’t wanted to.’

  ‘Well, there is your answer, Thorn.’

  All the parts of him were beginning to settle again now that he was out in the fresh air. ‘I don’t know what you are saying, Lian?’

  ‘Don’t you? Think about it more then, Thorn, until you can understand the truth. Meanwhile I have news for you which is why I sought you out. I have heard that Susan Castleton is Lord Huntington’s new mistress.’

  That news had Lytton frowning. ‘God, I hope she knows just what she is getting into.’

  ‘Maybe there is some history there, for word is she has known him for quite some time. The Tennant-Smythe family are an odd mix of good and evil. The old grandmother seems a woman of character, but her two children were far from it according to all that is said of them.’

  ‘Huntington’s father was handy with his fists, I recall?’

  ‘His name was Albert, as well, and he was a violent man. Young Albert probably felt the back edge of his hand many a time which could account for the deficiencies of his son.’

  ‘And the other child?’

  ‘I have not been able to find out anything of her although I do know she was a daughter called Elizabeth who seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. The family were always quite isolated up in Highwick after the old Earl passed away and, apart from Albert Tennant-Smythe, Lord Huntington, they do not mix in society much.’

  ‘I had a letter from the grandmother about the horse her grandson lost to me in a game of cards at the Derwent Ball. She wished to buy the steed back and implied that it was not his to give away in the first place.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I’ve sent the stallion back to her. Without payment.’

  ‘That was generous of you though it will probably encourage talk in the ton about the foolishness of her grandson.’

  The webs had begun to spin, Lytton thought, faster and faster and he felt a sort of sideways shift. God, his whole life of late was turning upside down and Annabelle Smith seemed to be always in the very middle of the chaos. Something Aurelian had said was
niggling at him, too, and he swallowed.

  ‘You were saying when you saw Violet the first time all you could see was her light. How did you mean that?’

  Aurelian stopped walking and turned towards him. ‘I knew there was something about her that drew me in, something stronger than anything I had ever known before. Something that could not be ignored. I was struck down by her in the first seconds of meeting her. It was indescribable.’

  ‘Hell.’

  ‘You felt the same thing, then? With Annabelle Smith?’

  Lytton did not want to answer that, did not want to even contemplate it as the truth.

  ‘Let’s just keep looking for the bastard who is trying to hurt her.’

  He was glad when the other nodded and they walked on.

  * * *

  Belle smiled as her aunt and Rosemary came through the door, though her heart was racing for she felt the shawl she had fastened around her shoulders might not hide all that she needed hidden.

  The Earl was gone with his friend, away from the house and yet all she wanted was for him to come back. To kiss her again, to lay his hands upon her body and make her understand the truth of passion. She did not care that it would not be for ever. He would never marry her, but perhaps just one night of lust would be enough. She was thirty-two, after all, and she would be careful to make certain nothing would come of a union in the way of a pregnancy.

  To go to her grave as a woman without once experiencing the delights of sexual intercourse suddenly seemed tragic. This could be her last chance. Her first and last, she thought next, but did not dwell on that.

  Could she offer? Would he accept? And where would she be able to lie with him undisturbed?

  Her aunt looked exhausted and grey. From the fire, Annabelle thought. Shepherding her into her bedchamber, she bade her lie down while she found some tea. Rosemary hovered at her side when she returned to the main room.

  ‘Your aunt seems out of sorts, Belle. She worries about you. She feels you are in danger and that she is holding you back.’

  ‘Holding me back from what?’

  ‘I don’t know. She never mentioned any specific thing. She just said that you need to bloom and that this is the year you will do so.’

  ‘Losing all our earthly goods does not feel much like blooming to me, Rose.’

  Rosemary laughed. ‘I was speaking to Mrs Roberts about your predicament and she said she has rooms you could rent now that her son has left home. I think they are quite small, though, and the kitchen would need to be shared. Milly dropped in to see me, by the way, and sends her love. She has been offered a job in the tannery in Stepney and says she will take it now that your home is gone.’

  The everyday crept into the extraordinary even as Belle tried to call it back.

  She had no idea as to what to do next, which direction to take. She felt uneasy here in these rooms in the middle of London, but Mrs Roberts’s rented space did not feel right either. She wanted her house back and her life back. She wanted to walk the streets of Whitechapel and see familiar faces and yet even that was lost to her now given the carriage accident and the fire. She also wondered if both events could be related and what that meant for her.

  * * *

  Three hours later another visitor knocked on their door and Lady Lucy, accompanied by her maid, was shown in.

  ‘I hope it is all right to visit you, Miss Smith. I am back from Balmain for a few days and after hearing about the fire I just wanted to see for myself that you were...safe.’

  ‘I am. Your brother has been most kind and allowed me the use of these rooms until others more suitable can be found.’

  ‘Then I am glad for it. I will be returning to the country on the morrow, but I wanted to thank you for all you have helped me with. I thought last time we met I was rather...occupied and I hoped to set things right between us.’

  She smiled and glanced at her maid standing to one side of her.

  ‘Well, I see you are much recovered now and you certainly look to be in fine health.’

  ‘The country air does wonders for the spirit and you should join me one day, Miss Smith. A small sojourn away from the city might be just what you need, too.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Belle left it at that. She did not want to travel to Balmain to find the Earl there given her most inappropriate behaviour. She also did not wish to be anywhere near his mother.

  As if Lucy had read her mind she began to speak of her brother. ‘Thorn has news, too. He will be married to Lady Catherine Dromorne before the end of the year so we now have a wedding to plan which should take my mind off things. Thornton and Lady Catherine have been promised to each other for years, according to Mama, and she is more than happy with the union.’

  The shock of such words had Annabelle swallowing. The Earl had caressed her when he had known he was promised elsewhere in Holy Matrimony? He had stood there and asked to kiss her, taking her words of consent without any attempt at honesty.

  He was exactly the man she had first thought he might be in her drawing room, wearing his pink waistcoat and his fingers full of rings. Shallow. Disloyal. A rake. Looking around the room, she saw other things that had not made sense before, but now did. The removal of the intimate paintings and statues had left a discoloration of the walls beneath them that was still visible.

  ‘Is this where your brother kept his mistresses, Lady Lucy?’

  She knew it was rude to ask such a question and saw Lucy’s eyes widen. The maid behind looked away, trying her hardest no doubt to simply blend in with the wallpaper.

  ‘I do believe that it might have been, Miss Smith.’

  There was a knowledge in her gold eyes that told Belle other things as well. The Earl’s sister had come with a warning and with her particular donation of truth. Take it as you will, she might have said, but understand the consequences. The consequences that I had to deal with. Make your decision while knowing all the facts.

  ‘Mrs Wollstonecraft’s book has allowed me a new outlook on life, Miss Smith. The independence you spoke of is indeed a gift. Lady Luxford sends you her warm wishes, too, for I saw her yesterday at the town house. They had just had Lady Catherine and her family for afternoon tea, I believe, to welcome them into the fold.’

  An intertwining ton, all the pieces fitting and the promises kept. How foolish she had been to think she could have ever been a part of that.

  ‘But I have also brought you something, Miss Smith.’ She turned to the maid behind her and the woman handed over a small package wrapped in brown paper. ‘Thorn said most of your possessions were lost in the fire at White Street and I remembered the painting I gave you and assumed that it, too, was gone. Would you accept the twin of that one as a replacement? It would mean a lot to me if you did.’

  The wrapping fell away easily, this painting done in blues and greens rather than with the reds and purples.

  ‘It’s by the very same artist, but whereas the original’s title was “Autumn”, this one is “Spring”.’

  ‘Thank you. It is beautiful and I shall treasure it.’

  The rebirth. The rebuild. A regeneration.

  Perhaps it was applicable to her situation. Perhaps now she had to find the courage to rise from the ashes of her life like a phoenix. Like Lucy herself had with the sort of bravery that Mary Wollstonecraft advocated?

  Belle felt shattered and broken, the question of what happened next hanging like a sword across her head. She could not stay here, that much was for certain.

  When Lucy stood and made to leave, she decided to accompany her down to the carriage, just to have a moment away from these rooms and to be out in the open air of the day. But as they came on to the street Lucy gasped and turned to grab her hand and Belle saw a man standing there a few feet away watching them. He looked vaguely familiar.

  ‘Lord Huntington?’ Lucy’s voice was small and frightene
d and Belle’s heart began to beat fast. So this was Albert Tennant-Smythe, the trickster who had stolen Lucy’s virginity and left her compromised in every way.

  She stepped in front of Lucy, sheltering her. ‘You are not to come anywhere near Lady Lucy, Lord Huntington, for your behaviour towards my friend was appalling and heinous and, believe me, you shall be punished for it.’

  He smiled at that and moved forward.

  ‘I mean it,’ she said in a louder voice now, her good hand coming up to push him back. Mr McFaddyen had gone to find medicine for her aunt after eliciting a promise that Belle would not open the front door. Now that she had she was alone in this. Still, she was hardly defenceless and if the foolish Earl wanted to create a scene on the street, then she was more than willing to give him one.

  She screamed as loud as she could, a piercing desperate cry that would bring people running. But before she could utter more than a few seconds’ worth of sound Huntington had stepped forward, his hand across her mouth.

  She bit down hard. Years in the tenements of Whitechapel had honed her reaction to danger and he leapt back, blood running down his fingers and ill-mannered words in the air.

  ‘You slut. You stupid ugly pretender.’

  He raised his fist and Belle pushed Lucy backwards, expecting the force of his anger to land on her as she did so. But then everything changed. The Earl of Thornton came from nowhere, barrelling into Huntington with force and sending them both sprawling on to the street beside her, arms and legs flailing and in virulent fury.

  Chapter Eleven

  Albert Tennant-Smythe was about to hit Annabelle. Lytton could not believe it.

  He charged, but the Earl had his forearm raised, blocking his fist, an elbow ramming into Lytton’s side and, as he rolled away, Huntington’s hand reached under his shirt and a knife glinted in the dullness of the day. Lytton felt the stab of it in his forearm and dimly heard a scream before his other arm deflected steel so that the wicked point hit stone and the weapon skittered away.