How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1)

by Karen Hawkins

  “He was quite determined to find her.”

  “He was like a madman. So I suspected he would jump at the chance to finally confront her here; there’s too much unfinished business between them.”

  Margaret watched as Sin stalked from his horse and glared at MacLure, who was reaching up to assist Rose from her horse. Though Margaret couldn’t hear what was said, it was obvious that Sin won the encounter, for the groom stepped away and allowed Sin to assist Rose. The second her boots touched the flagstones, Rose grabbed her wet skirts, heaved them over one arm, and made her way to the door as fast as her weighted skirts would allow.

  Sin watched her go, then spun on his heel and marched in the opposite direction.

  Charlotte sighed. “Oh dear. It looks as if they’re not even speaking. They really haven’t talked much, have they? Just argued.” She shook her head sadly. “It doesn’t sound like love to me.”

  “I don’t think it is—yet. They must get to know each other, and that is where they’re failing. If only there was some way to get them on the same side instead of opposite sides . . . ” Margaret’s gaze was unfocused, her voice distant.

  Charlotte waited.

  After a few moments, the duchess smiled. “I have it! Charlotte, I’ve been thinking about this all wrong.”

  “How so?”

  “They need a common enemy, someone they must overcome together.” She caught Charlotte’s confused expression. “Never mind. Give me the list of wagers.”

  “The list . . . but why?”

  “Just give them to me and I’ll explain later.”

  Charlotte removed the small paper and handed it to Margaret, who tucked it into her own pocket. The odd smile on her face gave Charlotte hope. “I know exactly what to do to keep our troublesome couple together,” the duchess said. “What’s the one thing Sin won’t do?”

  Charlotte pursed her lips. “The one thing you want him to?”

  “Exactly. Now come.” Margaret slipped her arm through Charlotte’s and they strolled toward the door. “We should see to our guests. Two of them have stomped off, but the others will be cold, tired, and ready for lunch.”

  • • •

  The next afternoon, Sin came downstairs to find Rose standing in the foyer pulling off her gloves. Her back was to him, and she was humming a tune he didn’t recognize.

  It was the first time he’d seen her since their disastrous ride. Last night he’d eschewed dinner and had gone for a wild gallop through the chilly evening air, staying out until all of his aunt’s guests had retired for the evening. The punishing ride had been good for him: his frustrations and soreness had disappeared with the exertion. The clarity of thought also served to remind him that he had a limited amount of time to seduce Rose, and he had to stop allowing his pride to get in the way.

  This morning he’d awoken much refreshed and able to view his fight with Rose from a more honest perspective. He’d even managed to chuckle when he thought of how the two of them must have looked, slogging into the house soaked from head to toe.

  As he’d dressed, he’d wondered if Rose was also seeing the humor in the situation, or if she was still angry. The urge to talk to her had made him hurry through his dressing and, leaving behind an astonished Dunn, Sin had made his way to the breakfast room.

  The room had been empty except for Mr. and Mrs. Stewart, who had been eating dry toast and sipping tepid tea. Pushing aside a surprisingly sharp feeling of disappointment, Sin had decided to wait in case Rose joined them. He had asked MacDougal for a cup of coffee and The Morning Post. When they arrived, he’d taken the seat farthest from the Stewarts and had tried to read, but to no avail. The elderly couple had filled the silence by discussing the many foods they could no longer eat. They also expounded on their various health issues in graphic detail.

  Sin had learned far more about the Stewarts than he’d wished to and he’d finally bestirred himself to ask a footman if Miss Balfour had already eaten. Upon being informed that she’d been the first one to breakfast hours ago, he’d made his excuses and escaped, cursing the waste of a good thirty minutes.

  For the next hour, Sin had wandered through the house, and then out onto the grounds. He’d given up all hope of finding Rose and was climbing the stairs in search of MacDougal to enlist the butler’s superior knowledge of the castle when the front door had opened and Rose had walked in.

  She was wearing a dark green pelisse over a walking dress of pale yellow that made her look even younger than usual. She undid the ribbons on her straw bonnet and tugged it off, and then tried to smooth her riotous curls. The step he was standing on creaked, and she turned, her blue eyes wide. For a moment she stared at him, then her lashes dropped and she gave him a small, colorless smile. “Lord Sinclair. Good morning.”

  It was the exact greeting she would have given a stranger. His chest tightened. “Good morning.” He came the rest of the way down the stairs. “I was looking for you.”

  Her gaze grew wary. “Oh?”

  He smiled. “Have you thought about how we must have looked yesterday, trudging through the house in our dripping clothes?”

  Her lips quirked, and the sparkle he liked returned to her eyes. “We must have looked ridiculous.”

  “Utterly.” He leaned against the newel post at the bottom of the stairs as a footman approached to take her pelisse and bonnet.

  They waited for him to leave before Sin asked, “I see you’ve been marching about the grounds.”

  “Ah, the mud on my boots gives me away.”

  “Not as much as the mud on your cheek.”

  Her hand flew to her cheek, but at his soft chuckle, she dropped her hand back to her side and gave him a curious look. “You are in a much better mood this morning.”

  “Yes. Enough so that I realize that I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have tossed you into the river.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have. However . . . I did run your horse into the water—a little. So perhaps I deserved it.”

  “Perhaps we deserve each other.” He realized that he wanted nothing more than to swing her into his arms and bury his face in her ruffled curls. “Where are the others this morning? I can find no one except Mr. and Mrs. Stewart.”

  “The gentlemen were walking up from the stable when I came past; I think they were looking at a horse Mr. Munro wishes to purchase from Roxburghe. Most of the women are gathering on the terrace for the archery contest.”

  He thought of how Miss Muriella could barely see across a room to identify her own sister, and how Lady Charlotte squinted whenever she looked across the dining room table. “That sounds dangerous.”

  “Only if you’re a target.”

  “Are you skilled at archery?”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Oh yes. Caith Manor is secluded, so we often shoot to while away the hours. I daresay I’ve drawn far more bows than you.”

  “So you think you can beat me?”

  “Oh yes,” she purred. “And with this hand.” She held up her left hand.

  The cheeky wench! Sin left his station by the post and captured her tormenting hand. “Rose, when will you accept that I will always win?” He pressed her fingers to his lips, his gaze locked with hers. “Always.”

  “Pah!” Her color high, she tugged her hand free. “I bested you yesterday.”

  “You cheated.”

  “I had a strategy. A successful one, too,” she said with a playful smile.

  She looked at him through her lashes and his irritation faded away. “Stop trying to bamboozle me,” he said, exasperated with himself. “You’re not going to change my mind by trying to look innocent. I’m immune.”

  A gleam appeared in her eyes. “You didn’t feel immune when you kissed me yesterday.”

  “Neither did you,” he pointed out.

  Her gaze narrowed. “In a direct contest, I wonder which of us could withstand the temptation of the other the longest?”

  “That would be quite a contest.” The idea of teasing her in s
uch a way made his cock stir. He’d tease her until she panted for more, until she begged him to take her, and then he’d—

  “You’re breathing hard.” She said it in the same tone that she might use to mention the weather or discuss a book she’d just read.

  He found himself imagining how enjoyable it would be to shake her from her pragmatic self and awaken the bold, adventurous part of her that kept slipping through. “I’m doing far more than breathing hard. I’m imagining all of the things I’d like to do to you.”

  Her eyes widened. “Now? Here?” She gestured to the foyer around them. “But someone could come at any moment!”

  “Which is half the fun, don’t you think?”

  Her mouth opened, and then closed, and then opened again. Her gaze flickered past him, to the steps and front door, and then back, but there was no fear in her gaze, only excitement. “Fun?” she asked. “Or is it madness?”

  “Is there a difference?”

  She started to answer, but then frowned. “Yes. There is a difference.”

  She looked sad, as if that thought were forced from her.

  He slipped a finger under her chin and lifted her face so the morning sun shone directly on her. “It’s hell being bound by propriety, isn’t it?”

  She managed a smile. “No. I’m just being silly. Sin, we can’t do this—”

  He took her hand and walked to the back hallway until they were tucked out of sight of the bright foyer. Once there, he turned to her. “Is this better?”

  An odd light entered her eyes and he could almost feel the excitement building in her. She was coming alive, blooming before his very eyes. She likes the excitement of the unknown as well as I do. We are alike in that, we two.

  “Shall we?” he asked. Without awaiting an answer, he stepped forward until he was almost toe-to-toe with her, then he captured her hand and placed her fingertips on his chest. “Can you feel that?”

  Beneath his embroidered waistcoat was his cambric shirt, barely muffling the rapid beat of his heart. “Can you feel that?” he whispered. “Feel my blood thundering?”

  Her eyes widened and she nodded.

  “You do that to me.” He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her own tumultuous pulse, her skin warm beneath his lips. Their eyes locked as the air about them grew thick, and he slid his lips from her wrist to her palm, blowing gently as he did so.

  She shivered and swayed toward him.

  He dropped her hand and moved away.

  Disappointment flickered over her face and he grinned. “Now we know who is less able to resist the other.”

  Rose’s jaw firmed. “Do we?” To his surprise, she grabbed his hand and placed it at her throat. Her skin was warm and slightly damp from her recent exertions, her pulse fluttering wildly.

  Her boldness held him in place. At the touch of her warm skin under his fingertips, he decided to show her how unaffected he was, and gently slid his hand over her shoulder to the back of her neck to draw a shiver.

  She gasped and, with a shaky breath, pressed herself to him, which made his cock harden instantly. He slipped his hands about her waist and—

  The sound of approaching footsteps made them part just as Miss Isobel appeared at the top of the stairs. She leaned over the banister.

  Sin quickly stepped away from Rose and leaned against the opposite wall so that it appeared as if they were engaged in a desultory conversation, a proper amount of distance between them.

  “Ah, Miss Balfour and Lord Sinclair!” She waved and then came down the steps to join them. “Good morning,” she said, looking toward the drawing room doors. “Have either of you seen her grace this morning?”

  “No . . . ” Rose and Sin said at the same time.

  Rose cleared her throat. “I haven’t seen her grace since yesterday. She wasn’t at breakfast this morning.”

  Miss Isobel frowned. “I wonder where she is? She graciously offered to bank—”

  “Miss Isobel, there you are!” Aunt Margaret came out of the small salon just to Rose’s left.

  Sin belatedly realized that the doors, which were usually closed, had been wide open. Damn it, had she been listening? He wouldn’t put it past her.

  “Good morning, Miss Isobel,” Aunt Margaret said.

  Miss Isobel made a quick curtsy and then looked around the foyer. “Where are the pugs, your grace?”

  “Charlotte made the error of putting large bows about their necks this morning, which looked lovely, but sent Weenie on a rampage. She hates ribbons and started quite a fuss. MacDougal removed what was left of the bows and took them all for a walk to settle them.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Yes, Charlotte is very sorry for her behavior. By the way, after adding the wagers I received this morning, I must say that you seem heavily favored to win.”

  Miss Isobel beamed. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “You are taking wagers?” Sin asked Aunt Margaret.

  “Yes, on the archery contest we’ve planned for this afternoon.”

  “I’d heard about that.” He turned to Rose. “I’ve half a mind to challenge you to an archery duel, Miss Balfour. I believe I could best you at that, too.”

  “Too?” Miss Isobel’s gaze flickered between Rose and Sin. “In what other things have you bested Miss Balfour?”

  “Getting soaked, for one.” Aunt Margaret took Miss Isobel’s arm and led her toward the small salon. “Sin, your tomfoolery will have to wait another day; the archery contest is for women only.”

  Sin frowned. “But I wish to shoot, too.”

  “The men are playing billiards,” she said airily. “I believe the vicar is coming and has some special cigars. Mr. Stewart was quite ecstatic about them.”

  Sin tried not to glower, and failed. “And if I wish to participate anyway?”

  “You can’t. The rules and contestants have already been set, and people are placing their wagers. You and Miss Balfour already caused enough of a jangle when you didn’t hold a proper race yesterday. It took us an hour to return the funds for the wagers Mr. Stewart had collected, though we’re still short ten pounds. I don’t know what he could have done with it, but poor Mr. Munro accepted the loss with very good grace.”

  Miss Isobel nodded. “Her grace is now our banker.”

  “Yes, and I’m recording each wager, and keeping the money in a tin for safekeeping. Come, Miss Isobel!” The duchess tugged Miss Isobel into the salon and closed the doors firmly behind them.

  “My,” Rose said, “that was a bit odd.”

  “Yes, it was, even for Aunt Margaret.” He looked at the closed doors. “I wonder what she’s trying to do now. Or rather, what she’s trying to get me to do.”

  Rose sent him a surprised look. “You think your aunt is attempting to manipulate you?”

  “She never stops. The problem is more in deciphering her purpose, so I can thwart her.”

  Rose chuckled. “You and your aunt have a very interesting relationship.”

  “She tries to interfere, and I try to stop her. We’ve been having this dance since I first stepped into my father’s shoes at seventeen.”

  The smile on Rose’s face fled. “That’s very young. What hap— I’m sorry, I shouldn’t even ask.”

  He shrugged. “It happened a long time ago. My parents were killed in a carriage accident.” He wasn’t certain why he’d told her that; he could count on one hand the number of people he’d spoken to about his parents’ deaths.

  “I’m sorry. That must have been devastating. It’s difficult to lose a parent.”

  There was something about the way she said it that gave him pause. His gaze narrowed on her and he noted the faint downward turn of her soft lips. It was only there for a second before she smiled politely, but it was enough. “You’ve lost a parent, too,” he said.

  “My mother died when I was eleven. Father threw himself into working on his greenhouses, which left me with most of her household duties and the care of my two younger sisters.”<
br />
  Just as I assumed the care of my two younger brothers when I was seventeen. He knew the weight of that simple sentence and he found himself regarding her in a new light. “That’s a heavy burden for one so young.”

  “I suppose so, but it’s never felt like it.”

  He eyed her for a long moment. “That explains quite a bit.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as why you’re always ordering me around.” It also explained why she flared to life when challenged. He’d been forced to grow up too quickly as well, thrust into a world filled with heavy responsibilities and cares. It had left him with an almost unquenchable thirst for excitement, one he recognized in Rose.

  Sin suddenly realized that however he felt, Rose must feel it twice as strongly, as her childhood had been taken from her at an even younger age. At least he’d had a few years of joyful freedom before he’d been called back from school to step into his father’s shoes. A pang of sympathy hit him, but he frowned and quickly shoved it away. Rose deserved a lot of things, but not pity. Never that. No, she deserved fun, excitement, and the freedom to enjoy it without feeling the pull of responsibility—all of the things she’d been denied in her childhood.

  He could arrange for some of those things now. Those things wouldn’t change the true circumstances of her life, but they could add a little spice to the thin gruel life had served her.

  He grinned at her. “For the record, Balfour, not only do you attempt to order me around, but you’re damned high-handed in the way you do it, too.”

  She bristled. “Well, you give quite as good as you get, so that sword cuts two ways.”

  “I’m sure it does,” he agreed. “Now I know why you were in London with your aunt, and not a closer relative.”

  “Aunt Lettice is my father’s oldest sister.” Rose made a face. “She didn’t relish bringing me out and only did so grudgingly. After our disaster at Lady MacAllister’s, she’s flatly refused to bring out either of my sisters, though she’d promised to do so.”

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  “Yes. I feel very guilty about it and worry that they’ll be stuck in the countryside, with no options for their futures.”