How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1)

by Karen Hawkins

  He bent to capture her lips when she raised her hands between them. “Sin, what are you doing? What do you want?”

  “For us to enjoy each other and take this passion wherever it goes.” He sank his hand into her hair and tilted her face to his. “Come and enjoy life with me, Rose. Stop worrying about what may happen or not happen. You and I have already had too much of that in our lives.”

  She met his gaze directly. “And then?”

  He shrugged. “Then we go our separate ways, happy to have shared our lives for a short time.” He smiled down at her. “You must admit that’s a much better ending than the one we had before.” He bent and nuzzled her neck, tasting the sweetness of her. At the touch, his body roared to life, but she was pushing him away once again.

  “No, no, no.” She spun away and began to pace the carpet. “This is exactly what I feared would happen.”

  He watched her hips sway under her gown. “What is?”

  “Sin, don’t you see what’s happening? Every time we’re together, we fall into this—this mad way of doing things that rushes us toward a bad ending.”

  “Being attracted to each other is bad? Enjoying the gifts life has given us is mad? If that’s madness, then I welcome it.”

  “But you and I aren’t the only ones involved.” She was becoming more and more agitated, waving her arms as she talked. “We’ve got to control this, stop it. We lived through the outcome of this before and neither of us should have to go there again.”

  “At one time, I thought the same.”

  “At one time?” She stopped pacing to stare at him, her eyes narrowed. “You thought that very thing the day I arrived!”

  “I’ve changed my mind. Now I want—”

  “Oh, shush.”

  He blinked. She’d shushed him. Never, in all of his days, had anyone shushed him. He didn’t know what to say.

  “Six years ago,” Rose said, “my impulsiveness led to a kiss, that much is true. But it was your unchecked passion that made it so . . . ” She shook her head. “I still feel that same shock when you kiss me today. You and I are like kindling. One touch of a match and we burst into flames.”

  “Which is good—”

  “Which is bad. Do you know how short of a time kindling burns? I don’t want that, Sin. I don’t want that sort of relationship with anyone.”

  He hadn’t really thought about their having a “relationship.” His smile slipped.

  “Furthermore,” she continued, “you’ve made my life awkward and uncomfortable.”

  “How so?” he demanded.

  “Because . . . things have changed because of you. I don’t even know if I can go back to Caith Manor and be happy again.” Her smile wavered. “I used to read and ride horses and do the accounts and help my father with his horticulture. Now all I do is think about you.”

  He didn’t know what to say.

  She saw his indecision and her lips thinned. “Your aunt was right: engaging in such shenanigans with you is fool’s play, and I’m the fool. Well, from now on I won’t think about you at all. Good-bye, Sin.”

  She spun on her heel and marched from the room like a victorious general, leaving him. Yes, leaving him. If fury were a color, the entire room would ooze red. Without knowing why, he reached for her, catching her wrist and spinning her back to face him.

  Her back stiffened. “Let me go.”

  “No.”

  Her eyes flashed, but just as quickly, she appeared on the verge of tears, which made his heart feel as if it had been stabbed. “Sin, what do you want?” she asked.

  Damn it, he didn’t know what he wanted. He only knew he didn’t want to see her walking out the door. Yet his pride wouldn’t let him say that aloud. He’d be damned if he’d be that vulnerable to anyone, especially her.

  And why should he? She was the one threatening to leave, not him. “You and I began this with two wagers: one on a horse race, which you won by cheating, and one on an archery contest, which I won by talent.”

  Disappointment flickered over her face and she pulled her arm free of his grasp. “We are done with that.”

  “We’re tied, Rose. We need one more wager to break it.” He wasn’t certain what that one more wager would accomplish, but at least it would give him more time.

  “No.”

  He stepped between her and the door. “You can’t leave. Not until we have a resolution.”

  Her eyebrows lowered, and she attempted to walk around him.

  Sin took a step toward her. He wasn’t planning to do anything rash; he just needed to get closer to her in some way. To show her.

  Her lips firmed into a line and, with a muttered curse, she slipped past him and behind a chair. “Stop right there. I am done talking.”

  He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but b’God, he was going to do something. “Well, I’m not.”

  She gripped the back of the chair and eyed the doorway, obviously measuring her escape route.

  He picked up the chair and tossed it aside, ignoring the crash of crystal as it struck a side table and sent it and a candy dish toppling.

  Rose gasped and whirled to run . . . but she made it only two steps before he caught her, swooped her up, and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

  Seventeen

  From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe

  I vow, I cannot seem to walk past a window without seeing my great-nephew carrying Miss Balfour somewhere. All great romantic poems have such scenes where the hero, in a fit of passion, sweeps the heroine off her feet. Sadly, it appears that Sin’s technique is questionable.

  I’m surprised that, with all of his supposed experience with the gentler sex, he doesn’t realize that women do not like to be carried in a way that musses their hair and leaves them with unattractively red faces.

  Sadly, yet another conversation I shall have to have with that boy.

  Rose grabbed at his coat with both hands. “Put me down!”

  “No.”

  “How can you— Don’t you— I’m going to— How dare you!” She beat on his back with her fists as he crossed the room and threw open one of the terrace doors. “Sin, no! You can’t take me outside like this; someone will see us!”

  “One benefit of my aunt’s guest list is that none of them can see a thing at a distance. Their hearing is equally poor, so feel free to yell for help.” As the cool evening air enveloped him, a drop of wetness fell on his face. He rested his hand on her backside, holding her in place when she began to kick.

  “Let. Me. Down. Now.”

  As he crossed the terrace, he lifted his face to the misty rain. He could feel her gown dampen as it thirstily soaked up the droplets. “Rain is good for the soul.”

  “But not for my good shoes!”

  He looked at the silk shoes, pulled them off her, and tucked them into his pockets.

  “Sin—”

  “Shush.” Damn, that felt good.

  She gave a screech of fury and pounded on his back.

  He didn’t give a damn. His temper had risen from slow simmer to boiling until he was left with one desire: he wanted Rose to be every bit as upset as she’d made him. This time he would be the one laughing, not her.

  As he reached the end of the terrace, his gaze fell upon the small punting boats beside the lake. He smiled grimly and strode toward the water.

  Rose was still struggling to free herself, so he rested his arm more tightly across her legs. “Stop squirming or I’ll drop you.”

  “Fine!” she snapped, squirming all the more.

  He smacked her bottom with a firm hand.

  “Ow!” She stiffened and then pounded on his back with her fists. “Don’t! You! Dare!”

  He chuckled, careful not to slip on the wet grass. Something moved against his coat and he looked down to find one of her curls twined about the breast pocket. Two weeks ago, he’d have sworn that Rose wasn’t a beauty in any sense of the word, but he was finding certain things about her appealing.


  He was especially fond of the impertinent curls that clung to his coat even now, made him yearn to touch them. He knew they would be deliciously soft, and lively, far from the tepid silkiness of other women’s hair. Rose’s hair had a life of its own, especially now that it was damp from the misting rain. It frothed and clung, curled and twined, as if trying to tangle him up with its mistress.

  She turned this way and that, trying to see where he was headed. “Where are you going? Sin, this isn’t funny! I’m going to— What are you doing?”

  He’d reached the lake. With a quick heave, he bent and dumped her into one of the punts that was half in the water, the long pole held loosely in place by a large metal ring on the bow.

  She scrambled for balance in the bobbing vessel, finally grabbing the sides and holding herself upright. “What are you—”

  He placed his boot upon the bow and shoved the punt into the water.

  “Oh! You—” She glared as the boat scooted into the lake, raindrops pattering like tiny explosions all about her.

  “You’d best grab the punting pole.”

  She looked around. “The what?”

  “The punting pole. It’s—” The pole fell from the ring that held it in place and dropped into the water.

  Rose was now adrift in a punt, no pole in sight. The rain was quickening, too, and her gown was soaked at the shoulders. “You can’t do this.”

  “I can, and I did. And now, I believe I’ll join my aunt and her guests for dinner.”

  She muttered something under her breath and then scrambled to the front of the boat, where she cupped her hands and tried to paddle. But the flat-bottomed punt only turned slowly in place.

  “You’re wasting your time.”

  She kept paddling and the punt began to move backward a bit, away from the shoreline.

  She dropped back to her heels and scowled at him, panting. “Fine. You’ve made your point.”

  “Which is?”

  She opened her mouth and then closed it. “I have no idea.”

  He crossed his arms. “You blame me for your own lack of self-control. For every kiss you’ve gotten, I’ve gotten one back. It’s a two-way street, my love. And you are not alone in fighting this attraction that flows between us.”

  She met his gaze for a long moment, the only sound that of the plop of the rain upon the lake. Finally, she said, “I suppose you’re right. I don’t like feeling so . . . vulnerable.” Rain had thoroughly wet her hair and now it frothed and curled about her head like a halo.

  I don’t like feeling vulnerable, either. “Perhaps we both feel that way at times.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “Perhaps. I must admit that you’ve been honest about your desires.”

  He lifted a brow. “And?”

  “Oh, for the love of—” She pressed her fisted hands to her eyes. “Fine!” She looked up. “I shouldn’t blame you for all of our kisses. Some of them were my fault.”

  “Another home truth. A pity it had to be wrested from you.” He started to turn back to the house.

  “Sin, you can’t leave me floating here!”

  “Why not? You once ran me and my horse into the river, and I didn’t even have the luxury of a boat.” He rocked back on his heels. “If I were you, I’d sit back and enjoy the solitude.”

  “The duchess will miss me at dinner.”

  “Not after I pass on your regrets. Headache, you know. The kind only a good sleep will cure.”

  Her lips thinned. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Wouldn’t I?”

  Her gaze flickered across him, the lake, and then her boat. Suddenly her lips quivered and she chuckled. “We are fools, Sin.”

  Her smile softened his irritation.

  “Maybe we deserve each other.” She shook her head. “I don’t know, but you’ve made your point.”

  “Trying to bamboozle me, sweet?”

  “No. Just agreeing with you. I’m stuck here, so I might as well enjoy it.” She reached into the pocket of her gown and pulled out the book that she’d gone to such lengths to retrieve from the library. “At least I have something to read.”

  “I’ll leave you to enjoy it.”

  As he turned, she opened the book. “I hope this mist won’t get the book wet.”

  He kept walking.

  She said loudly, “It’s your uncle’s book and such a beautiful one, too. Leather and quite old. And look! There’s even an inscription to him from— Heavens, is that from the king?”

  Sin stopped and turned.

  She ran her hand over the book, which was beginning to shine with dampness. “I daresay your great-uncle prizes this book. Your aunt might, as well. I do hope I don’t drop it in the lake.” As she spoke, she held the book over the water.

  “You little minx.”

  She put a hand to her cheek and looked so pretend-shocked that he seriously thought about stomping through the water and tipping her over. Without the book, of course.

  She looked at him. “Would you like to have your uncle’s book back? We all know how he loves his library.”

  He had to give her grudging respect. “You are the cheekiest woman I’ve ever met—even while floating in the middle of a lake in a rudderless, paddleless boat.”

  “I’m also wet and getting hungry, and I’ve no wish for my new gown to get ruined.” She lifted her brows. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to trade? The book for a pole so that I may rescue myself?”

  He glanced up at the sky. The drizzle had stopped for now, but it might come back at any moment. “Fine.” He removed a long pole from another boat. “Grab the end and I’ll pull you closer.”

  Soon, she was within the pole’s length from the shore. “Hold tightly to the end of the pole,” he ordered.

  She did so and he released it. “Now, throw me the book.”

  She tossed the book, which landed far behind him in the yard.

  “Now we’re even.” She sat down to thread the pole through the metal ring that would hold it in place. “Thank you for the lovely boat ride. I only wish it had come after dinner. Without rain, of course.”

  “Just for the record, we still have matters to discuss.”

  “No, we don’t. We won’t meet alone again.”

  “We will. Before you leave this house.” With that, he bowed, scooped up the book on his way, and continued on to the house.

  As annoying as it was to admit, thanks to his temper, he was back to step one with Rose. Pushing her out into the middle of a lake in a paddleless boat would hardly make her trust him again.

  He absently looked down at the book in his hand, opening it to the inscription. Roxburghe, this is to replace the one I lost. Cousin Harry.

  Sin stopped. Why, that little . . . She’d said it was inscribed from the king! He turned and saw her tying her boat to the dock. With an efficient dusting of her hands, she began to walk up the lawn. Seeing the book open in his hands, she grinned and waved.

  Sin clamped his jaw together and continued toward the house. As soon as his back was toward her, though, a faint smile slipped through. He never knew what would happen with Rose Balfour. Perhaps the time had come for some surprises of his own.

  Feeling more hopeful, he entered the castle, informing MacDougal that Miss Balfour had been taking the air and might now need an umbrella.

  Eighteen

  From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe

  My uncle used to say that regret is a bitter spice best served with warm bread. I have no idea what that means, but every time I’ve repeated it to someone, they always look much struck, as if the saying is both profound and pragmatic.

  I wonder if this advice would be helpful to my great-nephew? I must find something to urge him onward . . .

  Dunn held up Sin’s Hessians and eyed the mud caked on the heels. “Has the duchess taken to serving dinner in the middle of the wet woods?”

  “That happened before dinner, when I went hunting,” Sin said, stretching his feet to the fire. />
  “Ah. Hunting. Before dinner, no less. As I don’t see a bruise upon you, I assume Miss Balfour didn’t accompany you.”

  “Oh, she was there.”

  “Of course she was. I shall put your boots in the hallway and have them cleaned.”

  Sin nodded absently. If their little trip to the lake had done nothing else, it seemed to have cleared the air between him and Rose. She’d arrived twenty minutes late to dinner, claiming issues with a hem. Usually a stickler about dinner times, Aunt Margaret had taken Rose’s tardiness with amazing calm and had kindly offered the use of her dresser for any further repairs Rose’s wardrobe might need.

  And for the first time since they’d arrived at Floors, Rose’s seat wasn’t at the far end of the table, but a mere two places from his. Not close enough for conversation, but several times they’d found themselves sharing an amused glance over something their companions said. Often that glance turned into a smile. And with every smile came a memory of a kiss or a touch. At least it did for Sin. For her part, other than looking slightly flushed, Rose seemed far less affected.

  Truly, this was the oddest flirtation he’d ever indulged in; it was more of a trial by fire.

  Dunn returned and went to the fire, where he’d hung a small brass pot. He used tongs to lift it from the fire and to open the lid.

  The scent of cloves and rum tickled Sin’s nose. “Your hot toddies are magical, Dunn.”

  “So I’ve been told, my lord.” The valet poured some into a cup and handed it to Sin.

  “Thank you, Dunn. You’re a good man.”

  “Thank you, my lord. May I inquire as to your plans tomorrow, so that I can lay out your clothes?”

  “There was talk of a game of pall-mall, but you know how I detest that.”

  “Yes,” Dunn said drily. “As much as you hate archery and whist.”

  “That borders on impertinence.”

  The valet hid a smile, but bowed.

  Sin had made certain Aunt Margaret knew his feelings on the subject of pall-mall. He’d hoped they’d planned something that would allow him to spend some time with Rose now that their silence was at an end. But the Misses Stewart seemed enthralled with the idea, as did Mr. Munro, so there was little Sin could say to turn it. “I may ride while the others are playing that infernal game.”