Courting the Countess

by Donna Hatch

  More importantly, happy conversation filled the house, and her smile brightened every room. The old castle began truly to feel like a home. He was beginning to fear he wouldn’t be able to live without her.

  She caught him watching, and paused, her brows raised inquiringly. He stiffened and left the room, silently swearing if Tristan ever came near her, he’d throttle the blackguard.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  At the commencement of the ball, Elizabeth stood in the receiving line wearing a new scarlet gown of sarcenet silk and feeling like a queen. Already, she’d received even more compliments on her gown than she’d dreamed, and her maid had outdone herself on her hair. She touched the strand of pearls around her neck and squelched the thought of how lovely the family rubies would look with the gown. It didn’t matter. Tonight she’d have an unforgettable evening and she would let nothing mar her happiness.

  She felt poised, confident, and beautiful—unique sensations, to be sure. Better yet, at her side, Richard played the perfect host.

  “Welcome,” Richard said to a couple that had just arrived. “How is your son? Home yet from Oxford?”

  “Yes, and off again on a lark with some of his school chums,” the wife replied with an exaggeratedly mournful tone.

  Richard laughed. “I remember those days well. I hope he enjoys himself. Thank you both for coming.”

  Knowing most men despised balls, Elizabeth searched for signs of annoyance as Richard greeted his guests, but he remained gracious and charmed their guests with skill and finesse that surprised her. Clearly, he and Tristan were not as different as she’d first believed.

  Everyone invited arrived. The musicians played as fine as Elizabeth had ever heard, the decorations were stunning, and laughter filled the drawing room.

  She admired the shine in Richard’s black waves, his brilliant smile, the contours of his face. Her eyes moved downward to the perfection of his form and the pleasing way his superfine molded to his chest and shoulders. Again, his subtle masculine sensuality tickled her senses and touched a secret longing inside.

  The Wentworths’ arrival hit Elizabeth like a bucket of cold water. Elizabeth glanced at Richard, but his expression was too schooled to determine his reaction.

  “Welcome,” he said. “We’re delighted you have come.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth replied, but Elizabeth focused only on Leticia, the hitch in her breathing and the shielded hurt in her eyes as she looked at Richard. They stood nearly the same height, betraying Leticia’s eyes moving down to Richard’s mouth as if she longed to kiss him.

  A small place inside Elizabeth cried out in sorrow, and some other dark emotion she could not so easily name let out a less lady-like noise, but she quickly shushed it. The Wentworth family exchanged a few pleasantries before moving away to allow Richard and Elizabeth to greet other guests. Again, Elizabeth watched Richard, searching for signs of loss regarding Leticia. A pursing of his lips and stiffness in his shoulders were her only clues to his distress. He cast a single, long look at Leticia. After taking a quick, sharp breath, he tore his gaze away and greeted the next guest.

  Elizabeth found it increasingly difficult to dredge up a cheerful greeting and hoped at least she managed to look pleasant.

  Once the remainder of the guests trickled in, Richard leaned in. “You look stunning tonight.”

  Surprised, she looked up to find unexpected kindness in his eyes. “As do you.”

  When they were finished with their reception line, Richard extended a hand and offered an inviting smile. “Will you do me the honor of standing up with me for the first set, my lady?”

  Stunned by the brilliance of his smile, and still reeling from his transformation into the perfect host, she could only nod. Warmth seeped from their joined hands through her kidskin gloves and traveled up her arm straight to her heart.

  He rested his other palm at the small of her back as they moved onto the dance floor, a gesture both possessive and intimate. Her stomach did odd little flitters at his touch.

  “It’s unfashionable for a gentleman to dance with his own wife, you know,” she teased.

  “Perhaps. Nevertheless, we live in the Big House here, so we have the luxury of creating customs.”

  She only smiled in return, her cheeks heating under his direct gaze.

  As others formed a line behind them, Richard took a step nearer. “You’ve done an outstanding job of putting together this ball, my dear.”

  My dear? The admiration shining in his face rendered her momentarily mute. Elizabeth swallowed. “I’m gratified it meets with your approval.”

  The music began, and as they bowed and curtsied to one another, his eyes gleamed with promise. Heat traveled up her neck to her face, yet she could not look away. Richard was without a doubt the most handsome man in the county, and the desire shining in his eyes left her breathless. She admired the strength of his jaw, the shape of his lips, the breadth of his shoulders.

  He led her smoothly through the dance steps, and each time she had to release his hand to take the hand of the man beside her, she had the odd sensation of being lost.

  Once they made their way to the end of the line and waited for the sequence to repeat before being drawn back into formation, she looked up at him. He smiled down at her. Wonder and delight at his attentiveness mingled within her.

  He made a loose gesture toward the windows. “Is it my imagination, or are the draperies new?”

  “They’re new, but it’s the original pattern. I found the mill that produced it and had them make more. I thought they were so lovely and so keeping with the character of the house that I couldn’t bear to change them.”

  His teeth flashed, but his eyes were soft. “You’ve done an amazing job. Of everything.”

  Her own lips curved in reply. “I enjoyed myself, actually.”

  The dance drew them into the pattern again, leaving no more room for conversation.

  As the first dance in the set ended, she curtsied. Emboldened by his approachable demeanor, she touched his sleeve. “My lord.”

  He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “My lady?”

  “Thank you for the dance.”

  “May I be so bold as to ask you to save a waltz for me?”

  “A waltz?”

  His grin left her weak in the knees. “I know it’s quite daring, but considering we’re married, I don’t think we need permission to engage in such scandalous behavior.” His eyes twinkled.

  She offered a rueful smile. “I doubt very much a waltz will harm my reputation.”

  “I’ll have words with anyone who dares speak against you.” His tone was light, but an intensity touched his eyes that revealed his fervor.

  Maybe he was only protecting his own name, but the idea that he would defend her was a heady joy.

  The next dance in the set began, preventing further conversation, but Elizabeth’s heart lightened and her feet followed suit. At the close of the set, he bowed again over her hand, then brushed his lips over her cheek. The rush of heat spreading over her left her with the desire to fan herself. With great reluctance, she parted from him and moved among her guests. Still, her eyes strayed time and time again to Richard as he played the perfect host.

  When the next set began, Richard bowed before Leticia and asked her for a dance. Elizabeth’s light heart filled with lead. Trying to stifle feelings best left un-named, she turned away and acknowledged a few late arrivals. As the face of a newcomer became clear, Elizabeth’s stomach dropped to her feet. Tristan entered the room looking more handsome and dashing than ever.

  He stood across the hall from her speaking to one of the guests, a beautiful young widow with golden hair. The widow tilted her head coquettishly at Tristan, and he threw back his head and laughed. The blonde put a hand on his arm, leaned in, and whispered in his ear. Even at this distance, Elizabeth clearly saw his brows raise and a smile flash. The widow turned and sauntered toward a door leading into the great hall, her hips swaying seduc
tively. At the door, she stopped and looked over her shoulder in a clear invitation. She sashayed out.

  Tristan stood leaning against the wall, grinning. In a quick, graceful motion, he pushed off the wall and exited after the widow.

  Bracing her hand on the wall, Elizabeth closed her eyes against the sting that Tristan had already begun to woo a new, or perhaps former, conquest so quickly. She thought they had connected in a deeply emotional way. She’d thought he loved her. Clearly, Tristan really was every bit the rake of his reputation. A painful truth stared at her.

  He had never loved Elizabeth.

  Perhaps she was truly unlovable.

  Her breath came in painful little gasps. She needed to escape before someone saw her fall apart, but a crowd stood between her and the way to the great hall. She’d best go out to the terrace. With head high and a smile fixed on her mouth, she moved outside. Finding the terrace occupied with several couples, she followed the steps down to the path and sought refuge underneath a bower of wisteria. She sank down, barely feeling the cold stone bench, and focused on finding her composure.

  True, Tristan never loved her. However, she had a good husband. Tonight, Richard’s actions encouraged her. One day, they might reach an accord—perhaps even true affection. They might not ever fall in love, but from now on, she would put all her energies into building a friendly relationship with Richard. After all, friendship was almost as good as love between husband and wife. Wasn’t it? She sat, inhaling the scents of flowers and growing things, and searched her heart for a way to reach her husband.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  To show the assembly nothing was amiss between his family and the Wentworths, Richard asked Leticia for a dance. Her manner restrained, she accepted. Though she attempted to hide her hurt behind a mask of gaiety and conversation, he knew her too well to miss it. After searching for some words to offer, he decided that saying nothing regarding their situation would be the most prudent course of action.

  “The house looks magnificent,” Leticia said as they danced together.

  Richard followed her gaze. “We have a houseful of staff now. Father let so many go after my mother left that I got accustomed to having very few servants around. I admit, it’s been returned to its former splendor.”

  Nodding, she smiled too brilliantly and the conversation ground to a halt.

  A moment later, he said, “How’s your sister?”

  “Very well. She had her baby, did you know?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “A girl. They are both fine.” She nodded. “Everything is…fine.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Richard longed for the dance to end to break the forced conversation, a unique problem between them. Always before, he’d been so comfortable with Leticia and they’d never found dialogue difficult. Now they had resorted to such mundane topics. What next? The weather?

  As the music ended, he bowed. “Thank you for standing up with me, Leticia, and thank you again for coming. Your presence here, I’m sure, will help put to rest any lingering rumors about the origin of my…marriage.”

  Without meeting his gaze, Leticia curtsied. “My pleasure.”

  He escorted her back to her mother, who smiled politely but didn’t quite meet his gaze. After he bowed, he made his escape. Shaking off thoughts that Leticia would have been his wife if all would have gone according plan, Richard mingled with the guests, searching for Elizabeth. He found her dancing with Mr. Drummell.

  Exquisite in her red gown, his wife shone like a ruby amid a sea of white. Her hair shimmered and her flushed cheeks and flawless, creamy complexion declared her a true beauty. Then she smiled and his heart nearly stopped. His gaze followed her womanly curves as she moved among the other dancers. Poised and graceful, she couldn’t have been a finer countess. Perhaps he’d been too hasty when he’d decided not to consummate their marriage. He could, of course, rectify the situation if she were willing. He hoped very much that Elizabeth was willing.

  And yet, that dark little voice that always whispered in his ear spoke again, cautioning him against getting too close to the woman who could ultimately destroy him if he let her into his heart.

  “A fine selection of stuffed shirts, you have here, O’ brother of mine, but at least you appear to have an equal number of skirts here, too, ripe for the plucking.”

  Richard turned to Tristan. “Are you really that vulgar, or do you just say that to annoy me?”

  “Annoying you is one of my favorite pastimes.”

  “Right below chasing women?”

  Tristan looked wounded. “They chase me.”

  “Right.” Richard scowled. Unfortunately, that appeared to be true, the dog.

  Tristan made a point of looking about himself. “The place looks good.”

  “Elizabeth’s doing.”

  “I knew she’d be a good woman to have around.” Something in his tone failed to meet the lighthearted tone he’d no doubt intended. Tristan cleared his throat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have pretty ladies to meet.” Tristan clapped him on the shoulder and moved off to a group of young ladies clustered together.

  At least he didn’t appear to be hunting Elizabeth. Richard caught sight of Leticia leaning rather heavily against a column, fanning her overly pink face. He threaded through the crowd to her side, searching for Mrs. Wentworth to bring her to her daughter, but did not find the woman. He’d best see to her himself.

  “Leticia? Are you faint?”

  She startled at his approach. “I think I’m a bit overheated.”

  “Let’s take you out for some air.” He guided her through the open doors into the cool night. As they walked in the garden, a breeze cooled his face and seemed to restore her. Their feet crunched in the gravel as they walked underneath Chinese lanterns, and in the distance, a nightingale trilled.

  “You’re not usually the fainting type,” he commented.

  “No. I’m probably just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well—” She broke off. “Never mind.”

  Richard winced. “I’m sorry about everything, Tish. If I’d married you a year ago—”

  “Tristan would have dueled with the Marquis of Martindale and been hurt or killed,” Leticia finished.

  “I would not have allowed that to happen. I would have reached a compromise with Pemberton.”

  Her breath caught and made an odd hiccupping sound.

  Richard glanced at her to see tears trailing down her cheeks. A kick in the stomach would have hurt less, and he nearly groaned out loud. “Leticia…”

  Brushing away her tears, she halted and turned to face him. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a watering pot.”

  He wished he could offer a comforting embrace as he had as a child. Instead, he settled for placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a little squeeze. “You are a fine woman. A jewel. Now that you’re not waiting around for me, you can pay attention to all the young bucks who’ve been pining away for you all along.”

  She laughed, a soft, sad sound. Then she leaned up and kissed his cheek. It would be, he knew, the last. Her lips lingered as if reluctant to end that final touch. He put a hand on her back, wishing he could enfold her into his arms and squeeze away the hurt as he’d done when she’d come to him as a child, broken hearted that one of her father’s horses had trampled her kitten. He couldn’t hug her now, of course.

  With more passion in her voice than he’d ever heard from her, she declared, “I’ll always love you, Richard. Only you.”

  Sniffling, she hurried away. Richard stood alone and winded. He fisted his hands. He was, without a doubt, the world’s biggest scoundrel—right next to Tristan who’d caused all the trouble.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  With her heart nearly choking her, Elizabeth froze, rooted to the ground, while her husband and his true love stood close together in the moonlit garden underneath a rose bower, close enough for Elizabeth to hear and see them all too well.

  Leticia rested one hand on Richar
d’s chest and another on his cheek. She leaned against him, lifted her head, and kissed him, a long, lingering kiss. Richard didn’t step away, rather he reached up and put a hand on her back while they kissed in the moonlight. When Leticia stepped away, she stood looking up at him.

  Leticia’s voice drifted to Elizabeth on the night air. “I’ll always love you, Richard. Only you.”

  Hurt and dismay burned Elizabeth’s eyes until she could barely see. Footsteps and the rustling of silk faded away. Elizabeth tried to breathe but the pain in her heart constricted her chest. Alone now, Richard stood unmoving, clenching and unclenching his fists, obviously wrestling with himself over the desire to run after Leticia. No wonder he’d shown no inclination toward Elizabeth. He still loved Leticia.

  How long before he took her as a lover? He’d be discreet, of course, yet the thought of his unfaithful affections smote her to the heart. No matter how hard she tried to prove her value to Richard, he still longed for another.

  Or perhaps he had already taken Leticia as his mistress. He might have been having an affair with Leticia since before the marriage. It made sense. He’d certainly shown no affection for Elizabeth. Her father had done exactly the same thing with Elizabeth’s mother—he’d left an unwanted marriage and returned to the woman he truly loved. Why should Richard be any different?

  Immediately she chided herself for such thoughts. Leticia was a gently bred lady who would never behave in such a scandalous manner, nor would she destroy her younger sisters’ chance for marriage to respectable men. Besides, Richard would never ruin a lady.

  Those facts did not change the bald truth that Richard and Leticia were in love. He would never love Elizabeth and would one day grow to resent her.

  Rejection slammed into her, tearing through her heart and leaving behind destruction.

  She fled to her bedroom, threw herself onto her bed, and sobbed like a child with a broken heart. How long she wept before she had no tears left to shed, she could not have said. Left only with hopeless sorrow, she lay spent on the counterpane, hiccupping. Her head throbbed with every beat of her wounded heart.