The Notorious Countess

by Liz Tyner

  He’d barely knocked when the latch opened. A shadowed face stared at him.

  Blazes. This was Fox’s amour?

  She wore one of the little caps like his grandmother had worn and spectacles, and her hair escaped from under the cap and straggled around her face. The tiny candle she held gave her shadows he supposed he should be thankful for, and the dress—long-sleeved with hanging things and loopy frizzles around her neck. His grandmother would never have worn anything so frightfully odd looking.

  Surely she wasn’t—? ‘Tilly?’ he asked.

  She raised the candle up, then down, then up again. He’d never seen a candle follow the gaze so.

  ‘Dash it,’ she muttered and took a step forward, nearly singeing him with the flames. He stepped away from the tiny wick.

  ‘Tilly?’ he repeated, knowing without any hesitation she was Tilly.

  Andrew looked at the spinster, clamped his jaw and then opened his mouth, choosing his words delicately.

  She let out a whoosh of air, nearly putting the candle out. He stepped backwards and she lunged, grabbing his sleeve. ‘Inside. Quick.’

  He hardly had a choice—she was about to burn him with the flame. He puffed the candle out.

  Dragging him into the house by his arm, she muttered, ‘Dark. Pardon. Follow me. I know the way.’

  He kept his steps guarded, hoping not to trip over her skirts.

  ‘Oh, my,’ she muttered, moving towards a narrow band of stairs, pulling him along behind her.

  He planted his feet firmly at the base of the stairway used by the servants. ‘Fox is deeply distressed—’

  She turned to him, still gripping his sleeve. ‘Shh,’ she whispered. ‘We can talk in...’ she paused ‘...upstairs.’

  ‘Very well.’ He must accept that she had to guard her reputation.

  * * *

  She opened the door to a cramped room with a small bed, not big enough for his length. A wardrobe hulked over the space in the corner. A rather unappealing chamber, although it was hard to tell with only an insignificant candle lit—far from the bed. The room had cooled from the day’s heat.

  She lit a lamp and placed it beside the candle. Then she pulled the chair closer to the bed, pointing him towards the seat of it. She sat on the bed and held out her arm, indicating he sit. Next, she clasped both hands on her knees.

  This was not the shy, grief-stricken woman he’d expected. He sat. ‘You appear to be forgetting about my cousin rather well.’

  ‘Your cousin?’ She firmed her lips. ‘I am deeply distressed. Very sad.’

  ‘I thought you might be dejected by his loss of affection.’

  ‘Yesterday, I was,’ she said, ‘but this morning I woke up all afresh.’

  He stood. ‘I am pleased to hear that. I must be leaving—’

  She also rose, and then took his hand.

  ‘I am so desolate.’ Her shoulders slumped. ‘Beyond despair.’

  He stared at her and she smiled. ‘If it means a chance to keep you here longer,’ she added. ‘Once I saw you standing at the doorway, I completely recovered.’

  He examined her face. ‘So you have not really been sorrowful over the loss of Fox in your life.’

  ‘Fox? Lord Foxworthy?’ She leaned forward. ‘In truth, I danced with him once.’

  Andrew didn’t speak.

  ‘He’s a bit over-fond of himself, if you ask me,’ she said. ‘And wears those indigo waistcoats to make his eyes look bluer. Plus, he flutters his lashes too much when he’s talking.’

  ‘His mother buys those waistcoats for him and he wears them to please her. Underneath all that nonsense he spouts, he’s not a bad person. Though he has been complimented on his eyes about one hundred times too much for his own good.’

  ‘Personally...’ she leaned forward ‘...I like a nice brown in eye colour.’ She appraised him. ‘Though it’s hard to tell in this light.’

  ‘I think there’s been some mistake,’ he said.

  ‘No mistake,’ she said. ‘And you do not have to, um...’ She shrugged. ‘The earrings. Fox may keep them. I don’t want them. Meeting you is all the reward I need.’

  He took in a breath, his thoughts exploded and everything became very clear. ‘I am...so relieved.’ Fox! Andrew would let him choose what clothing he wished to be buried in, and then Andrew would assist with the final arrangement of his cousin’s body.

  She put a hand near her face and fanned as she stared at him. ‘I could see you as a knight, or a conqueror. Something majestic. But I am sure you hear that all the time.’

  He needed to make sure she knew this was not a transaction. Nor was it to be an adventure such as in the sordid tales Fox told. ‘I think you might have formed a wrong conclusion.’

  ‘Yes.’ In the dimly lit room her teeth flashed. ‘I thought you might be rather...um, unsightly. Rather old.’

  ‘Speaking of age...’ He stepped into the middle of the room. ‘How old are you?’ he asked.

  She moved farther from him. Her mouth opened, but she didn’t speak.

  ‘Age?’ he repeated.

  ‘Twenty-six. Barely.’

  ‘You jest.’ Maybe ten years ago.

  ‘I assure you,’ she plucked the spectacles from her face and leaned closer. Then she paused and her eyes remained on him, but her head turned to the side. Her voice softened. ‘You did not think I could be twenty-six?’

  Without the eyepiece, he could tell she was younger than he’d first thought. His courtesies did not desert him, although his honesty did. ‘I cannot believe you a day over twenty-three.’

  She placed the spectacles on the nightstand, then gave a pleased tilt of her head, smiling. ‘And your age?’

  ‘Two years older than you.’

  ‘Perfect,’ she said, touching a hand to her face.

  A spot of red darkness showed on her knuckles. Surely this lady had not injured herself over Fox? He could not pull his eyes away. ‘What is that?’

  She raised her hand, looking at the back. ‘Vermilion.’ She shrugged. ‘I painted this morning. Just a miniature I am working on. I have a few supplies here.’

  He breathed again.

  Her fingers reached out and clasped his.

  For a moment they both stood motionless, the room soundless.

  ‘I expected—’ She seemed to have trouble with her words. ‘I didn’t expect you to be so... Well, I thought you’d be more— You’re not—’

  At her appraisal, pleasure sparked in his body.

  She exhaled a breath that came out as a sigh. ‘Oh, my.’ She peered at him. ‘You’ve legs like a racehorse—only more my speed.’

  He tipped his head in recognition of her compliment. Women did not comment on a man’s legs, but he was quite willing to let her continue.

  ‘And shoulders.’ Her hand still held his, but the free one patted along the top of his coat. ‘Hard to believe.’

  He concealed his smile. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘A reward. For me.’ She chuckled and released his fingers. She clasped her hands at her chest, almost bubbling her words out. ‘I am so very grateful. I did not expect a man anything like you.’

  ‘You’ll get the earrings,’ he said. ‘But they will be from me. Not my cousin Foxworthy. And simply a gift of friendship. Nothing else.’

  She tiptoed up and spoke, her lips almost against his ear, and the wine scent of her breath touched his nose. ‘I will treasure the gift. A memento of a wonderful meeting. Between friends.’ Her hands patted down his arms, then moved to his chest and gave little brushes. ‘Lord Andrew, I would have found time to get away from my painting had I realised men like you were about.’

  She leaned closer. She smelled of—not some jarring scent which spoke of illicit pleasures, but wholesomeness. Of home and hearth.

  She wobbled a bit and he steadied her, both hands on her waist. She must have had a considerable amount of wine.

  ‘I should leave,’ he said, still holding her. The garment bunched under his touch. S
he felt like a wraith under her clothing. The dress did not fit her at all.

  ‘Yes, you should. But not just now.’ She melted against him with a satisfied, ‘Ah...’ that he could feel from his chest to his heels. ‘Let me enjoy this moment. It has been a very long time since—’ she had her arms around his waist ‘—never.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘Well, never like you. You’re all sturdy. And you smell a bit like a tree. I’ve never been near a man who smells like a forest.’

  Rivers of warmth flowed in his body and he moved carefully, trying to keep her clothing from gathering under his hands and letting the shape of the woman underneath wisp into his mind. She had a nicely rounded derrière. Perfect, in fact.

  But that didn’t matter. He needed to leave. Now.

  He stepped back as he moved to extricate her hands, but she stumbled. He steadied her.

  ‘Did you drink an awful lot?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I was rather enjoying being close to you and wanted to continue. If you would just stand there a moment longer. Small price to pay. Much less expensive than earrings and, from my perspective, better than any jewellery.’

  The door seemed to be getting further away.

  With the delicacy of handling an eggshell, but the firmness of his strength, he took her arms and held her erect while he moved back. ‘I must be going. I have a cousin to throttle.’

  She gasped. Her smile evaporated. ‘Well, that was a slap across my face.’

  He didn’t move. ‘I would never—’

  She interlaced her fingers. ‘I would have preferred you to have said something along the lines of, I must go now. I wish to thank Foxworthy for the chance to meet you.’ She slid her hands apart and her fingers splayed, before she waved him away. ‘Never mind.’

  ‘Miss Tilly, I did not mean any offence.’

  She took in a breath so big he was surprised any air remained for him to breathe.

  ‘Ohhhh. Never mind. Truly. Never mind.’ Her hands flared out at the sides of her body. ‘What you said reminded me of quite a few very unpleasant things.’

  He took her hands, not saying a word until her fingers relaxed. ‘I would not wish to remind you of anything bad. And I am not the least upset at Fox for engineering the chance to meet you. I am only displeased that he tricked me.’

  ‘I would not really rate that as high on the betrayal scale as some things a cousin could do. And I suspect my cousin has been quite the little vindictive wench in my life. She always has been so sweet to my face. So kind, and yet, now that I look back, I suspect on those moments she was kindest, she was really most cruel.’ She bit her lip for a second. ‘I just realised that I have been befriended for years by someone who possibly delighted in every bit of misfortune I have had.’

  She turned, folding her arms across her chest, and looking to the wall. ‘Perhaps you should go now. I have a cousin to throttle.’

  She shivered. He didn’t know why, but the movement reminded him of a little bird who’d fallen from the nest. He couldn’t very well leave and not put her back on firm footing.

  Placing his hands on her shoulders, he rubbed softly, soothing the tremors. He leaned down, lips close to her ear. Voice soothing, he said, ‘Simple fix, really. I’ll introduce your cousin to mine. It will all work out. They’ll take care of themselves for us.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, leaning back against him, moving so her face was only inches from his. ‘I suspect they have already met...’

  ‘Then we must make certain they see more of each other.’

  ‘You’re perfect. Handsome and vengeful all in one.’

  He wrapped her in his arms. He had no choice. ‘Not normally. Handsome, that is.’

  ‘Modest, too.’

  ‘Extremely.’ They stood so close, comfortable, as if they’d been friends for years. She caused the most satisfying warmth in his body. ‘But I really must go. And I am pleased Fox provided me this opportunity.’

  The door didn’t get closer. Wasn’t really his fault. And this was an innocent encounter. The mob cap reminded him to take care. A woman in a cap did not incite any desires in his body—much. He brushed his face against the cloth and his hands clasped at her waist. The fabric of her gown bunched under his fingers. He smoothed it gently.

  ‘Are you by chance in search of a mistress?’ she asked. ‘I would like to apply for the post. Temporarily only.’

  ‘No. I want no entanglements.’

  She squeaked.

  She pulled away, her warmth leaving his body, but she turned and, even in their closeness, threw herself against him, holding him with all her might. ‘No entanglements. Vengeful, and legs to spare. This is too perfect. I am dreaming.’ She relaxed away from him, put her hand up, feeling his jawline, running her hand up until her fingers nestled in his hair. She chuckled. ‘You can be in my dreams any time.’

  ‘I would be honoured. But...’ he placed a kiss on her nose, surprising them both ‘...I must arise early in the morning.’

  ‘I completely understand.’ Her breath touched his lips.

  ‘Goodbye.’ At the end of the word, their lips met. Nothing mattered but holding her. Their kiss ended, but only barely.

  ‘It was nice to meet you,’ she whispered against his skin.

  Andrew let his fingers drop over the hooks at the back of her gown, amazed at how easily the clasps slipped open. ‘Likewise.’

  She pressed against him, causing his desire to rampage. The pulses of heat in his body could have melted carriage wheels.

  One of her slender fingers traced down, stopping at the knot of his cravat. ‘I do not understand how you men wear such things. They look so stifling.’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed it before. But you’re right. It’s decidedly warm.’

  ‘And it will be much—cooler in here if you remove it.’

  Reason entered his thoughts. He could not risk the morass of passion.

  But then azure eyes flickered at him and lips parted, and he was looking down into a perfect face. He cupped his hands to her cheeks just to hold her for a moment. Tilting her head back, he pressed his mouth against hers. Nothing in the world mattered, but Tilly.

  Her body pressed into his arousal. She shivered and kicked her shoes away.

  Then she snuggled close again and he reached down, tilting her chin up so he could see her lips. Luscious red, full, shaped with promise for a man’s gaze.

  A promise they delivered on. No other woman had kissed him with the innocent abandon she had.

  This woman was worth waiting for. But he didn’t want to wait. He’d waited a damn lifetime and a half. He could wait—later. The last hooks fell away at his fingertips and this time when she stumbled, he fell with her on to the bed, cushioning their fall with his hands. They were half on the bed, half off.

  Putting a knee on the bed, he slid her to its centre, looking into the most the angelic form he’d ever seen.

  She half-sat. Her hand stopped just before she reached her lips. She moistened her fingertip with her tongue. Then rubbed her finger at the fullest part of her bottom lip. Placing a kiss on her finger, she blew it in his direction.

  She reached down, slowly, bringing her dress up the length of her legs. The creamy whiteness contrasted with the room. She lifted her skirt higher, and higher, and he could not move. She stopped, just before unveiling herself completely, and he was frozen, awake but dreaming.

  Her knees moved apart, the fabric of her gown sliding down, covering the valley between her legs. ‘I want to be the first thing you think of when you wake tomorrow.’

  He regained the use of his voice. ‘I can assure you, you will be the first and only woman I think of tomorrow.’

  He reached for the cravat at the same time as he heard a muted irate voice, and footsteps outside the door. And he was too far from the candles to snuff them.

  ‘—and then she threw me out bodily and told me she would send my things to Mother’s, but I want my clothing now—’ The screeching
voice stopped and a strange woman stepped inside, followed by a man he knew.

  The pair became immobile. The architect took up the entire doorway.

  ‘Pardon me,’ Andrew said, giving a light bow.

  ‘Oh, my,’ the woman with the lamp said, then she smiled and looked up at the man beside her. She turned her eyes back to the bed. ‘For shame.’ She snickered.

  ‘Tilly. Leave.’ The man’s voice sliced the air into slivers.

  Andrew looked to the bed. Tilly didn’t move. The woman with the lamp, however, put her hand on the door facing. ‘I guess you may as well send my things. I don’t need them as badly as I thought. I need to have a few words with Mother. And she thinks I’m— Ha!’ She waved. ‘Farewell.’

  She flounced out.

  Andrew looked on the bed at Tilly and saw that her skirts had managed to slip down to demurely cover her knees, and she reached up to push the shoulder of her dress correct, but it didn’t stay.

  ‘Wilson,’ he inserted, moving a step towards the bed, shielding Tilly’s body from view. ‘I understand your wish for decorum in your household and I regret the display, but I do believe Tilly’s mistress is away and she is not needed, and we were just leaving.’

  ‘Get. Away. From. Her.’ Wilson’s fists clenched and his eyes had a cold stare.

  The woman pushed herself up and she stared at the architect. ‘Don’t you have somewhere else to be?’ she asked.

  Andrew looked to the bed. A companion should not speak so to the master of the house. ‘Tilly?’

  Andrew dodged the fist. Heard the woman scream ‘No’ behind him, and then next thing he knew, she’d thrown herself between them.

  Just as deftly Andrew moved her aside. He stood ready to flatten the other man.

  ‘Will,’ she snapped out from behind Andrew. ‘You shouldn’t be in Tilly’s room.’

  ‘My house!’ Wilson growled. ‘Lord Andrew, I do not know how you convinced my sister to dress in such attire to satisfy some strange craving you might have. I would never have thought you leaned that direction.’

  Hell, Andrew thought as another realisation erupted inside him. He had erred. Just like his father. But he was not wed and he would not disgrace Tilly. ‘This woman and I,’ Andrew said, ‘are extremely fond of each other and are considering marriage.’