The Widowed Countess

by Linda Rae Sande

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  The Widowed Countess

  Linda Rae Sande

  This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

  The Widowed Countess

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2013 Linda Rae Sande

  V1.1

  Cover photograph © RomanceNovelCovers.com

  Cover art by KGee Designs.

  All rights reserved - used with permission.

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  ISBN: 978-0-9893973-3-9

  To Jocko, Dan, Jimmy, Sean, Nick, Alex,

  Ross, Joss, J.J. and all the other

  men who live to inspire

  Chapter 1

  Parlor and Pillow Talk

  March 1817

  Clarinda Fitzwilliam, Countess of Norwick, greeted her morning callers with her usual grace and happy demeanor, complimenting Lady Torrington on her gorgeous gold and blue morning gown and relaying her good wishes to Lady Pettigrew on the just-announced betrothal of her oldest niece to the eldest son of a marquess. The two women had appeared at the front door of the Park Lane mansion at exactly ten o’clock, as if they carried chronometers and timed their arrival to exactly match when it was acceptable to pay a call on a lady of the ton. Clarinda did not mind; she received callers nearly every morning at ten and paid her calls in the afternoons, timing her visits so they would end just as she was to make her way to Hyde Park for the fashionable hour.

  She pulled the bell to summon a maid, nodding when the young girl appeared and curtsied. Asking for tea wasn’t necessary. All the maids in Norwick House knew to deliver a tea cart if they were summoned to the parlor.

  “I must warn you that I may have to briefly take my leave of you,” Clarinda spoke in a lowered voice to her visitors, her slightly amused expression indicating she was letting them in on a joke. “I believe Lord Norwick is having one of his mornings.” She said this last with a roll of her eyes, implying her husband might require her presence to soothe his grouchy countenance. As if on cue, the bellowing voice of David Fitzwilliam made its way into the parlor. “Porter! Where the hell is Lady Norwick?”

  Despite expecting the summons, Clarinda was still a bit startled. “Oh, dear,” she murmured, a hand coming up to her bosom as she watched her callers’ faces suddenly turn more pale than they already were, while her own took on the blush of a chit fresh out of the schoolroom. “Adele, could you see to the tea for me, please? I’ll be just a few moments,” she said as she stood and made her way to the parlor door, her teal silk day gown swishing about her long legs as she moved.

  “But, of course, Clarinda,” Lady Torrington answered, her brow rising. “Is everything ..?”

  Clarinda waved a hand through the air and turned before she made her way over the threshold. “He will be fine,” she assured her friends, wondering for that brief moment if she would be fine – she was having a hard time calming the excitement she felt at her very core. “He has some important meeting with someone today, and it’s his valet’s day off,” she added with a shake of her head before disappearing into the hallway.

  Despite being married to David Fitzwilliam for nearly four years, she still responded to the man as she had that first night they’d met at the now-late Earl of Everly’s ball while admiring the current Earl of Everly’s tank of tropical fish. Her pulse raced, her breasts swelled, heat pooled between her thighs and she ached for his lips on hers. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, she was nearly running in anticipation. She didn’t need to knock on the earl’s bedchamber door; it stood wide open. She peeked in, a tooth catching her lower lip and her eyes bright as she regarded her handsome husband.

  He glanced at her, his harsh expression softening as he motioned for her to enter.

  Clarinda stepped into the room and shut the door behind her, driving home the lock as she kept her hands behind her back and regarded him with an elegantly arched eyebrow.

  “I cannot decide between the dark blue or the scarlet,” David growled as he regarded his reflection in a cheval mirror. Two topcoats were spread out on the bed’s counterpane, their haphazard placement a testament to his having pulled on both of them before bellowing for his wife.

  Pushing away from the door, Clarinda slowly walked up to stand in front of her husband. He was at least six inches taller than she, his dark brown hair reflecting a few golden highlights in the morning sun that made its way through the east window. Although David was nearly forty, he only looked it when he scowled, an expression he used to frighten the servants in Norwick House and the footmen at Parliament. Square-jawed, with cheekbones that could have been chiseled in stone and brown eyes under dark lashes and straight brows, he was a very handsome man. No one would expect him to be an aristocrat, for his nose was broader than a blade, and it didn’t sport the hook that so many of the lords seemed to have inherited from some common ancient ancestor.

  Clarinda regarded her husband with a gaze that swept slowly down his broad-shouldered body, as if she was taking stock of his crisp, white cravat, gold waistcoat, white linen shirt, and buff breeches. She barely noticed the clothing, though, remembering instead what he had looked like earlier that morning when she’d woken to find him sprawled on her bed. Naked, aroused and thoroughly male, he had her begging for his manhood even before he could strip the night rail from her body. His lips had performed their magic on her throat and breasts, his tongue tracing moist lines down her belly and his fingers expertly sliding into the swollen, honeyed folds between her thighs. He had her so aroused, she gave into the release of ecstasy and was shocked when he thrust himself into her so fast and so hard, she nearly fainted from the second wave of pleasure that tossed her body as if she were a rag doll.

  Aware that her husband was watching her, she dared a glance at him through the veil of her dark lashes. From his gaze, she wondered if he was remembering the same thing she was. Reaching out, she slid the palm of her hand against the ridge of his hardening erection, the fabric of his breeches separating her hand from his skin. She heard him hiss, felt his entire body go rigid. With her free hand, she deftly undid the placket buttons of his breeches, removing her hand from the fabric only to reestablish her grip on his naked arousal. Her thumb passed over the bulbous head, already wet and
throbbing from her brief ministrations.

  “Clare,” David forced out between clenched teeth, the word not indicating if she should stop or if she should continue.

  Clarinda reached down with three fingers of her other hand and slowly lifted his balls, using her middle finger to stroke the dip between them at the same time her other hand slid down the length of his shaft, squeezing the velvety steel rod as hard as she could. Bucking suddenly, David let out a growl and grabbed her shoulders with both hands, as if to steady himself. Repeating the strokes, Clarinda could feel his body give way, knew in a moment he would be caught in ecstasy and unable to stop his release. She quickly lowered her head, bent her knees to the Aubusson carpet, and slipped her mouth over the head of his erection, feeling a great deal of satisfaction at the sound he emitted when her stroking tongue performed its magic on him.

  David’s sudden and rather loud curse could be heard throughout the entire household and quite possibly by some of the grooms in the carriage house behind the mansion. For a fleeting second, Clarinda wondered what the two older ladies in the parlor were thinking.

  She hoped they wouldn’t send a footman for a Bow Street Runner.

  Running her tongue over his tip again, Clare once more suckled him as hard as she dared with her lips. The actions incited another reflexive jerk and a curse that sounded suspiciously like a prayer of thanksgiving.

  “Jesus, Clare,” David breathed heavily, his entire body seeming to slump as she slowly withdrew her hands and quickly buttoned his breeches, acting as if she hadn’t just had her wicked way with him. “What the ..?” he started to ask, his eyes closed. His question was stopped as her lips took purchase on his, wet and tasting like sex. Even before he could command his lips to return the kiss, Clarinda gently pulled away and regarded the two topcoats spread out on the counterpane, her manner suddenly all business.

  “And what of the russet coat?” she wondered, thinking there should be a third choice that would look so much better with the breeches he wore.

  David, his breaths still a bit short, got out another curse under his breath. “One of Everly’s damnable fish splashed water all over it,” he replied, his furrowed brows indicating a hint of disgust.

  Clarinda’s eyebrow arched up again, her lips barely curling. Even at a quick glance, David could tell she was trying to suppress a much larger grin of amusement. “One of his goldfish?” she wondered, trying to remember if any of the adventurer’s tropical fish were large enough to cause a water splash capable of ruining David’s best topcoat. Their glass aquarium was rather voluminous, but the fish inside were all on the small side.

  “No,” David replied with a shake of his head. “Something rather larger. Much larger. He called it a tiger shark. Damn thing nearly drowned me.” At Clarinda’s serious look of stunned surprise, he added, “I swear, those fish of Everly’s will be the death of me,” David claimed, not bothering to apologize for any of his frequent curses.

  Clarinda rolled her eyes as she regarded her husband. “I do not understand how it is you cannot get along with his fish,” she replied cheerfully. “They’re in a giant tank. Swimming about in water,” she added, one hand waving in the air as if it was a fin.

  “Water!” he affirmed. “And when they see me, they start jumping about as if I plan to eat them, which I would gladly do if I was ever allowed in his house with my fishing pole. Cook could make those little beasties into quite a delectable appetizer,” he vowed with a cocked eyebrow.

  The thought of fish made into anything caused Clarinda’s stomach to take a tumble just then. She forced herself to quickly swallow as she reached over to where the blue cutaway coat lay on the bed.

  “Wear the dark blue, my lord,” she stated as she opened it and held it out for him, brass buttons gleaming in the morning light that shone from the window. “With that waistcoat and those breeches, you’ll look like you’re in the army if you wear the scarlet.”

  Her husband blinked at her, his gaze almost doe-eyed as he took in the sight of her slightly flushed face, almond shaped aquamarine eyes, and perfectly coiffed brunette hair. One thick lock was curled and hung in front of one shoulder. And she was wearing the teal day gown he so liked, its elegant silk skirts almost revealing the shape of her bottom and the lines of her long legs when she walked. The bodice was snug enough that her breasts had to mound just a bit above the neckline. “Yes, my lady,” he replied, sliding his arms into the coat, his legs still a bit unsteady beneath him. The thought of fish appetizers was long forgotten.

  “Do have a good meeting,” she said, her lips curling just a bit as one eyebrow arched up. Although she was curious as to where and whom he might be seeing, she did not ask. As long as he wasn’t off to a brothel or a liaison with a supposedly bereft widow, Clarinda did not pay much mind to his destinations. However, if she discovered he hadn’t honored his marriage vows – and, according to the investigator that occasionally sent her notes as to her husband’s comings and goings, he had been faithful – she knew he would regret the poor choice. She would no longer make herself available in that way. Nor would she put up with his cursing or do to him the kind of wicked things like she’d just done as he struggled over what to wear.

  Having not yet given him an heir, Clarinda knew she held the upper hand when it came to her husband’s behavior. Knowing that was about to change, though, she feared he might return to his premarital bad boy behaviors. Prior to his announcement nearly five years ago that he intended to seek a wife, his reputation had him employing multiple mistresses, secretly owning a brothel catering to gentlemen (an establishment he was said to frequent so he might personally sample the merchandise) and, more publicly, owning a men’s club that served only the very best liquors and employed only the very best courtesans in London.

  David regarded her with an expression suggesting he knew exactly what she was thinking. His hand slid down to her belly, covering it protectively. “It’s about estate matters, nothing more, I promise,” he whispered before kissing her on the forehead.

  Clarinda gave him a brilliant smile, secretly pleased she had demanded he honor his marriage vows all those years ago. She might have caused a great deal of grief among the ladies of the evening as a result, and perhaps had garnered the envy of several ladies of the ton who could not claim the same level of fidelity from their own husbands, but she had no regrets. As a daughter of an earl, she’d had more than her fair share of suitors from the night of her come-out; she wasn’t about to accept anything less than good behavior from the man she agreed to marry. “I really must get back to the parlor. I do hope Lady Pettigrew hasn’t asked Porter to call for a constable,” she said with a teasing grin, one eyebrow arcing up.

  His eyes widening in alarm, David straightened. “You have callers?” he whispered hoarsely, the look of shock replacing his normally stoic expression. “You minx!”

  “It’s after ten, my lord,” she countered with a sly grin. She gave her husband a deep curtsy before backing up to the door and unlocking it. “Do have a good trip.” And then she hurried back down the stairs and through the hall, catching her reflection in one mirror and deciding she didn’t look as if she’d just had her way with her husband. At least, not quite. She rearranged the lock of hair over one shoulder as it had been done earlier by her maid.

  Clarinda slowed her steps as she reached the parlor and glided to the chair she had vacated only moments before. “I do so apologize for the interruption,” she murmured as she sat down and reached for the cup and saucer Lady Torrington offered her. She couldn’t help but notice the look of worry on Adele Grandby’s face as the older woman regarded her. When she was sure Lady Pettigrew’s attention was on her teacup, she gave Adele a wink. “I really don’t know what our men would do without our fashion sense,” Clarinda added with a grin, hoping to put her guests at ease once more.

  “We would go about looking like we’r
e in the army instead of like the aristocrats we are,” her husband suddenly announced from the parlor door, his voice not giving any hint as to whether he was teasing or serious.

  All three ladies jumped at the sound of his voice, their heads quickly turning in his direction. David bowed as the ladies all stood up and gave the earl their very best curtsies. “Lady Torrington, Lady Pettigrew,” he said in turn as he gave each a deep bow. “Pray excuse me for just one moment,” he said as he held up a finger. He made his way to where his wife stood, and without warning, wrapped one arm behind her shoulders, another around her waist, dipped her backwards, and bestowed a rather indecorous kiss on her lips.

  While neither Lady Torrington nor Lady Pettigrew fainted, they both seemed to seat themselves rather heavily into their chairs, their mouths left hanging open as David slowly raised Clarinda back up to an unsteady standing position. “I’m off to my meeting with the solicitor. I shall find you later on Rotten Row,” he said with an arched eyebrow as he kissed his stunned wife once more on the temple before bowing and taking his leave of the ladies in the parlor, a huge smile on his face.

  Stunned for only a moment more, all three ladies began to giggle, Clarinda more so than her two callers.

  It would be the last time she did so for a very long time.

  Chapter 2

  Death Takes David

  “Are you sure there isn’t something else I can get for you, milady?” Missy wondered, her worried expression making her appear much older than her two-and-twenty years. “Mayhap a cup o’ chocolate?” The maid had been flitting about the bedchamber for nearly a half-hour, as if she was afraid to leave Clarinda alone.

  The countess had managed to keep the tears at bay for some time after the prune-faced constable appeared at the door claiming her husband had died in a traffic accident. Her first reaction had been that someone – her younger brother or one of David’s rakehell friends from White’s – had sent the man to make the claim as a joke. But then Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, appeared looking as if he’d seen a ghost, and Clarinda knew it was true – David Fitzwilliam, Earl of Norwick, was dead. A broken neck, the constable said, suffered when David was thrown from his horse in Oxford Street while on his way home from having met with his solicitor in the man’s office in Bell Yard.