The Countess Confessions

by Jillian Hunter

  He nuzzled her neck. “I miss having a valet to shave me, too, but at the moment I’m glad that neither one of them are here. Hold still a minute while I get this last hook.”

  “The hooks always resist. I despise wearing a corset, if you must know.”

  “It gave you a décolletage tonight to make a man swoon. Brace your hands on the bedpost. I’m having a spot of trouble.”

  “Is it that hook?”

  “No, it’s getting out of my trousers and drawers using only my left hand.”

  She obeyed, knowing from her experience with this man that he would not brook a refusal. She sighed at the delicate strokes of his knuckles between her shoulders and then the hollow of her spine. He could entice her to the edge of the world. How wretched to know he could so easily arouse in her this maddening desire.

  He said in a low voice, “This is what happens, Emily, when you flaunt your beautiful body in front of me.”

  She clung to the bedpost with her back to Damien, bound not by chains but by her own need. He closed his hands around her hips, drawing her into the heat and hard contours of his lower body. Slowly he rubbed his erection between the crease of her bottom, and to her mortification she braced herself, spreading her legs wider in shameless anticipation.

  “I was jealous, Emily,” he said as he slipped one hand around her belly. “I was jealous enough to forget that I have a job to do.”

  “You’re insane if you think I’d ever be unfaithful with another man.”

  His teeth grazed her shoulder. His hand found one plump breast and squeezed her nipple into aching hardness. “That seems to be the trouble. I’m not able to think when we are together. That’s a disability in my profession.”

  She pressed her forehead to the bedpost. “I guarantee that you are better able to make sense of your thoughts than I can at this moment.”

  • • •

  He realized now that he had lost the battle to remain emotionally disengaged in his marriage. His wife trusted him. Perhaps if she had known him only a year ago she would have done anything to escape him. He had returned to England disillusioned by the sins he had witnessed and committed in other lands. Empty. Hollow. A shell that had survived for what purpose, he had not understood until now.

  He might have seduced her body, but she had stolen and restored what had been left of his soul. And now he feared he could not live without her. He needed the passion she engaged in him and the sweetness of her submission.

  He could feel her invitation, the dampness of her on his cock when she opened herself to him. As her bottom brushed against his groin, his entire body tightened in desperation he could not restrain. He wanted to feel every forbidden crevice of her body. To conquer and caress.

  “Damien,” she whispered, releasing one of her hands from the bedpost. “Why are you teasing me so?”

  “I want you to beg for it,” he replied, the hoarseness of his voice betraying his own excitement. He taunted her with shallow thrusts into her sheath. His senses took delight in the helpless shivers that coursed through her.

  “Hurry,” she whispered faintly, her other hand dropping to her side. “It’s late.”

  “What a shame I asked Winthrop and Iris to our room tonight.”

  She turned and placed her arm around his neck. “According to the clock on the mantel, we still have half an hour.”

  “Thirty minutes?” He took her hand and she led him back through the bedchamber to the sofa. She reclined before him, the candlelight illuminating her soft curves and inviting flesh. He needed no other enticement. He bent over her, kissing her into a daze as his hands caressed her creamy breasts and belly.

  She was his. His wife. He lost track of time when they were together, whether it was during sex or sitting in an uncomfortable carriage. At times she soothed him. At others she heated his blood and he knew she was the only woman who could put out the fire before it consumed him. But when they made love, it was as if nothing else existed.

  Chapter 41

  Iris sat across from Winthrop at the tea table in their room. He brought a pot of chocolate and two mugs for them to share every night before they retired. Iris didn’t have the heart to tell him that chocolate before bed caused indigestion. Besides, they would be staying up into the wee hours for a reunion with the master and mistress. Iris was almost afraid to hear what trials Emily had undergone since marrying the earl.

  Iris realized that her life would never again be the same as it had been in Hatherwood. She had been introduced to espionage, an activity that in Iris’s mind had seemed more adventurous than the reality of spying on houseguests at a party.

  She hadn’t solved any mysteries or gathered any information that would assist the Crown. She had discovered that at least one of the guests, a married gentleman, intended to have a secret affair with his brother’s wife. If that was the type of sordid knowledge one gained while spying, Iris wanted nothing to do with it.

  “Drink your chocolate, Iris,” Winthrop said sternly. “You missed supper again tonight. I don’t know how you exist on the little you eat.”

  “I exist on nerves,” she said. “Perhaps you are comfortable living under the same roof as an assassin, but I am not.”

  “You’ve been very brave from the start,” he said. “I don’t know many women who would keep their wits about them in this situation.”

  She felt a flush of pleasure. “If you’d been maid to my mistress and survived her escapades, you would have learned to keep your wits about you, too.” She put her hand to her mouth, realizing this was the first she had ever spoken ill to him of Emily.

  “I didn’t mean that as it sounded.”

  He nodded in understanding. “The earl is not the easiest person to serve. He’s dragged me through the pits of hell in his travels. The places we have been. You would be shocked, Iris, straight down to your stockings, if you ever saw the deplorable prisons and hovels where his lordship and I stayed. I won’t tell you the details.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Do you know what a scorpion is?”

  She grimaced. “They’re awful things that don’t live in England.”

  He nodded again. “They’re used for torture in some foreign prisons. Come on, have a mug of chocolate. You’ve gone pale on me.”

  She sipped the chocolate he poured into her mug. Indigestion would keep her up all night. That and the image of scorpions he’d put in her head. She was looking forward to the hour when she would be reunited with her mistress. Perhaps Emily would surprise her and have scads of little stories to share about her first impressions of life as a countess. Nothing remotely exciting had happened to Iris. Except for Winthrop, and she couldn’t admit she thought him dashing.

  “I’ll be glad when the conspirators are caught and we can resume our ordinary lives,” she said, while Winthrop drank his chocolate. “I wonder where his lordship will settle when this is over.”

  “London, as far as I know.” He took off his spectacles and reached his arms over his head.

  Iris stared at him. She didn’t know how well he could see without his glasses. She didn’t know whether being forced to live with him under false pretenses had warped her opinions. But tonight she finally admitted to herself that he was the most attractive man she had ever known. And it wasn’t only his boyish face or reedy form that made him appealing.

  It was his imperturbable dignity that she had come to admire. He still ordered her about. His insistence on placing their shoes in a certain order by the door still annoyed her as her need to arrange bottles by their size did him.

  But he had brought her chocolate to drink because he was concerned about her health. Iris could kiss him for that. In fact, Iris would kiss him right now if she could invent a plausible reason for doing so.

  “What is it?” he asked, lowering his arms. “Do I have chocolate on my mouth? A tear in my shirt?”

  Now, she thought.

  This is the time. Scoot the chair closer to wipe the nonexistent smud
ge from his lips, and let him take the initiative from there.

  “Let me look,” she said, leaning forward.

  He sat still, his eyes searching her face. “It would be wise of you not to come any closer, Iris. I should not tell you this, but I have been struggling against temptation since we argued with each other in Hatherwood.”

  She felt a spark of hope. “And what have you been tempted to do?”

  “All manner of wicked acts.”

  “With— Me?”

  “With you, inside you, behind you, all—all over you.”

  “Sir.”

  “Disgraceful, I know.”

  “I never would have guessed,” she said, primly lowering her gaze in case her delight was obvious. “You have hidden your feelings well indeed.”

  And with his next words, he extinguished her hope like a candle flame. “You can rest assured that I will continue to subdue my urges, Iris. The chances are that we will have to live in the same residence, serving the master and mistress. I would not disrespect you or our positions by behaving in anything but a straightforward manner.”

  “Oh,” was all she managed to say.

  “We have fifteen minutes left until our interview with the master and mistress. I promised Hamm that I would stand the morning watch over the viscount so that he could take a meal in the kitchen. He will be close enough to you in case of trouble.”

  “That is thoughtful of you, sir.”

  He reached for his spectacles and stood. “Try not to engage his interest while I am gone.”

  “Engage Hamm’s— What do you think I am?” she asked indignantly.

  “A temptress in a maid’s clothing. It takes a disciplined man to resist a woman with your qualities.”

  Then he was gone to fetch a bottle for the earl, leaving Iris to wonder what qualities in her character had provoked his welcome confession.

  • • •

  They washed and dressed each other between kisses and bouts of laughter. Damien opened the armoire in his dressing closet to discover that instead of his tailored attire hung a wardrobe of dresses that could belong only to a dowager.

  “Damn me,” he called in the direction of Emily’s dressing room. “The footmen must have mixed up my missing trunk with some beldame’s at the party. I don’t think any of these will suit me, do you?”

  Emily appeared at the door of her dressing closet. “Your trunk is in here, sitting right next to mine. It doesn’t look as if it has been opened.”

  “I hope not. Winthrop was supposed to be on the lookout for our luggage.”

  “Is there anything inside it that you do not want others to see?”

  He proceeded to the closet, holding the ruffled ball gown he had removed from his armoire. “Is the lock still intact?”

  Emily stepped aside to allow him into the closet. “It looks to be. I hope you aren’t considering another disguise, Damien. That bodice will never fit around your chest. You could never pass as a woman. Your shoulders would be a giveaway.”

  He glanced up wryly. “I hesitate to admit this, Emily, but I have passed as one before. I do not, however, have any intention of doing so again. It was a frightening experience. My legs do not look well in stockings. Gowns just aren’t made for my proportions.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “It is true, though, that a shawl can conceal any number of physical flaws, my shoulders being one of them.”

  “I do not consider your shoulders to be flawed,” Emily said. “Merely broad. The rest of you is undeniably masculine, too. I would not believe you were a woman for an instant.”

  His stare pierced her composure. Had she just confessed that she had found his body to be the epitome of male beauty? “You would be surprised to see what changes Winthrop can affect with a bag of hairpieces and cheek plumpers.”

  He knelt then to examine the padlocked trunk and extracted the key from his pocket. Swiftly his hands delved through the first layer of clothing to the leather bottom.

  Emily was curious now to see what he had brought to the party. Clothes or weapons? A love letter or two from the last woman in his past? Or were there private documents that would implicate him as an agent?

  He closed the lid and stood, looking into her eyes. “Nothing appears to be missing.”

  “None of your papers?”

  “I keep those with me at all times.” His gaze caught hers, as if suddenly she were the only thing that mattered.

  Emily stared down at him in pensive silence until a discreet knock sounded at the outer door. She turned reflexively, noting from the corner of her eye that he had slipped his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat. Clearly he’d found whatever he feared had been stolen. And it was not anything he wished to share with his wife.

  “That has to be Winthrop and Iris. Shall I answer?”

  He closed the lid of the trunk and stood, his gaze skirting hers. “I’ll let them in.” He pulled from his shoulder the pink dress that he’d apparently forgotten in his haste to learn whether any of his belongings had been searched. “There is probably a lady in this castle right now accusing a servant of stealing her clothes.”

  Chapter 42

  Emily could not contain her joy at being reunited with her maid. “Oh, Iris, I have missed you more than you can ever know.”

  Iris’s eyes misted up as Emily drew her into the spacious dressing closet. They sat down at the same moment on the chaise lounge. “I have so much to tell you, except that certain details have to be omitted because they are too private. All I can admit is that I never want to be without you again.”

  “Well, I have plenty to tell you, too, miss—I mean, my lady.” Iris swiped her knuckles under her eye to catch a tear. “The things that Winthrop has said to me—”

  Emily felt her blood chill. “Has he insulted you in any manner? Tell me, and I will insist that my husband punish the varlet.”

  “Valet,” Iris said absently.

  “Varlet. Valet. If he has dishonored you, there is no point in making a distinction.”

  Iris sniffed. “But he hasn’t dishonored me. He ignored me during the journey here until I convinced myself I was unworthy of even a kiss. I have never felt so lacking in my life. And then to have the nerve to call me a—a—”

  “The prissy upstart,” Emily said feelingly. “How dare he offend you by—by doing exactly what, Iris? I’m not certain I understand what you’re trying to say.”

  “He called me a temptress,” Iris blurted out. “A temptress.”

  Emily blinked, too stunned to respond.

  Iris nodded vigorously. “Yes. You heard me. I did not misspeak. He accused me of leading him into temptation. He said that I made him forget why he had come to the castle in the first place. He accused me of muddling his brains.”

  Emily hesitated. “Did you?”

  “Only in my thoughts. But that doesn’t count, does it?”

  “It might if he could read minds.”

  “I must say that you aren’t being helpful at all. Oh, I should have kept this to myself.”

  Emily took Iris’s hand. “You were right to tell me. I’ll take the matter to my husband and insist he put Winthrop in his place.”

  Iris looked horrified. “You can’t do that.”

  “Well, why not?”

  “It might jeopardize our investigation. It would be disloyal of me as a citizen to allow my feelings to interfere with justice.”

  “Perhaps you could work with Hamm instead.”

  “You mean the bean-stalk giant?”

  “He’s intimidating at first impression, but it’s rather reassuring to know he’s on our side.”

  “You’ve forgotten one thing, my lady. Winthrop and I are supposed to be man and wife for the duration of the assignment. If I left him for another footman, the guests might not notice, but the domestic staff would. I’d lose their respect, if not my position. And where would I stay until the earl is ready to leave the castle? I have to abide by the rules if I don’t want to c
ause a stir.”

  “I see your point, Iris.” In fact, Emily saw more than her maid had intended to reveal. Iris had fallen for the earl’s valet, and Winthrop, from the sound of it, had been fighting against the same affliction. It was a blessing in disguise, really. She had finally moved past her feelings toward Michael. Emily’s brother would never have married Iris, if he married anyone at all.

  “And what should I do about it?” Iris asked.

  Emily frowned as though giving the matter grave thought. “I suspect that my husband would urge you to carry on as usual until after his assignment is over.”

  “So you are advising me to continue living with Winthrop as his wife?”

  “I’m afraid that all of us have been forced to make sacrifices,” Emily said, although so far the rewards of marriage had surpassed whatever she had sacrificed.

  “But what am I to do if Winthrop accuses me of being a temptress again?”

  “The way I see it, Iris, is that you can insist you have no feelings for him and that he must put you out of his mind, or—” She paused to reconsider her advice.

  “Or what?”

  “Or you could turn into a temptress and call his bluff.”

  Iris’s cheeks turned pink. “Never did I expect to hear that sort of advice from you. I couldn’t be a temptress if I tried. Could you?”

  “Neither of us ever thought I would marry,” Emily said carefully. “Now I have a little more experience to offer than when we lived in Hatherwood.”

  “It hasn’t even been a month,” Iris retorted. “I don’t see how you could have gained enough experience to consider yourself the Encyclopedia of Love and Marriage.”

  “Let us just say that my husband is an intense tutor and I have been a rapt student.”

  “But you are married. I am not.”

  “And we both know why he married me. Only time will tell how strong our union will become. If it lasts at all.”

  “Do you want it to last?” Iris inquired after a pause.

  “Oh, yes. Very much so.”

  Iris gave a nod of approval. “To be honest, I never cared much for Mr. Jackson. He was a fine cricketer, but he always seemed to be—I don’t know—more a boy than a man.”