Captain and Countess

by Alice Gaines

  When they reunited, she tilted her head in a way that showed off the length of her throat. “You served in India, I believe.”

  “I did.”

  “Was it very unpleasant?”

  Unpleasant. An odd word to describe a land at once so dangerous and so beautiful. Full of flavors and sights too large to fit into the reality of his life now.

  “It was beastly hot, but it had its charm,” he said. He couldn’t tell her more without doing damage to her delicate sensibilities. Perhaps once they’d been married for some time and he’d used the marriage bed to teach her some of the things he’d learned in India. If he married her. He had to marry someone.

  The music ended, and the dancers applauded, dozens of gloved hands meeting to create a muffled imitation of enjoyment. Miss Swan curtseyed, and he made the requisite bow before offering his arm again to take her back to her parents.

  Her mother’s expression beamed approval as he handed Miss Swan back into the bosom of her family.

  “Did you have a lovely dance?” Mrs. Swan asked.

  “We did, Mama. Captain Northcross is light on his feet,” Miss Swan said. “And a perfect gentleman.”

  “I’m sure he is.” Mrs. Swan straightened a curl at her temple. She was the sort of women others might call “a great beauty in her day.” Now mature, she still showed clearly where her daughter got her looks.

  “Will you be staying long at Hollyfield?” she asked.

  “I’ll establish my own household soon,” he said. “I haven’t decided where.”

  “Folkston’s a congenial place, and not far from town,” Mrs. Swan said.

  And near their own home and far from Hadleigh and the eccentric viscount. An ideal place for him to settle with their daughter. “I’ll be sure to consider it.”

  “We’d love to show you the area, wouldn’t we, Oscar?” Mrs. Swan said.

  “Of course, dear boy,” her husband answered. Though amiable enough to look at, his greater age suggested that Mrs. Swan had made a “good” match with him rather than a love match. She was clearly arranging the same for her daughter right now.

  “There you are,” Lily spoke as she came up beside him, one of her many admirers in tow. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  “Then you must have overlooked the dance floor,” he said. “I was just there.”

  The young man with her stood back a bit but glanced around as if he might have to beat off competition for Lily’s attention. Smart fellow. He just might.

  Lily curtseyed to the others. “Good evening.”

  “You all know my sister, Miss Lily Northcross,” he said.

  “Of course. Delightful girl,” Mrs. Swan said.

  “We’ve already become good friends,” Miss Swan added.

  “You won’t mind if I borrow my brother?” Lily asked. She grasped his hand in both of hers. “There’s something I must show you. In private.”

  “Lily, we were—”

  “Think nothing of it,” Mr. Swan said. “The host never rests.”

  “Thank you.” He bowed to Miss Swan and her mother and then let Lily lead him away.

  “You shouldn’t have been so abrupt with them,” he said as they walked the length of the room, skirting the dancers in the center.

  “Just a minute.” She turned toward her admirer, who was now trailing them. “Would you get me some punch, please? I’m parched.”

  The fellow bobbed toward her and then headed off.

  “And he isn’t your servant,” Jason said. “Who is he, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. You invited everyone.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “What is it you wanted me to see?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to get you away from her. Harriett says the two of you have danced twice now.”

  Jason pulled Lily aside to where they might have some semblance of privacy. “I want you to understand, pet. No matter how much you like Harriett Ellsford, I won’t be marrying her.”

  “Of course you won’t.” Lily waved a hand. “You won’t marry Alice Swan, either.”

  “Why not? What’s wrong with her?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with her.” Lily stared at him as though he were an idiot, and maybe he was when it came to understanding women.

  “You’re not in love with her,” she said.

  “I don’t have to marry for love.”

  “Why ever not? Thomas and Grace did.”

  “They were in a different position than I am.”

  She frowned. Somehow, she made even that expression look charming. “What position is that?”

  How could he tell her his position was closely tied to her own? With her stubborn streak, if he explained his plan to marry her to the young duke she’d loved since childhood, she’d insist that he meant nothing to her and that she’d set her heart on that hapless fellow she’d just sent off on a quest for punch. If he mentioned that their brother and his reputation for setting fire to things nearly had spoiled her chances, she’d take up Thomas’s side. She always did.

  “I have reasons for finding the right match,” he said.

  “We don’t need anything from your marriage, do we?” she said. “We have Hadleigh. You said you did well in India.”

  “We have more money than we’ll ever spend.”

  “Then marry a milkmaid, if she makes you happy. Marry a foreigner,” she said. “Marry whomever you want.”

  “Maybe I want to marry Alice Swan.”

  She clucked her tongue. “No, you don’t.”

  “How do you know what I want?”

  “Because you don’t have that look when you’re around her,” she said.

  Now, it was his turn to stare at her. “What look?”

  “That kind of sickly expression men get. As though they’ve drunk spirits too quickly and it’s set a fire in their gut.”

  “Gut?” he repeated. “Where did you lean a word like that?”

  “Thomas, of course. Is belly better?”

  “Not much.”

  “Well then, inside him. Like this.” She gave her impression of a leer. It got her point across but fell far short of the mark as far as true evil went.

  “I don’t look like that when I’m with Miss Swan, I gather,” he said.

  “Not even remotely.”

  “I’m glad, and I hope no man looks like that around you.”

  She remained silent.

  “Has one?” he demanded.

  “Not . . .” She paused. “. . . seriously.”

  “Not seriously? Has one casually? In an off-handed manner, perhaps?”

  “If I told you, you’d confront him. I can take care of myself.”

  He bloody well would confront the bastard, whoever he was. From now on, he’d watch her more carefully, and if anyone made so much as a misstep around her, Jason would teach him a lesson in how to treat a young lady.

  “You shouldn’t take this so much to heart,” Lily said. “I was only speaking in a general way.”

  She hadn’t been, but he’d let that slide for now. He did need to get her duke and his mother here quickly, though, so the young man could establish his claim on Lily and stop any leering around her. He’d best write the letter tonight and hope for a good result.

  “Oh, look, he’s coming back,” she said.

  The young man had returned with a punch glass in his hand. Jason studied him. He had a flicker of masculine interest in his eyes, something that might become a leer if he got Lily alone. That would not happen, if Jason had any say in it.

  The young man presented the cup to Lily as if it were a gift. “Miss Northcross, I believe this is our dance.”

  “It is?” She handed the cup to Jason. “Of course, it is.”

  The two of them headed off to the dance floor, leaving Jason alone with the glass of punch.

  Sarah Ellsford, Lady Deauville, appeared at his side, as if conjured out of nothing, as she always seemed to be at the worst possible moment. Was there a good mo
ment for the woman to appear?

  “You’re sister’s quite the gem,” she said.

  “If you say so.” He drank the punch in one swallow. “May I ask you something?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Did I ever leer at you?”

  Instead of answering, Sarah tipped her head back and gave him a throaty laugh.

  That was a response, of sorts. Perhaps he had given her a lecherous look from time to time. She’d been a beautiful woman when they’d begun what could only laughingly have been called an affair. She was still a beautiful woman. If he were looking for a diversion, she might suit, even now.

  No. More mature and perceptive now, he could see beneath her lovely surface. These days, a woman needed more than the right curves to hold his interest. She needed spirit and wit.

  “If I did leer, I’m sorry,” he said.

  “You were a sweet thing,” she said. “Full of innocent, honest lust.”

  “I fumbled a bit at first.”

  She raised a hand and patted his cheek. “Part of your charm.”

  Those had been heady times. The excitement of arranging trysts, the wonders of discovering all the special places on a woman’s body. He ought to thank her, and he would if she ever gave up thinking they could recreate what they’d shared.

  “Might I ask a favor?” he said.

  She arched a brow. “A favor?”

  “Not that kind.”

  “I didn’t think so,” she said. “I am capable of other things, you know.”

  “Exactly. I’d like you to act as hostess at Hollyfield one night next week,” he said. “My family has a dinner engagement elsewhere.”

  “Will you be gone long?”

  “Just the evening.”

  She stepped closer and gazed up into his eyes. “Somewhere nearby?”

  “Carlton House.”

  “The Rushford woman.”

  “Lady Rushford, yes. And her household and my entire family. It won’t be a tryst.” In fact, it would be the opposite of a tryst. An anti-tryst, where he could show that he didn’t have to disgrace himself every time he saw Lady Rushford. A way to fix their relationship as cordial and nothing more.

  “What you do is your own business,” she said, while her catlike smile said the exact opposite.

  “Then you agree to help?”

  “Of course, darling. Any way I can.

  Chapter Six

  If Anna stuck one more pin into Bess’s hair, she’d puncture something.

  “Aren’t you done with me yet?” Bess demanded.

  “Hardly,” Anna said from behind her. “It’s good so far, but there’s so much to arrange.”

  Rose got up from the bed and circled around for a view of Anna’s handiwork. “You look lovely. A vision.”

  “A vision of what, I can’t imagine,” Bess said.

  Rose held out a ribbon of dark blue velvet toward Anna. “Work this in among her curls. It’ll match the ones I’ve put on her dress.”

  “If I bend over, the end of that will dip into my soup,” Bess said.

  “Then don’t bend over,” Anna mumbled.

  “Why do women endure all this?” she demanded.

  “For men,” Rose answered.

  “I had one man. That was enough.”

  “You’d best explain that to the captain,” Anna said. “He has other plans for you.”

  Bess turned in her chair and glared first at Anna and then at Rose. “He has no other plans for me, and if he did, I wouldn’t agree to them.”

  “As you say. Now, let’s look at you in the full-length mirror.” Anna ordered.

  She complied the same way she’d given in to every one of their requests since she’d announced that Carlton House would have its first dinner party since they’d arrived. The prospect had created a flutter of feminine excitement she’d honestly enjoyed until they’d starting making plans for what she’d wear, how they’d do up her hair, and what topics of conversation they’d allow at table.

  So she stood in front of the mirror in her chemise and waited while Rose retrieved her dress from the bed. Both women guided it over her head—carefully so as not to disturb her hair. Once she worked her arms through the sleeves and Anna fastened the garment at the back, her reflection showed what their guests would see as she greeted them. Including Captain Northcross.

  Her two friends hadn’t made her any taller, but the piles of hair gave her some extra stature. That, and the low bodice made her neck appear longer than it could possibly be. The flowing muslin—a lighter blue than the ribbons—concealed her plumpness, although the high waist of the dress emphasized the fullness of her breasts.

  “Good Lord,” she said. “You’ve made me look . . .”

  “Desirable,” Rose supplied.

  “I was going say obvious,” she said. “There’s not much subtlety here.”

  Anna laughed. “Is that what you usually are? Subtle?”

  “Modest. Discreet.” She studied herself in the mirror again. No modesty here, just the proclamation, I am a woman.

  But then, Anna wasn’t dressed so very differently. She and Rose had arranged blonde curls around her face, and the neckline of her dress showed some softness while suggesting more ample curves beneath. On Anna, such femininity came naturally. Rose still wore mourning clothing, which would make Bess stand out even more clearly.

  She stepped back from the mirror. “You two have done the impossible, I’ll admit. You’ve turned me into a female.”

  “You always were, just one who could ride and shoot,” Anna said.

  “And drink and swear,” Bess added.

  “You won’t swear tonight, will you?” Rose asked.

  “Not if you don’t want me to,” she answered. “And I’ll only drink the wine at dinner.”

  Rose breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good, then.”

  “And you—are you sure you want to spend time with two men from your husband’s regiment?” she asked.

  “He won’t be wearing his uniform,” Anna said. “I made sure of that.”

  “The two of you had quite a bit to say to each other the day he visited,” Bess said.

  Rose glanced at Anna and bit her lip, smiling.

  “The man’s an arrogant oaf,” Anna said. “I don’t know why you invited him.”

  “He’s a very handsome arrogant oaf,” Rose said.

  “Besides, we need men to round out the party. Even with the vicar, we’ll be one short,” Bess added.

  Anna crossed her arms over her chest. “If he keeps his opinions on women to himself, we’ll manage to get along.”

  Rose sent Bess a knowing glance and continued smiling.

  “Stop smirking, you two,” Anna said. “It doesn’t become you.”

  Both Rose and Bess laughed at that. How could they not? Anna’s protests rang so hollow, even she must see through them.

  A soft tap came at the door, followed by Upton’s voice. “The vicar is here, my lady.”

  “Put him in the sitting room. We’ll be down directly,” she called back.

  Rose took a breath. “Well, here we go.”

  Bess caught her hands. “Are you sure seeing the captain and lieutenant won’t upset you?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Rose said.

  Bess studied her friend. Captain Northcross might not have worked miracles with her, but he’d done something close. She smiled more and stared off into the distance less. She’d even taken up singing in a high, sweet voice, and the three of them had music every day—Anna at the piano and Rose and Bess singing duets.

  “We should go down now,” Anna said.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  Bess led them in a procession of femininity she’d never expected to participate in again, since Bert had offered for her during her first season. The necessity to fret about her dress and hair had ended on her wedding day and night. Now, somehow, she found herself in the middle of all that again because a man ten years her junior had taken leave of his senses
and decided they should first be acquaintances and now friends.

  When they entered the sitting room, the vicar rose from his seat. “Lady Rushford. How good of you to have me.”

  She gestured toward his chair. “Please, do sit.”

  The man was young and new at his job. Though he came from a noble family and could have risen higher in the church, he’d settled on a quiet country parish and now spent his time delivering sermons that put half his congregation to sleep. The other half, most of them young women, hung on every word. Not because they understood anything of his holy discourse but because he cut such a handsome figure in his vestments, and had deep brown eyes and a finely chiseled chin.

  None of the unattached females of the region had managed to penetrate the wall of his shyness, though, and when the women took their own seats, they all sat in silence, smiling at each other and then studying the furniture for something to occupy their minds.

  As the clock in the corner ticked on, Bess gazed at the tray of decanters on the side table. She’d promised—no swearing or strong spirits until their guests had left. Pray God they arrived soon and then went away again.

  Upton entered. “Viscount Hadley has arrived, my lady. And Captain Northcross, Lieutenant Weston, and Miss Northcross.”

  *

  The moment Jason crossed the threshold into Lady Rushford’s sitting room and she rose from her chair, all the air rushed out of his lungs. For a brief moment, the rest of the world retreated, leaving only her, surrounded by a blur of other shapes and noises.

  She’d done something with her hair that emphasized its fullness, arranging it in waves of sable that made his fingers itch to dig into it until it cascaded into his hands and he could take fistfuls of it to his nose to breathe in her scent. She gave him her usual challenging expression, her chin lifted as her gaze met his. But beneath her jaw lay an expanse of smooth skin—skin he’d tasted at their last meeting. Skin that had nearly reduced him to begging for more. And now, he could have that more to stare at, if not to touch.

  Her breasts. Round and firm, the tops filling out the bodice of her dress. By God, what he wouldn’t give to free one from her clothing, feel the weight of it in his hand, run his thumb over—