He stared after her, speechless. He didn’t have an answer. What had been a piece of tomfoolery and gamesmanship on the sporting field of battle had been reduced by his wife to a tawdry boy’s prank. Pascoe Church had not only had his eye on Salt’s previous mistress he had also been pursuing Jenny Dalrymple. He knew returning Jenny’s stocking and garter with a flourish would put Church off his game. That was the sum total of his intent.
He had not told a living soul, he barely admitted to himself, but taking that kiss from Jane without her permission during the Hunt had had serious repercussions for his virility. To his troubled amazement, and growing fear that there was something wrong with him, he lost his hearty appetite in the bedchamber. That’s not to say he was a monk. But since the previous October, when the date had been set for the exchange of marital vows in the first week of January, he had eschewed his mistress. He blamed Jane just as he blamed her now for the healthy resurgence in his sexual appetite.
He was still frowning at the bedchamber door, when Jane peered back into the dressing room with a mischievous twinkle.
“I don’t know why you’re standing there waiting. I’m not about to ask you for a physician’s report, if that’s what’s stopping you from joining me in the marital bed.”
“You little witch!” he exclaimed, tension easing in his limbs. He came to life as she disappeared again and strode through to her bedchamber. “I should thrash you, madam wife!”
“As you did in the dining room?” She chuckled and skipped to the four-poster bed. “You see me all aquiver with terror, my lord!”
“Not only a witch but a strumpet and a shameless baggage to boot!”
She darted out of his way and scrambled up onto the mattress, using the damask curtains to pull herself up. He grabbed for her, caught at her dressing gown, which easily slipped off her shoulders, and was left with a handful of silken material, while she stumbled about on the mattress in her thin linen nightshift laughing at his inability to catch her. At that, he clambered up beside her, picked her up and dumped her amongst the pillows. She threw a feather-filled pillow at him and he caught it before it connected with his chin. Now they were both laughing and before she could scuttle away, he pinioned her wriggling body to the bed, straddled her thighs and held her wrists above her head.
She smiled up at him with an impish grin. “Shall I oblige your lordship by rolling over so you can smack my behind?”
“No, my lady,” he murmured, dipping to kiss her full mouth, the intensity in his brown eyes both exciting and frightening her. He let go of her wrists and slid down the length of her body to kiss the instep of her dainty foot, his kisses progressing along her shapely leg as his hands slid her thin nightshift up over her knees then gently parted her thighs. “I have a much slower and exquisite torment in mind.”
TEN
WHEN THEY FINALLY drifted off into a deep sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms among a tangle of bed sheets and pillows, it was the early morning, in those few hours of utter quiet when it was still dark and there were no carriage wheels, not even the clip clop of horses’ hooves, to be heard on the cobblestones in Grosvenor Square. Jane slept soundlessly, snuggled up in her husband’s warmth, but the Earl, who had fallen into a deep sleep only to stir a handful of hours later, lay wide-awake in the final glow of the dying fire in the grate, staring unseeing at the pleated canopy above his head. He was befuddled, bewitched and bewildered by his bride and it scared him half to death.
His heart thudded against his chest, just as it had when he spied the seventeen-year-old Jane amongst the gentry assembled to see the hunt on its way; she had literally taken his breath away. He was overjoyed to discover that her astonishing beauty was matched by her decency of character and a forthright yet gentle nature. Here was a girl who was as honest as she was beautiful, untouched by cynicism and flattery. He had pursued her, courted her, and ruined her on her birthday. To all outward appearances he had played the Lothario landlord to the hilt. But this time it was different. She was different. He was different. He had fallen immeasurably in love and wanted to marry her and make her his countess. He had asked her to marry him and then lost his head in the summerhouse, forgetting his upbringing as a gentleman, and made love to her.
Why had she not trusted him to return from London? Did she think so little of his character that she believed him capable of taking her virginity with false promises of love and then abandoning her? What manner of man was he to her? How was it she had accused him of breach of promise when he had not broken off their engagement? Why had she not waited for his return? She confessed her ruin to her father and been cast out of his house, and he had the locket returned as proof of her fickleness. He had been disbelieving and devastated when he learned she had accepted the protection of Jacob Allenby, a man he despised above all others. It did not make sense. It still did not make sense to him four years on.
He felt betrayed.
Reason yesterday he was intent on having her sign a document that laid down rules by which she would live as his wife and countess, rules to demoralize and humiliate and make her a virtual prisoner on his estate because he wanted to punish her for breaking off their engagement, for betraying his love, and yet, today he could not get enough of her.
But he would not allow her to get under his skin, to have his hopes and dreams shattered a second time. He would content himself with bedding her. In bed he knew exactly how she felt, what were her needs and desires, and could have his own strong carnal appetite satisfied into the bargain. And if the previous two nights were anything to go by, where lust was concerned, neither of them need look elsewhere ever again. Lust, pure and simple, he understood. Lust was uncomplicated. Lust could be satisfied. Lust would do them both just fine.
He slept past noon and woke completely rested. Sprawled out in Jane’s bed in the semi-gloom, a new fire in the grate but the curtains yet to be pulled back to reveal the wintry sky, he was content to think of nothing more arduous than what he would eat for breakfast. He was well aware that his long-suffering secretary would be waiting him in the library, appointment book open, and with a stack of correspondence requiring an answer, his signature or to frank, but for once in his life he was going to ignore pressing matters of state and eat a leisurely breakfast with his wife… Who was not beside him.
Where was she?
Frowning, he threw off the covers, found his banyan, covered his nakedness and scraped his hair out of his eyes. He poured cold water from a patterned jug into the porcelain bowl on the bedside table and splashed cold water over his face. Feeling reasonably awake, he went in search of her. He forgot that at this hour, not only was his secretary going about his duties his whole household had been up for half the day and were all busily engaged at their tasks.
Several of his household servants were assembled in the Countess’s pretty sitting room under direction of Willis, the under-butler, who had been assigned to offer her ladyship a gentle guiding hand with her new responsibilities and duties as Countess of Salt Hendon. Expert guidance in all matters servant-related would ensure his lordship’s house was disrupted as little as possible. The butler couldn’t agree more and was only too pleased that the Earl had given Willis the job of taking the young Countess in hand; leaving him to the more important task of seeing to the Earl’s needs. Naturally, Willis did not mention that attending on the Countess would give him the opportunity of coming into contact with his betrothed, Anne.
Two footmen, the housekeeper, her ladyship’s personal maid, and Rufus Willis were all standing on the edge of the Aubusson carpet by an arrangement of chaise longue, sofa, and wingchair near the fireplace. Willis and the housekeeper were sorting out the week’s menus with Arthur Ellis, who was seated on the edge of a pink-striped chaise longue, the Earl’s red leather-bound appointment book opened out across his knees. But his attention, like everyone else’s in the room, was focused on the Countess, who was curled up in front of the fireplace.
Dressed in a froth of embroidered
shell-pink silk petticoats, she had kicked off her silk mules and had her stockinged toes to the warmth of the fire. Her hair was in “undress”, one thick rope-like braid down her back with the ends bound up and secured with a pink silk ribbon. She was dangling this silk ribbon just out of the reach of a fluffy white kitten with black-tipped ears. Every so often she would drop the ribbon within reach of the ball of fluff so he could paw at it, sink his little white teeth into it, and pretend to capture it. Jane would then disentangle the ribbon and pull it up out of the way again, laughing at the kitten’s antics as it jumped up on its hind legs only to flip over and land on all fours. She would then scoop it up, pet it, nuzzle it then set it down again to begin the game again.
Despite her preoccupation with her new and fascinating playmate, she was listening attentively to the views of Willis and the housekeeper on whether to serve the Lords of the Admiralty, the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the Privy Council their dinner before or after the Council meeting. It was the Earl’s turn to host the nuncheon, but given the Chancellor’s weak stomach, not to mention the propensity of several of the Lords to drink too much before the meeting had even commenced, there was debate as to whether it was a sensible idea to eat first. But eating first meant that there was the likelihood of several of the Privy Councilors suffering severe postprandial torpor. The meeting would then drag on far longer than desired by the Earl, who had an engagement to attend the theater that same evening.
“Why not serve nuncheon during the Councilors’ meeting?” Jane suggested, taking her attention from the kitten but still dangling the ribbon to keep it distracted. She glanced at the secretary, who had his elbows on the appointment book in his lap and his gaze on the feisty ball of fluff. “Of course it will be more difficult for you to keep minutes of the meeting, Mr. Ellis, what with footmen going to and fro with dishes and their lordships distracted by the food, but I see it as the only way of keeping the majority of the Councilors content. Naturally, I know nothing of such matters, and you will have to seek Lord Salt’s approval for the scheme, but it may just allow his lordship to wind up the meeting in time for him to change for the theater?”
The housekeeper and under-butler looked at one another as if the idea had not occurred to them but was just the answer they were looking for. What was Mr. Ellis’s opinion?
But Arthur Ellis hadn’t heard a word. He was too enthralled watching the Countess playing with the black and white kitten, a gift from a newfound admirer; one of many gifts, to have arrived that morning, but by far the best received. There were posies, cards of invitation, scented handkerchiefs, a fur muff, a gouache fan, and several parcels yet to be unwrapped. The kitten had been delivered in its own velvet-lined basket, with a porcelain dish and a pint of fresh cream. There was a note tied to the basket:
Pascoe, Lord Church sends his compliments to Jane, Countess of Salt Hendon. May she prove a good mother to Viscount Fourpaws.
The secretary wasn’t sure what was meant by the note, but he had a very good sense that contained within it was a message for the Earl, and that his employer would not be pleased, however much the Countess might delight in Lord Church’s gift. He had the uncomfortable satisfaction of being proved right when the Earl shocked the assembled company by appearing in the doorway unshaven, undressed and unimpressed.
“Mr. Ellis? What is your opinion of my scheme?” Jane repeated, and smiled when the secretary gave a start, nodded and dropped his gaze to the appointment book.
When Willis repeated the Countess’s idea for the Privy Council nuncheon Arthur Ellis quickly concurred, saying he was only too pleased to take the minutes of the meeting during nuncheon, the food being a welcome diversion for those Councilors who had a tendency to digress from the topic; a circumstance that particularly annoyed Lord Salt.
Dipping his quill in the ink pot of the Standish placed on the chaise longue beside him, he made a note in the margin of the appointment book. He was about to move on to the next matter on his agenda when every servant in the room suddenly registered mute astonishment, became as stone then dropped to a curtsy or doubled over in a bow, gaze on their shoes. When the Countess scrambled to her feet with a radiant smile, the secretary knew immediately who was at his back. He shot up off the chaise, open appointment book hugged to his chest, and with the sudden depressing realization that he had pressed wet ink to the front of his best brown wool waistcoat.
“Bloody Hell!” Salt exclaimed, bringing himself up short and retreating to stand in the doorway at the unexpected sight of half a dozen of his upper-servants occupying his wife’s sitting room. Despite his embarrassment at being in a state of undress, the kitten intrigued him. “Where did you find such a ferocious animal, my lady?”
“His name is Viscount Fourpaws,” Jane told him, brushing out the creases in her petticoats. She scooped up the mewing kitten and presented him to her husband. “I’m sure he thinks he is very ferocious, which is all that matters.”
Salt held the tiny bundle of white fluff in the palm of one large hand and unconsciously tickled its throat with a long finger. “I see her ladyship has received more than a kitten by this morning’s post,” he commented, not surprised by the array of gifts and flowers piled on the sofa and scattered over the carpet. He had a fair idea who they were from. At the tennis tournament every male present had complimented him on his wife’s beauty and grace. He smiled down at Jane. “And who sent you this brute?”
“Lord Church,” Jane told him simply and retrieved the note that had been tied to the kitten’s basket. “See… Oh! How silly of me, you don’t have your eyeglasses,” she apologized, Salt slipping the card into a pocket without reading it, looking even more uncomfortable, if that was possible given he was unshaven, his hair fell unbrushed about his shoulders and he was naked under a flimsy silk banyan. She took back the kitten when he held it out.
“Return it,” he ordered and addressed his secretary. “Ellis, I’ll see you in the bookroom in an hour.” Then turned on a bare heel and strode off through Jane’s apartments to his own.
Jane followed, kitten clasped to her silk bodice.
“You can’t be so mean spirited! Just because I made a slip of the tongue about your weak eyes—”
“I’m not that puerile, you silly girl!” he answered gruffly, marching onwards.
“If you want the truth, you are just being stubbornly unreasonable about wearing your eyeglasses in public. Poor eyesight is nothing of which to be ashamed. Not when you are perfect in every other way. Everyone has some physical flaw they do not like and cannot alter.”
“Ha! Thus spake perfection herself!”
Jane frowned. “Now who’s being childish? Just because I have a pleasing countenance does not mean I don’t have flaws. I wish I were taller and plumper, like most females. And my mouth—I don’t like it. I have a perpetual pout. It makes me look the spoiled child. Don’t laugh. It’s true.”
Salt stopped at the door to his rooms and faced her with a smile. “I like you just the way you are, Jane, particularly your lovely mouth. But the kitten must be sent back.”
She blushed at his simple compliment. “And you’re just as handsome wearing eyeglasses,” she said shyly, looking up at him. “The kitten stays.”
“How can you say that when you’ve only ever seen me wearing the damn bloody nuisances once, and that was years ago! The kitten goes.”
“I must be one of the few people to have ever seen you in your eyeglasses. So it’s not something to forget, is it? You’re just being stubborn. I won’t send the kitten back.”
He leaned his wide shoulders against the doorframe with a huff and pulled out Lord Church’s note and held it up to her. “What does it say?”
She read the note aloud.
“Dear Pascoe,” drawled the Earl with a twisted smile. “He is all consideration for your welfare, my lady. He makes my wife a mother when I cannot. The kitten most certainly will be returned.”
He wrenched open the door and kept walking until he re
ached his closet. To his surprise, Jane followed him through to this most private of male bastions. When Andrews saw the Countess he immediately downed shaving blade and leather sharpening strap, covered a bowl of soapy water with a hand towel. With a bow, he then retreated to the dressing room to occupy himself until such time as the Earl was ready to be shaved.
“You believe by sending me the kitten he is having a cruel joke at your expense?” Jane asked calmly, stroking Viscount Fourpaws because he was mewing and probably in need of another bowl of cream after all his exertions with the ribbon. “But if you make me return him, won’t Lord Church know he has gained his object?”
“It doesn’t mean I have to accept his substitute for a child!”
Jane tilted her head in thought. “How does Lord Church know about the physician’s diagnosis?”
“Who doesn’t know?” he retorted flippantly, flinging out an arm. Adding for her benefit when she continued to look up at him expectantly, “Amongst the nobility, news that an earl is incapable of producing an heir is gazetted.” He rubbed his cheek, grimaced at the feel of stubble under his fingers, then ran a hand through his uncombed hair, and was similarly disgusted at this want of grooming. “Now if you would allow me, I’d like to make myself presentable,” he added, much subdued. “I have a full afternoon of appointments and then I have a prior engagement at the theater.”
“Have you ever wondered if the physicians may have got it wrong?” she asked quietly, ignoring his request for her to leave him to dress. “Perhaps you may have fathered a child or-or children but because a physician says otherwise, you haven’t bothered to even think that these children could be yours?”
Scandalous Brides Page 63
