More or Less a Countess

by Anna Bradley

  “But what will you say to Lord Dare tonight? You’ve spent all week refusing his calls. He’s sure to demand an explanation, and then you’ll have to lie to him again.”

  “I won’t have to say a word to him. I intend to stay far away from Lord Dare.”

  Violet sounded more confident than she felt, but it wasn’t a lie, precisely. She did intend to stay far away from Lord Dare. Whether he managed to find her out despite her best efforts was another matter.

  So far, he’d been remarkably persistent.

  “What, you think you can avoid him all night? He’s going to be looking for you. Why, I daresay he’s arranged this entire evening in hopes of seeing you. Indeed, he acts like a man whose heart has been affected.”

  Not his heart, but a different organ altogether.

  “It hasn’t. He hasn’t…we haven’t…” Heat climbed up Violet’s neck. “No part of him has been affected, I assure you.”

  Aside from one, and a rather sensitive part, too, but Hyacinth didn’t need to know that.

  “No, Violet. I should have refused to participate in such a deceptive scheme from the start. I’ve made a mistake, encouraging you in this, and it ends this minute. I won’t lie to our grandmother.”

  Violet recognized the mutinous expression on Hyacinth’s face, and her heart rushed into her throat. She gulped in several deep breaths to calm her racing pulse and tried to gather her thoughts. There had to be another way out of this scrape. She just had to think…

  “Wait!” She seized Hyacinth’s arm again. “I’ve got another idea.”

  But Hyacinth was already shaking her head. “I told you, Violet. I won’t lie to our grandmother.”

  “You won’t have to—not to Grandmother, or anyone else. You won’t have to do much at all, aside from…well, it’s a small thing, really—”

  “Oh, just say it, won’t you?”

  “Once we arrive, you’ll have to hide.” Oh, dear. It sounded much worse when she said it aloud, but perhaps Hyacinth wouldn’t mind—

  “Hide?”

  Hyacinth’s mouth fell open, and Violet winced.

  She did mind.

  “For pity’s sake, Violet, where do you expect me to hide, in the kitchens? You’ve lost your wits!”

  “Not hide!” Violet clarified hastily. “That is, I didn’t mean hide, precisely. Just, ah…try and stay out of sight.”

  “That’s the same thing! What if Lord Dare happens to be in the entryway, greeting his guests? What do you suggest I do then, Violet? Throw my cloak over my head so he can’t see my face?”

  “We won’t go through the front door. We’ll find another way into the house.”

  “Indeed? How do you intend to explain to our grandmother why we’re creeping about Lady Westcott’s house in the dark instead of attending her to the front door?”

  Violet’s mind was racing. “We’ll tell her I’m dizzy, and wish to remain in the carriage for a moment for a few breaths of fresh air.”

  “I told you, Violet, I won’t lie—”

  “It’s not a lie. I am dizzy.”

  Dizzy, nauseous, and as close to a hysterical fit as she’d ever been.

  Before Hyacinth could answer, the front door of the house opened, and Lady Chase emerged and hobbled toward the carriage. Violet gave Hyacinth’s arm a desperate squeeze. “Oh, please, Hyacinth.”

  Hyacinth grumbled and frowned and muttered fretfully under her breath, but at last she let out a defeated sigh. “Very well. I’ll help you, but this is the last time, Violet, and I think it’s very likely you’ll be caught out no matter what I do.”

  Violet released the breath she’d been holding and gulped air into her burning lungs. “Oh, thank you.”

  The door to the carriage opened. The footman handed in Lady Chase, who settled her considerable bulk onto the seat facing her two granddaughters. “There now, girls. Are we ready to go?”

  Violet slipped her hand into Hyacinth’s and held on for dear life. She wasn’t ready, and she never would be, but she nodded and offered her grandmother a sickly smile. “Yes, Grandmother. We’re ready.”

  As ready as any criminal about to swing from a rope.

  * * * *

  “You look like a hungry cat crouched next to a mouse hole, Dare.”

  Nick hadn’t taken his eyes off the front door since the first guest arrived nearly an hour ago, but now he glanced up to find Lord Derrick approaching with two glasses of punch in his hands. He offered one to Nick, who took it with a nod of thanks, then turned his attention back to the door.

  Miss Somerset might be clever, and in the last five days she’d proved to be the slipperiest, wiliest lady he’d ever come across, but unless she’d found a way to render herself invisible, there wasn’t a chance she’d get by him tonight.

  Lord Derrick looked at the door, then back at Nick, and a frown creased his forehead. “Who are you waiting for?”

  Nick took a sip of his punch, grimaced, and then drained the rest of it in one swallow. Awful stuff. “A lady.”

  Lord Derrick chuckled. “Yes, I suspected that much, Dare, but why do you look as though you’re prepared to pounce on her?”

  Nick’s fingers tightened around his glass as frustration pounded through him once again. “Because she’s been avoiding me, and I’ve had enough of it.”

  He’d had enough of it five days ago, when she’d refused to receive his call the day after those stolen moments in his carriage on their way back from the Hunterian Museum. When she’d refused again the following day he’d been concerned, then irritated, until at last the simmering anger he’d felt on day four had boiled over into fury by day five.

  That was when he’d taken matters into his own hands, and now here he was, hovering by his aunt’s door like a damned fool, ready to snatch Miss Somerset into his arms and run off with her the moment she set a toe across the threshold.

  That is, if she even came at all. Lady Chase had accepted his aunt’s invitation, but it would be just like Miss Somerset to find a way to elude him again, after he’d gone to the trouble of wheedling his aunt into hosting this bloody rout. He still wasn’t sure why Lady Westcott had agreed, given she didn’t go out in society anymore, but he was too distracted by his scheme to corner Miss Somerset to give it much thought.

  “Is it Louisa Covington you’re so impatient to see?”

  A chill rushed over Nick at mention of Louisa, and he turned on Lord Derrick with narrowed eyes. “Why should you imagine it’s Louisa, Derrick? Unless you think, as Lady Westcott does, that I should marry my dead brother’s betrothed in his place, so we can all pretend he’s still alive.”

  Derrick’s face paled, and a chasm opened in Nick’s chest. Damn it, why had he said that?

  “No, that’s not what I think.” Despite Nick’s ugly words, Lord Derrick’s voice was calm. “I mentioned Louisa only because you and she are old friends, and I supposed you might wish to see her for that reason. Nothing more.”

  Derrick’s quiet patience made it difficult for Nick to meet his old friend’s eyes, but when he did, he saw only concern there. “Then I, ah…I beg your pardon.”

  Lord Derrick blew out a breath. “We both miss him. But you and I were friends at one time, too, and I’d like to be so again. Graham is gone, but we’re still here, Dare.”

  Nick nodded, but he didn’t trust himself to speak.

  When they’d lost Graham, Nick had felt like he’d lost a part of himself, as if a limb had been torn from his body. The limb might be gone, but the phantom pain persisted. Nick had learned to live with the dull ache these past few years, but if it wasn’t any longer the kind of pain that doubled him over and left him gasping, it was still always there, and it flared occasionally, usually without warning, and often just when he thought he’d made his peace with it.

  Like right now.

  Derrick
sighed. “We’re not all like your father, Nick. None of your friends expect you to take Graham’s place, and you know damn well if Graham were alive he’d be the first to tell you to stop grieving and live your life.”

  Nick stilled as he absorbed the undeniable truth of these words. It was strange, but in the two endless years since his brother’s death, he’d never once considered the situation as Graham would have done. He’d been so determined to run from his memories, he hardly let himself think of Graham at all anymore.

  Derrick cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence between them. “If you’re not waiting for Louisa, then who are you waiting for?”

  Nick hesitated, but it wasn’t a secret. He and Miss Somerset would be betrothed soon enough. “Hyacinth Somerset.”

  Lord Derrick’s eyebrows shot up. “Hyacinth Somerset! You’re jesting.”

  “No. Why should I be? What’s your objection to Hyacinth Somerset?” Lord Derrick was too much of a gentleman to ever disparage a lady, but Nick found his hands curling into fists as he waited for Derrick’s reply.

  “Not a blessed thing, Dare. She’s as sweet and lovely a lady as I’ve ever known.”

  Sweet? It wasn’t quite the word Nick would use to describe her. Infuriating, yes. Tempting, certainly. Intriguing, surprising, irritating, and fascinating—yes, any of those words would do, but sweet?

  But then she did taste sweet. So sweet…

  “She’s simply not the sort of lady I would have imagined would suit you, Dare.”

  Nick couldn’t argue with that, and yet he felt his lips curving into an unwilling smile as he thought of her sharp tongue. “I’ll grant you she’s unusual. I’ve never known a lady with a greater breadth of accumulated knowledge. She knows a little something about every topic imaginable—just enough to get herself into difficulties, in some cases.”

  Lord Derrick was looking at him blankly. “Accumulated knowledge?”

  “Yes. Did you know she’s read Pierce Egan’s Boxiana? Not quite what you’d expect from a proper English lady, but I’ve no doubt she did read it, because she gave me a lesson on the merits of bare-knuckles over weighted gloves.”

  That memorable conversation had occurred the day he’d escorted her to Execution Dock. He’d teased her mercilessly by arguing with her on every point from striking with the heel of the hand to crushed wrist bones—not because he gave a damn about weighted gloves, but because he admired the way her blue eyes sparkled when he challenged her. He enjoyed sparring with her. He enjoyed everything he did with her.

  “Hyacinth Somerset gave you a lesson on bare-knuckle boxing?” Lord Derrick laughed. “I think you’re confused, Dare. That sounds far more like something Vi—”

  “Ah, there you are, my lord!” Lady Derrick hurried into the entryway just then, a smile blossoming on her lips when she saw her husband. “Lady Avondale is asking for you. Will you come?”

  “Of course, my dear.” Derrick took his wife’s arm, then shot one more amused glance at Nick. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen Hyacinth at all this evening, Dare, but it sounds to me as if you want her sister. I haven’t seen her either, but I did see Lady Chase in the drawing room just now. Perhaps she knows where her granddaughter is.”

  Lord Derrick wandered off with his wife, leaving Nick staring after them. Damn it, how the devil had Miss Somerset managed to slip past him? He hadn’t stirred a step away from the door for the past hour. And what would he want with her sister? He hardly knew the Marchioness of Huntington.

  Nick’s jaw hardened, and his hands fisted with determination. He’d had enough of Hyacinth Somerset’s games. Something strange was going on, and he intended to put an end to it tonight.

  He abandoned his post and made his way toward the drawing room. Did she truly think he’d give up if she avoided him? He’d kissed and touched her, held her in his arms and caught her breathless moans on his lips. For God’s sake, she’d ridden him to release in his bloody carriage, and made him spill in his breeches like some green lad on his first visit to a whorehouse.

  Nick had been with far more women than any decent man ever should have, but he’d never in his life experienced anything as erotic as those moments in his carriage with her. Every time he thought of it his cock rose like a soldier at attention, and he thought of it dozens of times a day.

  No, more than that. Hundreds. He’d had so many erections in the past five days he was afraid his breeches would require alterations.

  She was his now, and she wouldn’t escape him again—

  “Oh, won’t you play another song, Miss Somerset? Please?”

  “Yes, do, Miss Somerset. A Christmas song, because it’s nearly Christmas, you know! Sing the one about the sheep.”

  Nick was hurrying through the saloon toward the drawing room, but he paused when he heard her name, and a moment later he caught the familiar sound of her sweet laugh. It drifted through the door of a tiny, neglected music room tucked at the far end of the hallway, hidden behind the library. It was so far out of the way of the public rooms Nick hadn’t even recalled it was there, but when he peered through the crack in the door there was Miss Somerset, sitting in front of the pianoforte, her cheeks flushed with laughter.

  Nick’s chest went tight at the sight of her. Not just because she was beautiful—though she seemed to grow more beautiful each time he saw her—but because for him, she was the beating heart at the center of every room she was in.

  Her back was to him, and he didn’t approach her, but remained quiet, leaning a hip against the doorframe, watching as she teased and laughed with the two children who shared the pianoforte bench with her.

  “What, you mean “Shepherds Watched Their Flocks at Night?” Is that the song you want, Charles?” She reached out to tousle the sandy hair of the boy beside her.

  The child shook his head. “I’m not sure. Is that the one about the angels all around, and glory shining, and the child in the manger, and all that?”

  “Yes, that sounds right.” Miss Somerset struck a few notes on the pianoforte. “Is this the tune?”

  Nick straightened from his slouch against the doorframe as she flexed her fingers over the keys. He hadn’t heard her play since Lord and Lady Derrick’s dinner party, when she’d performed the Haydn so masterfully. Pleasure washed over him at the thought of hearing her again.

  “Yes!” The boy gave a vigorous nod. “You’re capital at the pianoforte, Miss Somerset, isn’t she, Eliza?”

  A small girl with light brown curls was gazing up at Miss Somerset with a worshipful expression. “Yes, and ’specially when she sings about the sheep and the angels, and that lot.”

  Miss Somerset tweaked one of Eliza’s curls, then said with a laugh, “Oh, I’m dreadful, and all of London knows it, but you’re a most loyal audience, and the only one I play for willingly. Shall we, then?”

  Nick’s brows drew together with confusion. Dreadful? She played like an angel, so why—

  The first note rang out, and Nick’s eardrums screamed in startled protest. She’d slammed down on the keys as if she were trying to flatten a poisonous spider under her fists, and the note was harsh, discordant. But then anyone could miss the first note, couldn’t they? Perhaps she just needed to warm up—

  Crash! Nick flinched as her fingers came down again with a vengeance, and all the melodic notes he’d anticipated with such relish fled for their very lives. The long, pale fingers that had played the Haydn so delightfully pounded onto the keys, striking one sour note after another in such a deafening cacophony it took every bit of Nick’s self-control not to cover his ears.

  And then, dear God, she began to sing.

  “While shepherds watched their flocks by night, all seated on the ground, the angel of the Lord came down…”

  An angel? Dear God, no angel had ever made such a sound. That was the devil himself, and it sounded as if he were trapped inside the piano
forte.

  The children joined in happily, and the two childish voices helped to disguise Miss Somerset’s tone-deaf warbling, but nothing could drown it out entirely, as she sang just as she did everything else, that is, with great enthusiasm.

  Loudly.

  Nick reached blindly for the back of the chair next to him. He lowered himself into it, pressed his fingertips to his temples, and waited for it to be over, but the final shrill note was still reverberating inside his skull when the children began clamoring for the song “where heaven and nature sing.”

  Nick, who’d heard enough by now to know heaven had abandoned them entirely, shot to his feet. “No!”

  All three heads swung around to face him, the delight on the children’s faces fading at once to shock, and—in the case of the little girl, fear—but neither of them looked as appalled as Miss Somerset.

  Nick winced as they all continued to stare at him in stunned silence, but it was too late to repair the damage now, so he strode into the room, took Miss Somerset’s arm and drew her to her feet. “That is, Miss Somerset looks fatigued, and she must need refreshment after singing so…lustily.”

  “I’m perfectly well, my lord, and not at all thirsty.”

  She stared up at him, her face pale. She made a frantic attempt to tug her arm from his grasp, but now that Nick had her, he had no intention of allowing her to slip away from him again. “Oh, but I insist, Miss Somerset.”

  This moment of reckoning between them was as inevitable as the sunrise, and despite her reluctance, she must have known it would come, one way or another. Either that, or she could see from his expression he’d catch her in his arms and carry her from the room if he had to.

  Her shoulders sagged as the fight drained out of her. “Go on without me for now, children. I’ll be back after I have a short rest.”

  “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Miss Somerset,” Nick murmured against her ear as he led her through the connecting door and into the adjoining library. “I expect you’ll be engaged with me for quite some time.”