More or Less a Countess

by Anna Bradley

  Violet reached behind her to grip Hyacinth’s hand. “I’ll try.”

  * * * *

  By noon the wedding cake had been reduced to crumbs, the champagne had run dry, and the new Countess of Dare’s trunks were packed and waiting in the drive for the servants to load them into the carriage.

  Within the next hour, Nick and his new bride would be on their way to West Sussex.

  He had his countess, just as he’d planned, and he’d gotten her more quickly and with far less bother than he’d dared hope for. He should have been satisfied, but as he and his aunt waited in the entryway for Violet to appear, gratification was as distant as it had ever been. So distant, in fact, if the Marquess of Huntington pressed a gun to his temple at this very moment and demanded he appear joyful on his wedding day, Nick couldn’t have forced his lips into a smile.

  He should be satisfied, but he wasn’t.

  Lady Westcott had been quiet all morning, but now she laid her hand on Nick’s arm and pinned him with the same penetrating gaze he remembered as a child—the one that seemed to see right through him. “Miss Somerset looked terrified when she greeted us before the ceremony this morning. Her face was quite gray, and the poor thing looks as if she hasn’t slept in days.”

  Nick flinched. Did his aunt think he hadn’t noticed? Only a brute could fail to see how pale and exhausted Violet looked. He had his flaws, but Nick was no brute, and the moment he’d laid eyes on her this morning a weight had settled on his chest. “I noticed.”

  “You might have said something to comfort her, Nicholas. The young lady is distraught, and a few words from you would ease her. I know you’re still angry, but it isn’t like you to withhold your forgiveness to punish someone, least of all a frightened young woman who’s clearly sorry for what she did.”

  “Punish her?” Nick gaped at his aunt, aghast.

  He wasn’t trying to punish Violet, but if his aunt believed he was, then mightn’t his bride think so, as well? Is that why she’d been unable to meet his eyes when she whispered her vows to him this morning? “I’m angry she deceived me, yes, but…”

  But he understood why she’d done it, perhaps better than Violet understood it herself. It wasn’t just because she’d wanted to get the sketches for her book. No, he’d offered her far more than that with his courtship—he’d offered her something a lady like Violet Somerset was helpless to resist.

  Freedom. Knowledge, and an unmatched chance to pursue it. It was such a simple thing to want, and one she shouldn’t have to fight for. How could he hold it against her that she had?

  “I don’t wish to punish her, Aunt. I just…I’m not sure how…”

  I care for her, and I don’t know how to go on.

  He’d been stunned and angered by her deception, certainly, but any lingering resentment paled in comparison to the regard he had for her—

  Regard?

  Nick shook his head in disgust. If he couldn’t even find the proper words to explain to himself how he felt about Violet, how would he ever find the words to explain it to her? How could he make her understand she was unlike anyone he’d ever known? That he was stunned by her? That her blue eyes made his knees weak, and he dreamed about her smile?

  When she talked about bare-knuckle boxing, he wanted to ravish her. Her ink-stained fingers drove him mad, and he was sure she was the only lady in England who could make cobwebs look enticing. He’d stand in the Thames all day for her—he’d ruin every pair of boots he owned if she asked him to. Christ, he even wanted her to sing for him again, and if that wasn’t love, then he didn’t know what was.

  How could he ever explain how grateful he was to her?

  She would always be the lady who pulled every string, who seized every chance so she could turn it over and over in her hands until she saw it from every angle. The man he’d been—that lonely man still frozen with grief, so weary of life and so certain it had nothing left to show him—since he’d met her, every moment had become an opportunity, a wonder, another chance to be amazed.

  Because of her.

  She was everything, and he was a tongue-tied, besotted fool. “I don’t know how to show her, or how to make her understand that I…”

  His aunt’s gaze softened, and Nick knew she understood what he didn’t know how to say.

  “Oh, Nicholas. It’s so much easier than you think it is. Talk to her. Reassure her of your affection for her. She’s wary of you now, and ashamed of having deceived you. You can hardly blame her for being skittish, given the circumstances, but despite her reticence, it’s plain to see she cares for you.”

  Nick’s heart leapt with hope, because at one time he’d thought she cared for him, too.

  That day at the Hunterian Museum, those moments afterwards in the carriage, when she’d kissed him…that hadn’t been a lie. There’d been nothing false between them then. He’d known it, had felt it with every brush of her lips against his, in every frenzied beat of his heart. The moment she’d kissed him, Nick knew he belonged to her, and now…

  She was his, just as surely as he was hers.

  But he hadn’t touched her in two weeks, and every time he looked at her he was flooded with memories of how her hands had felt tangled in his hair, the exquisite touch of her lips on his, and the way she’d held him as he’d shuddered with pleasure in her arms.

  It wasn’t above a five- or six-hour journey from London to Ashdown Park, his country estate in West Sussex, but Nick planned to take his new wife to an inn in Guildford tonight, regardless. He was half wild with wanting her already, and five hours alone in a close carriage with her seemed an interminable amount of time to wait. Despite their odd courtship, he’d won her, and he intended to have and hold her as soon as he possibly could.

  That is, if he could find her. He’d been waiting for her in the entryway for the past twenty minutes, and she still hadn’t appeared. “Where the devil is she?” He turned a frustrated frown on his aunt. “How long does it take to dress one small lady?”

  Instead of scolding him for the curse, his aunt laughed. “When five sisters are set to the task, far longer than you’d think. I’m sure she’ll be down directly. Will you accompany me back to the dining room? I’d like to offer my congratulations to Lady Chase before we depart.” His aunt was accompanying them to West Sussex to help her new niece settle into her home.

  “Yes, I’ll come in a moment.” Nick leaned down to kiss his aunt’s cheek.

  She went off toward the dining room, where most of the party was still lingering over the last of the champagne. Nick rounded the grand staircase and strode from room to room, but his search for his wife proved fruitless.

  He was just about to return to the dining room himself when a hesitant hand touched his arm, and he turned to find Hyacinth Somerset standing there, an anxious frown on her face.

  “Miss Hyacinth?” Nick raised an eyebrow, taken aback by her sudden appearance. Hyacinth was much more subdued than her four elder sisters, and so painfully shy she’d never yet worked up the courage to look Nick in the eyes. He was surprised she’d sought him out now.

  “I beg your pardon, Lord Dare.” She sank into an awkward curtsy. “Forgive the intrusion, but I wanted to have a word with you, and this was the only time…”

  She trailed off with a swallow, and Nick hurried to reassure her. “Of course. It’s no intrusion at all, Miss Hyacinth. What can I do?”

  “It’s, ah, it’s about my sister. I—this won’t take long, my lord, but I thought you should know Violet is…well, she’s very clever, as I’m sure you’ve realized, and brave, as well—much braver than most ladies of her age and experience.”

  Nick’s lips twitched. “Yes, I couldn’t help but notice that. I don’t know many young ladies who’d engage in a false courtship so they could dash about London taking sketches of gibbets. Your sister is…quite remarkable.”

  Hyacinth
Somerset must have been heartened by this comment, because her eyes lit with hope, and she dared to venture a step closer. “She is, yes, but she’s also…softer about the heart than she appears to be. She’s so clever and brave, you see, it’s easy to overlook how vulnerable she is. I thought it quite important you should be made aware of it, my lord, so you know you must take care with her feelings.”

  Nick blinked. Hyacinth Somerset, who really was the most timid young lady he’d ever come across, had taken it upon herself to warn him not to hurt her sister. Surprise made Nick fumble over his reply. “I—yes, of course I’ll take care to…”

  He trailed off as he tried to think of what to say to reassure her, but Hyacinth grew agitated when he hesitated, and she rushed on, her words tumbling one over the other.

  “She’s far more easily hurt than you’d ever suspect, my lord. The gentlemen of the ton haven’t always been kind to her, or the ladies either, come to that. Her intellectual turn has earned her a good deal of mockery, I’m afraid, and—”

  “It’s all right, Miss Hyacinth.” Nick took her hand and pressed it between his own. “I appreciate your concern for your sister, but I assure you, the last thing I would ever do is hurt her, and I won’t suffer anyone else to do so, either.”

  She searched his eyes as if to gauge the truth of his words, then her lips curved in a shy smile. “I’m vastly relieved to hear you say so, my lord. I couldn’t bear to think Violet’s heart would be broken again.”

  Again? Nick frowned. Had someone broken Violet’s heart?

  “There’s Violet now, my lord, just there.” Hyacinth pointed toward the stairs. “I’ll go tell my grandmother you’re about to depart.”

  She went off toward the dining room, and Nick peered around the side of the staircase. There, tucked under the stairs that led to the kitchens below, was a tiny alcove he hadn’t noticed before.

  A gentleman in a dark blue coat was there, bowing over a lady’s hand.

  It was Lord Derrick, and the lady, half-hidden by the curved wall of the alcove…

  Lady Dare.

  Nick’s shoulders tensed. His new bride didn’t look as if she’d been searching for him. No, she was smiling up at Lord Derrick, a faint blush on her cheeks, and she looked quite content to remain where she was.

  A strange, unfamiliar feeling seized him—something hot and sharp that made his hands fist and his stomach clench. Something that made him stride toward them, grasp his wife’s elbow, and draw her away from Lord Derrick.

  “Ah, here you are, Dare.” Derrick turned to him with a cheerful smile. “I was just offering your countess my heartfelt congratulations on your marriage. She tells me you leave this afternoon for West Sussex.”

  “That’s right.” Nick’s face felt hot, and he was sure he must be glaring at Derrick. “In fact”—he pulled Violet’s arm more firmly through his—“we need to leave at once if we plan to reach Guildford before dusk. Are you ready to go, Lady Dare?”

  If Lord Derrick noticed the possessiveness with which Nick uttered those last two words, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Safe travels then, Dare.” He took Violet’s hand in his once again and raised it to his lips. “And Lady Dare. I’m very happy for you both.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Violet was obliged to call these thanks over her shoulder as Nick hurried her down the hallway, away from Lord Derrick. “My lord? Why are you dragging me down the corridor?”

  “Your grandmother is looking for you.” The lie rose easily to Nick’s lips. “I promised I’d bring you to her before we leave.”

  They found Lady Chase in the dining room, flushed either with victory at having successfully married her granddaughter to an earl, or perhaps from too many glasses of champagne. When Nick and Violet came to bid her goodbye, she heaved herself to her feet with the help of her cane and held her arms out to Violet.

  “My dear child. I see your husband is anxious to leave, so I must bid you goodbye. Well, well, Violet, I don’t mind saying you’ve made me proud today. There now.” She patted Violet on the back, and when she drew away her eyes were glistening.

  Violet took her grandmother’s hand and held it for a long moment. “I’ll miss you, Grandmother, and my sisters…” She trailed off, and her mouth twisted as if she were holding off tears. “I’ll miss you all.”

  Lady Chase raised a hand to pat her granddaughter’s cheek. “It will get easier, child. I promise you that. Your husband will take care of you. Despite what you may believe, Violet, I wouldn’t let you go for anything less.”

  Violet nodded and clutched at her grandmother’s hand as her sisters and friends all crowded around her to fold her in their arms and bid her a final goodbye. Then Nick ushered her out the door, handed her into the carriage, and they were on their way.

  Lady Westcott had decided to ride in her own carriage, and after the noise of the wedding breakfast and flurry of good wishes, the silence of Nick’s carriage seemed deafening. Violet sagged against the squabs and closed her eyes as if she were exhausted, and she didn’t open them again.

  Nick remained quiet, watching her. He might have believed she was asleep, but her tense jaw and the rigidity of her shoulders gave her away. She was nervous to be alone with him again, and given what had happened between them the last time they were in his carriage, Nick couldn’t blame her.

  She must know how much he wanted her. Perhaps she thought he’d ravish her as soon as the carriage door closed behind him? He wouldn’t, of course. He was a gentleman, and a gentleman didn’t leap upon his innocent bride like a savage.

  No matter how lovely she was, or how breathless she made him.

  And she was lovely—rather pale, yes, and with shadows under her eyes that spoke of sleeplessness—but even so, Nick’s breath had caught the moment he first laid eyes on her this morning, and he hadn’t yet regained it.

  For the ceremony she’d worn a silvery gown with some sort of dainty, sheer fabric draped over the top of it that floated around her when she moved. Nick wasn’t versed in ladies’ fashions, but he knew what he liked, and his mouth had gone dry at the sight of the creamy skin of her bosom revealed by the wide neck and tiny puffed sleeves of her gown.

  He was going to buy her dozens of such gowns—tens of dozens of them—just for the pleasure of easing those maddening little sleeves down her arms and pressing kisses on her bare shoulders.

  She’d changed into a carriage dress and heavy cloak for the journey, and not a sliver of her skin was visible, but even so he couldn’t take his eyes off her, and if he could judge by the nervous flutter under her eyelids, she was well aware of it.

  And yet her eyes remained closed.

  The moments passed slowly into an hour, then two, until at last they were within five miles from the inn at Guildford, and she still hadn’t opened her eyes, or uttered a single word.

  The rain slashed against his window, and as they lurched over every soggy rut of the Great North Road between London and Guildford, Nick could no longer deny the truth to himself.

  His aunt was right. His wife was miserable, and he couldn’t bear it another moment.

  He still didn’t know what to say to comfort her, but he had to say something—anything—to make her open her eyes and look at him.

  “You’re fatigued,” he murmured at last.

  He half-expected her to ignore him, but she didn’t. After a moment’s hesitation she opened her eyes and offered him a wan smile. “A bit, yes.”

  “You didn’t eat much today. We’re but half an hour’s ride from Guildford. We’ll order dinner once we arrive, and then you can rest.”

  Her hands twisted in her lap. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry. I…there’s something I have to say to you, Lord Dare.”

  “Not Lord Dare, Violet. Nicholas, or Nick. We’re husband and wife now, and it’s time you called me by my given name.”

  “Yes, I—yes, of
course. Nicholas. I need to tell you that I—I’m…” She stuttered to a halt, but then she drew a deep breath and met his gaze. “I’m so sorry for deceiving you these past few weeks, and I most sincerely beg your pardon. I wanted to tell you the truth, and I tried to, every day after that night on Cockpit Steps, but I was afraid…”

  Nick leaned closer to her—closer than he should have if he intended to keep his hands to himself, because as soon as he caught her warm scent, he was helpless against the urge to stroke the backs of his fingers against her cheek.

  “What? What were you afraid of, Violet?”

  She stared at him, her eyes huge. “I was afraid if you knew the truth you’d refuse to see me again.”

  Nick’s hand stilled on her face.

  The night of the rout, when he found out she’d lied to him—he’d burned with humiliated fury over her deception. But there’d been something else there as well, under the fury, and it was worse than wounded pride, and more powerful than anger.

  Hurt.

  She’d hurt him. That day, at Wapping Old Stairs, with water seeping into his boots and the sun catching at her hair as she frowned down at her sketchbook—she’d been lying to him that day, and every day before and after, and the lie hurt him more than he’d ever imagined it could.

  But even in the midst of his pain and fury, he knew he was no better. He’d been so determined to find a bride as quickly as possible he hadn’t even known which lady he was courting. Could he really blame her for using him, when he’d done the same to her?

  Their courtship began with a lie, yes, but that didn’t mean they had to start their marriage with one, and he needed the truth from her now. “You were afraid I’d refuse to see you, and you wouldn’t be able to get the sketches you needed for your book? The book, Violet…was it the only reason you wanted me?”

  The question had been tormenting him for the past week. He was desperate to hear her answer, but half-afraid of it, too.