My Elusive Countess

by Carolynn Carey

  He slipped his hands lower, cupping her bottom and pulling her against his arousal. He felt her stiffen for a second, then she acquiesced, allowing him to continue holding her. Her hands shifted from his shoulders down his biceps, and then she wrapped her arms around his waist.

  He wanted to feel her breasts, needed to feel her breasts, and so he moved his right hand upward from her hips along her waistline and up her rib cage. Soon his fingers discovered the soft mound that provided such a delightful contrast with the solidity of her ribs. His desire burgeoned and his breath left him.

  “Ahem. Ahem. I say, ahem.”

  Rebecca Thornton’s words slowly insinuated themselves into Blackbourne’s consciousness, forcing his senses to pull back and realign themselves, acknowledging that he and Amanda were no longer alone. Still, he refused to be hurried. He didn’t think he could have hurried if his life had depended on it. He very gradually began to pull back, to end his and Amanda’s kiss and to loosen their embrace.

  Of course he was aware of the exact second Rebecca’s presence dawned on Amanda. First she pulled away from him slowly, then looked up with confusion written in her eyes, and finally leapt backward as though his touch had suddenly seared her.

  “R-R-Rebecca.” She whirled with scarlet cheeks to face her companion.

  Rebecca, who had paused in the doorway, now stepped fully into the room. “I just arrived and the butler said I would find you here. How is David?”

  “Fine,” Amanda murmured. “Well, not fine exactly. He has the chicken pox, but his most severe symptoms were caused by rum.”

  “Rum?” asked Rebecca calmly. Blackbourne looked at her, realized that her eyes were twinkling, and stepped in front of Amanda. He was beginning to like Rebecca Thornton, but even so, he would not allow Amanda to be teased when she was already so vulnerable.

  “You must be tired from your journey, Miss Thornton,” he said. “You made exceptionally good time. We were not expecting you just yet.”

  “So I suspected,” Rebecca responded. “And no, I am not at all tired. I’ll just slip up to visit David a moment and then see if the housekeeper needs any assistance. You will, of course, stay for dinner, Lord Blackbourne, and you had best plan on staying overnight. It is rather late for you to drive back to the Three Ducks today.”

  Blackbourne glanced at Amanda, saw that she still appeared stunned and hastily shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, Miss Thornton, but I mustn’t impose. Besides, there is Amanda’s reputation to think of, you know.” His gaze dared Rebecca to suggest that his concern for Amanda’s good name was a bit tardy.

  “Nonsense. Amanda’s name is well protected. I am here.”

  Blackbourne nodded. “I bow to your superior understanding of the niceties of the situation. I’m pleased to accept your invitation.”

  “Very good.” Rebecca turned to Amanda. “You should lie down for an hour or two, my dear. You look worn to the bone. Come, I’ll escort you to your chamber.”

  Blackbourne inhaled swiftly when Amanda turned back to face him, gazing at him with eyes that still appeared glazed from the passion they had shared. That she was totally unaccustomed to such feelings seemed more evident than ever, and Blackbourne felt his heart swell with pride to know he had been the first to take her to such heights. A smile lifted the corners of his lips as Amanda started to follow Rebecca from the room. But she paused in the doorway and turned back to stare at him for perhaps five seconds, almost as though she was trying to see into his mind and read his intentions. She said nothing, nor did her expression change, although her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips. Then she was gone.

  With her departure, reality set in. Blackbourne dropped into a chair and stared out the window into the gently swaying leaves of a large elm, trying to understand what had occurred between Amanda and him. It was not merely lust, that much he knew. Lust was a simple emotion, a bodily hunger that was easily assuaged. What he had felt this afternoon was so much more complicated than mere lust that he was at a loss to name it. Madness, he finally concluded, was as close as he could come to describing the emotions that had inundated him. Unless—

  But no. He could not be falling in love with Amanda. Four weeks ago he had hated her. Even now he was not positive he trusted her. After all, Oliver had described her as self-centered, greedy, ambitious and manipulative.

  While he was willing to believe that Oliver had misjudged Amanda to some extent, surely the man had been aware of her basic character. He had been her husband. He had joined their regiment to escape her machinations. He had died at Waterloo because he could not tolerate staying in England with a wife who was a liar and a cheat.

  Blackbourne blew his breath out in a despondent sigh. He was treading on dangerous ground and he had learned long ago that a man approaching a quagmire should do so by taking one careful step at a time. Or preferably by turning around and running in the opposite direction.

  But as Blackbourne ruefully admitted to himself, he was already committed to the path he was on. He had promised Oliver to watch over his son and he had promised Amanda an introduction into society. He could not turn his back on either obligation but he was newly determined to proceed with utmost caution.

  Toward Amanda he would behave with detached courtesy, forgetting his determination to seduce her. She was, after all, only another beautiful woman. London was populated with beautiful women who could assuage his desires as easily as Amanda.

  Yes, he concluded with a hearty sigh of relief, he could now envision the path he must tread to avoid the dangers Amanda presented. While he would fulfill his promise to her by introducing her to his aunt, he would do no more. He would forget her. He would find someone else who could tantalize his senses, which, after all, was Amanda’s most dominant effect on him.

  If some small voice buried deep in his subconscious whispered to Blackbourne that he was deluding himself, he quickly pushed the thought away. Standing, he smiled to himself, pleased that he had decided how to proceed, and he set out to pass the remainder of the afternoon by exploring the estate that had once belonged to his best friend.

  * * * * *

  “Good evening, my lord.” Rebecca Thornton laid her embroidery to one side when Blackbourne entered the drawing room. She motioned to a sideboard holding several decanters and glasses. “Would you care for something to drink before we go in to dinner?”

  “Thank you, no.” Blackbourne glanced around the room. Amanda was seated on a settee near the window, a glass of ratafia in her hand. He gazed at her, his eyes drinking in her beauty. Although her soft rose gown was not in the latest style, it had the effect of darkening the color of her eyes and highlighting the golden flecks that shimmered in her hair. Blackbourne felt his desire rising and quickly diverted his attention to Rebecca, who was speaking again.

  “I was just telling Amanda that she must return to London tomorrow or on the following day at the latest. She is hesitant about leaving David, of course, but the lad is not in the least bit of danger and he seems quite content with that nice young Thomas as his companion.”

  Blackbourne nodded but said nothing. If Amanda chose to stay at Willow Place, the task of forgetting her would be made that much easier.

  “Of course,” Rebecca continued, “if David were seriously ill, the situation would be different. However, Amanda now has an obligation to you and your aunt, who has so kindly agreed to sponsor her. Do you not agree, my lord?”

  Blackbourne looked at Amanda. She stared into her lap as though fascinated by the tiny rosebuds embroidered into the fabric of her gown. “Lady Willowvale must not consider herself under any obligation to me. If she feels she should stay with her son, I would not be so disobliging as to insist that she do otherwise.”

  Amanda looked up to meet his gaze and Blackbourne was startled to discover that her expression contained no subtle suggestion that she was recalling their embrace of that afternoon. There was no coy lowering of her eyelids, no half-suppressed smile of triumph and of expectati
on. Instead, her gaze was both candid and aloof. “I shall, of course, return to town, Lord Blackbourne,” she said. “As you so recently pointed out, the chore I have before me in London is something I must undertake for David’s sake. I think perhaps I can serve him best by continuing my siege upon the ton.”

  Feeling more than a bit taken aback, Blackbourne struggled to suppress his sudden surge of pride in Amanda’s attitude. He realized he had been waiting for her to exhibit the behavior he had come to anticipate from women who knew a man was exceptionally attracted to them. He had expected her to turn smug and demanding. Instead, she was obviously attempting to prove to him that their embrace had not altered her expectations of him. He should be feeling relief, he reminded himself, not this inexplicable sense of loss.

  “You must do as you see fit, Lady Willowvale.” He met Amanda’s gaze with an aloofness he hoped would match hers.

  “That’s settled then,” Rebecca interjected in her customary phlegmatic way. “You will no doubt wish to return to London in your curricle, my lord. Amanda, of course, will travel with me in the coach. ’Twill be more seemly, not to mention more comfortable.”

  “Yes,” Blackbourne agreed. “Lady Willowvale will be much more comfortable traveling in the coach.”

  He just hoped he could drive back to London without recalling with every turn of the wheels how much pleasure he had derived from having Amanda at his side on the trip down.

  Half an hour later, Amanda clenched her teeth while forcing a smile. Blackbourne, who was seated on her right at the dinner table, played the role of the perfect guest, dividing his time between her and Rebecca, discussing the latest news from London, smiling on cue and complimenting the food. No one could have asked for a better-mannered guest and Amanda found herself wishing he were anywhere but at her side.

  She had spent the afternoon pretending to rest. But instead of sleeping, she had stretched out on her bed in the darkened bedchamber and replayed in her mind every exchange that had taken place between her and Blackbourne since the first moment they met.

  She had suspected from the beginning that he was strongly attracted to her. After all, lust was an emotion Amanda had learned long ago to recognize in a man’s eyes. Even Oliver, who had scorned almost everything else about her, had wanted her body. Amanda had known she had no choice but to submit to him. He had been her husband. But she had vowed never again to give herself to a man who was more interested in what she looked like than in what kind of person she was.

  Yet Amanda was certain she would have done just that if Rebecca’s interruption that afternoon had been less timely. Never would Amanda have dreamed that passion between a man and a woman could ignite so quickly and so forcefully. Never would she have believed that a man’s embrace could carry her to such heights, could make her forget who she was and what she believed in.

  Still, in a matter of seconds, Blackbourne’s kiss had almost undone her. She had been vulnerable, of course, both emotionally and physically. But she was honest enough with herself to admit that she would have responded to him in the same manner under any circumstances. She wanted him, she suspected, just as much as he wanted her.

  But the Marquess of Blackbourne, she was certain, was not a man to offer marriage to a woman of her birth, and even if he were, she could never accept that offer. One marriage to a peer of the realm had been enough to teach her that her world and Blackbourne’s could never mix. She must keep her distance from him until such time as she could establish herself in society and then retreat to Willow Place again. Once David’s future was secure, she need rarely see Blackbourne.

  But she truly feared—oh how she feared—that she had yet to learn the true meaning of loneliness.

  She took a sip of her wine and then cut her gaze toward Blackbourne when she realized he was looking at her as though waiting on a response to some question. She frowned. “I’m sorry, my lord. Did you just address me?”

  Blackbourne raised his brows. “I did. I asked if you will have time upon your return to town to complete your fittings and be ready to accompany my aunt on some of her calls next week.”

  “I should think so, yes.” Amanda stifled a sigh, wishing she did not already miss her and Blackbourne’s earlier camaraderie. Their embrace had ended that, of course. Their embrace and the occasional flash of an unidentifiable emotion she occasionally detected in his gaze. He was probably wondering why he had allowed himself to become embroiled with a woman whose birth was so far beneath his own.

  She wished she could tell him that he need not fear she would try to take advantage of his feelings, whatever they might be. He was a means to an end for her, a way to help her son. He could never be more. He must never be more. Oliver had taught her that.

  “Is Lady Cordelia prone to headaches, my lord?” Rebecca asked. “For if so, I have a remedy handed down to me from my grandmother that I feel sure would—”

  “Thank you for inquiring,” Blackbourne said quickly. “Fortunately, my aunt is generally as healthy as a horse. You must not worry that she’ll not be able to sponsor Lady Willowvale. I can almost guarantee that my aunt will be most accommodating.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Six days later, Amanda paced the drawing room in her London town house, nervously awaiting Lady Cordelia’s arrival. She was scheduled to call on Amanda at two o’clock so they could become acquainted before departing to visit the Duchess of Parcell.

  “If you do not stop pacing, Amanda,” Rebecca said, “you will wear out your new slippers and you know it was extremely difficult to find that shade of blue to match your gown.”

  Amanda obediently lowered herself into a chair, taking care not to wrinkle her gown. “What do you know of Lady Cordelia, Becky?”

  “I have not met the woman, but I have been told that she is quite strict in her notions. However, I have no concerns that your behavior will put her to the blush. Just remember, my dear, that the various teachers your father hired for you were always of high birth and that your erudition is second to none.”

  “But what if she does not like me?”

  “Stop gnawing on your fingernail, Amanda. Simply bear in mind that there is no reason Lady Cordelia should not like you. She no doubt welcomes this opportunity to help her beloved nephew, just as you would always be pleased to be of assistance to David.”

  Amanda’s smile was one of relief. “Of course. I had not thought of this situation in that light. Thank you, Becky.”

  “You are welcome, my dear. Ah! I believe I heard the front door knocker. No doubt Lady Cordelia has arrived.”

  Lady Cordelia was just as formidable as Amanda had expected. She was taller than average and slender, with a narrow face, thin lips, and black eyes. She was dressed, however, in the height of fashion, although the pastels she had chosen did not complement her dark looks.

  As soon as Lady Cordelia stepped into the room, Amanda curtsied to her, then wondered if perhaps she should have been less formal. Fortunately, her action appeared to find favor with Lady Cordelia, who extended a slender hand encased in a lilac glove that matched her elegant gown. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Willowvale. I’m delighted to see that you have a companion with you. You may introduce us if you wish.”

  Feeling a bit dazed by her guest’s friendliness, Amanda made the introductions.

  “Rebecca Thornton?” Lady Cordelia repeated. “Are you perchance related to the Thornton family of Surrey?”

  Rebecca inclined her head.

  “Based on your apparent age, I would guess you to be Lucinda’s daughter. Am I correct?”

  Again Rebecca inclined her head.

  “But my dear, that would make you related to the Duke of Warton. How delightful. Are you not accompanying us this afternoon? I am certain all of my friends would be overjoyed to meet you.”

  “Thank you, no, my lady. I do not go out much in society,” Rebecca replied with a lift of her chin.

  “Do you not? How sad! You would be adored, I assure you. Eccentrics are all
the rage.”

  Amanda inhaled swiftly. “Rebecca is not an eccentric,” she said.

  Lady Cordelia frowned. “Have I said something wrong? If so, I apologize, Miss Thornton.”

  “No apology is necessary,” Rebecca said. “Amanda jumped to my defense too quickly. I do not consider your assessment an insult. In fact, I have always aspired to the title of eccentric. So uninhibiting, don’t you think?”

  “Uninhibiting?” Lady Cordelia repeated with raised eyebrows. “I suppose one could think of it in those terms.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “But look at the time. Shall we go, Lady Willowvale?”

  Amanda moistened her lips and looked at Rebecca. If Lady Cordelia had hurt Rebecca’s feelings, Amanda would think of some excuse not to accompany her this afternoon. But Rebecca flashed her a quick smile and a tiny wink, as though to relieve Amanda’s mind of any concerns.

  Lady Cordelia cleared her throat. “I am ready to go, Lady Willowvale. Are you coming?”

  “Yes,” Amanda murmured. “I am ready.” She said a hurried goodbye to Rebecca before turning to follow Blackbourne’s aunt down the stairs.

  Lady Cordelia insisted that Amanda take the forward-facing seat in her coach. “For you are so pale, already, my dear,” she explained, “and I would not wish the carriage ride to make you ill. Are you, perhaps, nervous?”

  She was not, Amanda reflected, although she had expected to be. “Just a bit, perhaps,” she prevaricated, not wanting Lady Cordelia to continue speculating about her lack of color. She did not wish to explain that she had slept little since returning to London. Blackbourne had not called, nor had he so much as sent a note around inquiring about David’s health as she had thought he would do. After all, he’d left Willow Place a day earlier than she had, so he couldn’t know that David had been recovering even more quickly than Doctor Utley had anticipated.