My Elusive Countess

by Carolynn Carey

  She was waltzing with Appelton, of course, and even across half the width of the ballroom, Blackbourne could judge that she was enjoying herself. Her smile was genuine and her shoulders shook gently with laughter.

  His gaze dropped to her chest. Her neckline was not immodestly low by current standards, but it was too low for Amanda, he decided. Her breasts, clearly molded by the high waist of her gown, floated only inches from Appelton’s chest. Blackbourne clenched his teeth and leaned back against a pillar, holding Amanda in his gaze until the dance ended.

  Amanda had returned to Rebecca’s side before Blackbourne could make his way across the ballroom. “Good evening, my lady,” he said, bowing. “You appear to be enjoying yourself tonight.” He was aware that his tone was almost accusatory, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

  A tiny frown touched Amanda’s forehead when she glanced at him and her eyes widened for a second before her expression became guarded. “It’s a lovely ball. Would you not agree?”

  Blackbourne inclined his head. “I’ve not had an opportunity recently to inquire about David’s and Thomas’ progress. I’d be honored, my lady, if you would save the supper dance for me so that we’ll have an opportunity to converse.”

  High spots of color instantly marked Amanda’s cheeks. “I have already accepted Lord Appelton’s request for the supper dance, my lord.”

  The disappointment that inundated Blackbourne was followed by mental images that were as unwelcome as they were unexpected—Amanda going in to supper on Appelton’s arm, allowing the earl to choose a plate of food for her from the mounds of delicacies the countess would have provided for her guests and laughing with him for the hour or more they would spend over their supper.

  A muscle jerked in Blackbourne’s jaw as rage swept him. That Amanda was beginning to favor Appelton above her other suitors now seemed obvious. But the most damning evidence in Blackbourne’s eyes was not Amanda’s choice of Appelton as an escort, it was Appelton’s interest in Amanda. The earl, Blackbourne knew, was not a marrying man, nor was he a man to expend his energies on a virtuous female. Thus, Appelton must have reason to believe Amanda would be amenable to having an affair with him.

  Disappointment, potent and bitter and corrosive, surged through Blackbourne’s veins. Until tonight, he had hoped to convince himself that Amanda was not the adventuress her husband had labeled her. Now he feared he had allowed her to mislead him. He told himself he should be experiencing nothing but contempt for her. In fact, he realized, he was experiencing contempt. But an even stronger and more compelling emotion overlay his scorn. Desire for Amanda still twisted and burned in his gut.

  And now that he had fewer doubts about Amanda’s true nature, he no longer felt bound by the dictates of the inconvenient and unnecessary conventions that had intruded on his pursuit of her. He bowed slightly. “Since we’ll have no opportunity to converse this evening, my lady, I shall call on you tomorrow morning at ten.”

  “At ten?” Amanda’s eyes widened. “But the ball will not be over before dawn.”

  Blackbourne raised his brows. “I shall understand, of course, if you’re too busy to discuss your son’s welfare.”

  “Of course I’m not too busy to discuss David,” Amanda said, her color fading. “But I don’t understand the rush to do so. Is something amiss?”

  To his disgust, Blackbourne found he couldn’t bring himself to use Amanda’s love for her son as a means to his own ends. He shook his head. “No, nothing is amiss as far as I know. However, we should soon discuss David’s education in more depth. Although I believe Thomas to be a good tutor, he is also young and may require more direction from us.”

  Amanda nodded. “Thomas writes frequently and informs me that David is well and happy, which has been my major concern for him at this point. But no doubt you are correct in believing that some direction will soon be necessary. Please feel free to call in the morning. I’ll be ready to receive you at ten.”

  “Very well. Until tomorrow morning then.” He sketched a bow, then turned and hurried from the room.

  * * * * *

  Blackbourne pulled his curricle to a stop in front of Amanda’s town house the following morning at five minutes before ten. He hummed under his breath as he mounted the front steps. Today he would see if he could replace Appelton in Amanda’s affections.

  Hammond opened the door even before Blackbourne reached for the knocker. “Her ladyship is waiting for you in the front drawing room,” the butler intoned. “If you will follow me, your lordship—”

  “I know the way,” Blackbourne said, stepping past the butler and hurriedly mounting the stairs.

  Amanda was seated in a chair near the window but when Blackbourne stepped into the room, she stood and came to meet him. If she had been deprived of sleep, her complexion showed no signs of it. She appeared her usual beautiful, glowing self, although a hint of worry darkened her eyes.

  “Good morning, my lady,” Blackbourne said, flashing what he hoped was a winning smile. “You look well today despite the short night.”

  Amanda’s tongue flicked out to moisten her lips. “Appearances can be deceiving. I feel groggy, so I’ve ordered coffee for us. I hope it will chase away this feeling of lethargy.”

  “Coffee sounds like a good choice. Have you broken your fast?”

  “Not yet. I’ve also ordered scones. Won’t you sit down?”

  Blackbourne waited until Amanda had taken a seat and then chose a chair opposite her. “Is Miss Thornton still resting?”

  Amanda laughed. “She is not one to lie abed, I’m afraid. She is already engaged in catching up with her correspondence.”

  “An admirable lady,” Blackbourne commented. “Did she enjoy the ball last evening?”

  “She described it as pleasant.” Amanda’s smile faded. “Were you angry with me last evening, my lord?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Amanda cocked her head to one side as if trying to decide how to proceed. “Perhaps I was mistaken, but there appeared to be a certain brittleness in your tone and—”

  She was interrupted by Hammond’s entrance with a tray containing coffee and scones. “Just place the tray on the table in front of the settee, Hammond,” Amanda said. “I shall serve.”

  Blackbourne couldn’t help noticing that Amanda’s hand trembled when she lifted the coffeepot, and he reluctantly acknowledged a stab of guilt. He suspected that his behavior of the night before, coupled with his suggestion that they needed to discuss David’s education, had unnerved Amanda. Rising quickly, he stepped behind her and reached to reinforce her trembling hand by placing his own over it.

  She stiffened for a few seconds, then acquiesced and allowed him to help guide her movements as they bent over the cups.

  Standing close behind Amanda, Blackbourne inhaled the familiar fragrance of violets wafting from her golden hair and felt his guilt drowning in desire. Somehow, some way, he had to make Amanda want him as much as he wanted her.

  Still guiding her movements, he slowly tipped the spout over the cups, brushing gently against the soft swell of her hips as she was forced to bend in front of him. Then, still leading her actions, he bent farther, pressing full length against her as they sat the pot down on the far side of the tray.

  He released her hand then, bringing his own back to gently cup her right breast, while his left arm wrapped around her midriff to pull her back against him.

  Blackbourne felt the sudden catch of breath low in Amanda’s chest as he fondled her breast, his fingers easily finding her erect nipple through the soft muslin of her morning gown. Gently he urged the small bud to grow beneath his fingertips until he felt Amanda’s body relaxing against him. Only then did he risk easing his left hand upward. His own desire burgeoned when he realized that her left nipple was already straining against the confines of her gown.

  Ruthlessly suppressing his own needs, he continued his attack on Amanda’s senses until her breath quickened and a tiny moan escaped
from her throat. Then, carefully and slowly, he turned her in his arms and bent to claim her lips, even as he pushed the offending fabric of her gown down, freeing her breasts to rest in his cupped hands.

  She gasped but didn’t object when he pulled back and gazed down at her while he still supported the weight of her breasts in his hands. “So beautiful,” he murmured softly. “You’re so very beautiful.”

  When he lifted his gaze and looked into her eyes, he saw they were glazed with passion. She tilted her head as though angling her lips for another kiss and he was thrilled to oblige. Calling upon every particle of skill he possessed, he kissed her deeply, easing his tongue into her mouth until her felt her respond, a hesitant but fervent return of pressure. Only then did he risk pulling her down with him onto the settee and transferring his kisses to her breasts.

  Amanda stiffened when his mouth first closed over her nipple, but within seconds she had relaxed again. In a tiny portion of his mind that was still functioning, it occurred to Blackbourne that Amanda behaved as though she had never known such intimacies before. Then he remembered that she had given birth to a child and he realized that he was imagining things.

  By the time he lifted his head from Amanda’s breast with the intention of reclaiming her lips, her breathing had become shallow and erratic, so much so that he had trouble understanding the words she suddenly gasped out.

  “What, my love?” he murmured, pausing in his pursuit of another kiss only when Amanda turned her head and managed to thrust one hand between them, pressing it against his chest.

  She took a deep breath. “We must stop, Lord Blackbourne.”

  “Why?” he asked in a soft whisper, smiling. “You are enjoying this as much as I.”

  “We must stop,” Amanda repeated, more firmly this time. “Please.”

  The distress in her voice at last penetrated Blackbourne’s desire-fogged mind. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. Desire was reflected there, but so too was determination. “Please,” she repeated, barely above a whisper.

  Blackbourne pulled back, forcing moderation into movements against which his whole being cried out in protest. “Amanda?” he murmured. “Why? Why are you denying us this pleasure?”

  She pushed herself out of his arms, slumped back against the settee and with trembling hands pulled her gown back up to cover her breasts. The set of her jaw was evidence of the battle she waged to regain control of her emotions. At last she blew out her breath in a long sigh. “I do not know if I can make you understand,” she murmured.

  “Try,” Blackbourne commanded, wrenching his gaze from her kiss-swollen lips. He transferred his gaze to a small painting of daffodils on the far wall.

  “You came here to discuss David,” Amanda reminded him.

  Blackbourne continued staring at the bright yellow flowers, their springtime dance forever frozen in time by a painter’s strokes. “David’s education needs no refinement at the moment. I used him as an excuse to see you at a time when you would have no other visitors. I wanted you alone.”

  “You… You planned this?”

  “Not this, no,” Blackbourne confessed, wrenching his gaze away from the blasted dancing daffodils. “Truthfully, I had hoped for something more.” He grasped Amanda’s shoulders. “Don’t tell me you cannot feel what is between us, Amanda,” he whispered fiercely. “It has been there from the first moment we met.”

  Amanda blinked back tears. “I feel it too,” she murmured. “You know that.”

  “Then why can you not allow yourself to respond to those feelings?” he demanded.

  With a sudden shrug of her shoulders, Amanda jerked away from his grasp and jumped to her feet, turning to stare down at him with wounded eyes. “You will not like the answer to your question, my lord, but I know you well enough to realize that you will insist upon hearing it anyway. Very well, I shall tell you. You see, after being married to Oliver, I promised myself I would never again become involved with a member of the nobility. I could not endure such pain again.”

  Blackbourne’s jaw clenched. “From what I have been told of your marriage, my lady, you were the one dispensing the pain, not enduring it.”

  Amanda immediately squared her shoulders. “I can imagine what you heard about me from Oliver, my lord, but I assure you that any pain my husband felt, he brought upon himself.”

  Blackbourne pushed himself to his feet and gazed at Amanda for long seconds before shaking his head. “Oliver loved you, Amanda,” he said softly, then started when Amanda’s eyes darkened with fury.

  “Loved me?” she ground out through clenched teeth. “Loved me? Dear god! I cannot believe he actually convinced you that he loved me. I assure you, my lord, that Oliver loved no one but himself and he cared for nothing except his gambling and his extravagances.”

  Blackbourne’s temper flared. “You malign Oliver when he is no longer here to defend himself. Did you think he had not told me that your father was delighted beyond belief that a nobleman fell in love with you and asked you to be his wife? And did you think he hadn’t confided in me about your motives for accepting his proposal? That you cared more for his title than for him as a man?”

  Amanda stared up at him for several seconds with widened eyes. “So that is the tale he told you,” she murmured at last. “What else did he tell you about me? That I was a shrew, a cheat, a liar, a manipulator?”

  “Yes to each of those,” Blackbourne retorted swiftly. He lifted his lips into a smile that was totally devoid of humor. “Does the shoe fit, Amanda? Is that why you can so easily imagine the way your late husband described you?”

  “I don’t need imagination,” Amanda informed him, her voice full of fury. “My memories are sufficient. Oliver flung those epithets into my face more times than I can count, usually when he was infuriated because I refused to beg my father for the funds he needed to pay his gambling debts or to purchase another bauble for his latest mistress.”

  Doubt flickered for a second in Blackbourne’s mind. He blew his breath out in a sigh, then turned to pace across the room and back again. “And if I accept your word for what Oliver was, where does that leave us? Do you still maintain that you don’t want to become involved with another member of the nobility.”

  “Wishes have nothing to do with it, my lord,” Amanda said. “If I were to follow my inclinations, I would…” She paused and sighed. “But however much I might enjoy an affaire de coeur with you, I cannot forget my vow to avoid any sort of relationship with a nobleman.”

  Blackbourne hoped his tone adequately reflected his fury. “Then how, my dear Amanda, do you explain your continued involvement with Appelton?”

  “But I am not involved with Appelton,” Amanda objected. “He is merely a friend.”

  “He also possesses every shortcoming you have laid at Oliver’s door. Appelton is a gambler, a rake, and an opportunist. Yet you appear to prefer his company to anyone else’s. Frankly, Amanda, your actions are so much the opposite of your words, I find it difficult to believe anything you say.”

  Amanda lifted her chin and glared down her nose. “Then I suggest you leave, my lord. I think I have been insulted enough for one day.”

  Blackbourne opened his mouth, then thought better of speaking again. His anger had faded into a disappointment so deep that he could say nothing more without revealing feelings he preferred to keep private. He turned on his heel and strode from the room.

  Chapter Twenty

  Amanda glared at Blackbourne’s rigid back while he stalked from her drawing room. “Blast you, Blackbourne,” she muttered, grabbing a delicate Wedgwood teacup from the table. She drew back her arm, fully intending to fling the fragile china against the door Blackbourne had closed behind him, but her arm soon dropped to her side, teacup intact.

  Mentally damning her innate conservative nature, Amanda set the cup back on the table, then picked up a napkin, wadded it into a ball and flung it across the room. Unfortunately, the effect was not nearly as satisfying as the sound o
f shattering china would have been. Why, she asked herself, must she be cursed with such plebeian inclinations? And why, when she knew she had done the right thing in refusing to have an affair with Blackbourne, did it feel so wrong?

  “Because, fool that you are, you have allowed yourself to fall in love with the man,” she muttered to herself. “And because you know that the wounds he could inflict upon your soul would never heal.”

  Still, despite her certainty that she had done the right thing, Amanda’s sense of loss settled in her stomach like a giant and jagged stone. After all, she had learned this morning that the acts that happened between a man and a woman could be more than a crude and often painful coupling between the sheets. She had learned that passion was not the sole province of men, that pleasure could be a shared experience. And she was convinced that she had driven away the one man in the world who could have taught her the full joy of that experience.

  “Idiot,” Amanda whispered through gritted teeth as she sank onto a nearby chair. “You are an idiot. Perhaps he would have learned to love you.”

  But in her heart, Amanda knew she was flagellating herself without reason. Even if Blackbourne were to fall in love with her, their differences would eventually transform his love into hate, for she could not believe he would ever respect her. To him, she would never be more than the offspring of a merchant.

  She allowed herself one last deep sigh before glancing at the clock on the mantel. Rebecca would be waiting for her in the breakfast parlor, wondering what had become of her. Amanda wearily pushed herself to her feet and went to join her companion.

  “You look as though you should go straight back to bed, my dear,” Rebecca announced when Amanda entered the room. “You have obviously had too little sleep. Or are you sickening with something?”