The Reluctant Countess

by Wendy Vella

  “I am not above force,” Patrick said in a firm tone.

  “P-please, my lord,” Sophie whispered, “I must tend to my bro … Timmy.”

  Patrick reached for her hand as she turned, then spun her back to face him. Ignoring her struggles, he examined the red swollen surface of her palm. Small black marks indicated she had managed to imbed something in there.

  “These must come out now, Sophie, or they’ll cause infection,” he said, giving her a small tug to stop her struggles.

  Sophie was beside herself. She was embarrassed, humiliated, and hot all over from his touch; she wanted to scream and cry all at once.

  “Sit beside Timmy and I will see if I can remove some of them. Then you will need to return home to soak your hand,” Patrick said, releasing her so she could sit beside the small boy.

  Sophie moved to where Timmy sat quietly playing on a rug with his toys. She had to get them out of here as quickly as possible without saying too much. She had not yet composed herself, and if she spoke now her words would get all jumbled and surely that would only make Lord Coulter more suspicious of her? Her heart was pounding so loudly that Sophie was certain he could hear it.

  Removing his coat, Patrick smiled at the small boy, then knelt down on the ground and tickled his cheek. He was a handsome little fellow and had dimples similar to those of his mother.

  “Y-your trousers, m-my lord,” Sophie said as he knelt before her in his immaculate snow-white breeches.

  “Luckily it is not I who does the washing, Countess.” He offered her a gentle smile as he reached for her hand.

  Oh lord, this is not good, Sophie thought again as he lowered his head to examine her palm. She could smell him, citrus and soap and the outdoors, a heady combination for any woman to endure. Stop it, Sophie; he is just a man. And yet this close, she could see how thick his hair was. He had removed his hat and the curls were starting to lift as a slight breeze ruffled through them, and her fingers itched to touch a strand.

  “I really must insist you unclench your fist,” Patrick said looking into her eyes.

  Sophie did as he asked, but clamped her bottom lip firmly between her teeth so she was not able to speak again. Looking at her hand dwarfed between his, she was amazed at how gentle he was; she was sure he could crush all the bones in her wrist with little effort.

  “So do you often come into isolated areas of the park to stand on your hands?”

  He saw her knickers! Sophie felt color flood her checks. Dear lord, she would have to go back to the country now, surely even Letty would see that.

  Patrick winced as he pulled a long thorn from her hand. As yet, the Countess of Monmouth had not even gasped. Most of the women of his acquaintance would be lying prostrate on the ground sobbing uncontrollably, but not his Sophie. He wondered again when she had become his Sophie.

  “You may scream if you wish; your secret will be safe with me.”

  “Th-thank you.”

  Patrick wondered at her stuttering, was it nerves or was this yet another reason she spoke so carefully? Perhaps she was not quite as aloof as she led everyone to believe.

  Her beauty here in this quiet little clearing was far more intoxicating than that of the pampered and primped lady he met in the ballrooms of the ton. He remembered how she looked on the day he had saved her from that toad, Myles. She had been beautiful in a simple day dress, but here, with her long dark curls hanging down her back and her face glowing from the recent exertion, she took his breath away. His body was now also intimately acquainted with what she had on under her dress, and the memory of her slender limbs began to heat his blood. Sweat broke on his brow as she tried to move away from him again and the simple muslin day dress showed him the top of her generous breasts.

  Sophie looked at Timmy and was pleased to note he had fallen asleep. At least he would not see her humiliation.

  “That is the last one,” Patrick said, pulling a clean white piece of linen from his pocket and using it to wipe the small smears of blood off her palm.

  “I … I must thank you, my lord,” Sophie said slowly and was pleased that she barely stuttered.

  “Of course, there will be a payment of some sort,” Patrick said, his face expressionless as she looked at him.

  “Payment, my lord?” Sophie asked, feeling the breath rush from her body as he moved closer to her.

  “Surely a rescuer deserves some sort of payment, Countess.”

  “Re-rescuer.” He surrounded her, his thighs brushing hers, his hands sliding up her arms to grip her shoulders and slowly pull her closer.

  “M-my lord!” Sophie whispered, her words sounding desperate.

  “Be quiet, Sophie,” Patrick said, then let his lips brush hers. He kept his touch soft, which elicited a pleasing response from her. Lifting Sophie to her knees, Patrick leaned back on his ankles and pulled her between his thighs. He swept her bottom lip with his tongue and was rewarded with a sigh, which in turn gave him access to the inside of her mouth.

  Sophie burned everywhere. Her breasts brushed his chest, his thighs cradled her close, and she felt surrounded, engulfed. It was exhilarating yet frightening, but she was powerless to put a stop to it.

  “You taste so sweet, Sophie,” Patrick whispered into her ear as he licked its shell and moved down to her neck. His hand cupped her bottom and pulled her closer. Sophie made a small noise, then lifted her arms around his neck to push her fingers through his black curls. She needed to get closer; heat pooled between her thighs and a sort of languor swept her body, which she knew had to be passion.

  Patrick swallowed the small gasp she made as he once again kissed her, this time stroking the inner walls of her mouth with his tongue. He could feel one pebbled nipple hard beneath her dress as it brushed against his chest, and he wanted to see her then, see if her breasts were as he had imagined them. His fingers traced the neckline of her dress, brushing the gentle swells.

  “No!”

  “Sophie,” Patrick groaned as she pulled away and scurried backward. She looked ravished, her hair tousled, lips reddened from his kisses, breasts heaving.

  “I … I cannot, my l-lord,” Sophie said, then, to her utter humiliation, she started to cry.

  “Sophie!” Patrick said, moving closer. “Please don’t cry.” He hated tears; they made him feel helpless—something he wasn’t used to.

  “I … I am n-not crying,” she sniffed, then sobbed louder as he tried to pull her back into his arms. “Please just g-go.”

  Climbing to his feet, Patrick pulled on his jacket, and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. What the hell was wrong with him, seducing a young innocent here, in a secluded park? Innocent? How was that possible? He looked down at the small boy before him. Shaking his head, he took an unsteady step backward. Now was not the time to work through his thoughts, seeing as they were covered in a red haze of lust.

  “Where is your carriage?”

  “B-behind those trees,” Sophie said as she made herself busy gathering up Timmy’s things and putting them all back in the large hamper.

  “Come, I will escort you.”

  Sophie didn’t argue, she just handed him the basket while she lifted the sleeping boy into her arms.

  “Would you rather I carry him?” Patrick questioned, but Sophie just shook her head and started walking. She held the baby close, her lips touching his head every few steps, and Patrick tried to dislodge thoughts of those lips touching his just moments before.

  The carriage was a short walk and Patrick noticed the driver looking at Sophie strangely. She gave the man a small shake of her head as they drew near. Placing the hamper on the floor of the carriage, he helped her inside.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Sophie said, looking at Patrick’s right ear.

  “Goodbye, Countess, and do not forget to bathe your palm,” he said, shutting the door with a decisive click.

  Walking slowly back to where his horse was tethered, Patrick laughed softly. So much for clearing his thoughts; they wer
e now filled with even more conflicting emotions, all of which centered on a certain countess. He now knew what she tasted like, the texture of her lips crushed beneath his own, the feel of her sweet bottom in his hands, and the memory of her full curves pressed against his chest. How the hell would he get her out of his head now?

  He replayed his time with her and it was then he remembered what she had said before he kissed her and every other thought had been obliterated from his head. She had been about to call Timmy her brother, Patrick was sure of it.

  * * *

  To her surprise, Sophie had slept soundly all night and woke refreshed and determined to put the episode with Lord Coulter from her mind. She vowed to keep him at a distance from this day forth. She told Letty about her meeting with Amelia Pette at breakfast, and how she was going to visit with her to see her dolls. However, she did not mention anything about her meeting with the Earl of Coulter.

  “But of course, dear, you must go,” Letty said smiling, “and I will accompany you.”

  “That is not necessary, Letty. I feel quite comfortable in seeing Amelia alone; in fact I believe I shall visit her today,” Sophie said, crossing her eyes at Timmy.

  “Fee, Fee!” the little boy squealed back at her with a wide grin. If only everyone were so easy to please, Sophie thought, as visions of a certain dark earl slipped into her head. She was sure he wanted more from her than a few stolen kisses, which frightened and excited her all at once.

  “Minerva Pette is an old friend, Sophie,” Letty said.

  “What are you not telling me, Letty?” Sophie asked, looking closely at her sister-in-law.

  With a sigh, Letty told Sophie the story of the Pettes and most especially Minerva Pette, Amelia’s mother.

  “We came out together, Minerva and I; she was something of a beauty,” Letty said as her eyes filled with distant memories.

  “As were you, Letty,” Sophie added.

  “Thank you, dear. I was something of a beauty in my day.”

  Sophie hid her smile in her teacup as she waited for Letty to continue. Vanity was indeed a sin that Letty had in abundance.

  “Minerva was in fact my dearest friend before her parents sold her to the highest bidder, Sophie. A lecherous old man more than three times her age.” Letty sipped her tea before she continued. Her usually happy face was now serious.

  “To the eye, Lord Pette was a very wealthy titled peer, Sophie. He married Minerva and took her from London to his estate in the country. She had told me how scared she was and of course there was little I could do or say to alleviate that fear; I just prayed that Lord Pette would take care of my friend.”

  Sophie could see by the expression on Letty’s face that Lord Pette had not taken care of her friend. “What happened?” she whispered, almost fearing what she was about to hear.

  “He beat her and gambled every penny he had away. His estates were entailed and she was left penniless.” Sophie could hear the tremor in her sister-in-law’s voice.

  “How did you find out?”

  “When Minerva did not respond to my letters, I decided to pay her a visit,” Letty said, her face set in rigid lines. “Henry was courting me at the time, so he offered to take me. We arrived to find my beautiful friend, bruised and beaten, bearing absolutely no resemblance to the sweet young woman who had left London mere months previous.”

  “Dear lord, Letty, what did you do?”

  “I found him, her husband. He lay in a drunken stupor on his bed with his pants down around his ankles,” Letty said, and Sophie could see the anger that still smoldered inside Letty.

  “I threw a basin of water over him to make him wake up,” she said, “then I told him I was taking Minerva back to London and if he tried to follow, she would expose him for the animal he was.”

  “My God!”

  “Of course he yelled and tried to hit me, but Henry had followed me and, astute man that he was, took in the situation with one glance and knocked Lord Pette to the ground.”

  Sophie had been on the receiving end of Letty’s protection and knew exactly what she had done for Minerva.

  “I think I would have liked your Henry, Letty.”

  “Yes, he was the very best of men.” Letty sighed, dabbing the corners of her eyes before she continued with her story.

  “We gathered her up, along with her terrified maid, and left. On the journey back to London, she told us everything he had done to her, all of it, Sophie.” Letty’s eyes looked bleak, which told Sophie more than words could say about just what had happened to Minerva Pette.

  “She was a pitiful wreck, a shadow of my Minerva,” Letty continued. “Eventually we reached London and I brought her to my house. My parents were shocked, obviously, but were reluctant to get involved in something that was no concern of theirs. It was actually my brother Melton who came to my aid. He had always been in love with Minerva and he talked them into letting her stay.”

  Sophie sat quietly; she knew Letty’s story was far from over.

  “Two weeks after we reached London, Lord Pette died in a hunting accident. He left Minerva alone, pregnant, and in debt. Her parents found out she was with me and came for her and I could do little to stop them.”

  “But why do you not see her now, Letty?” Sophie asked.

  “I do not know whether it was from embarrassment or a need to forget those awful weeks, but Minerva has not spoken to me since.” Letty said the last bit softly, and Sophie could see she was holding back tears.

  “But you saved her!” Sophie cried as she got out of her chair and rushed over to hug Letty.

  “Minerva will not even look at me, Sophie,” Letty said sadly.

  “We shall see about that!”

  “Now, Sophie, you will not champion this cause. I only hope that Minerva has been a good mother to Amelia, although I fear she has not.”

  “I am afraid you are correct, Letty, if Amelia’s dress sense is any indication,” Sophie said, wrinkling her nose as she regained her chair.

  “I will accompany you to see Amelia, Sophie, because I will not let Minerva mistreat you because of her dislike of me. I will make polite conversation, but there will be no reconciliation.”

  We shall see, Sophie thought, but she kept this to herself.

  * * *

  Minerva Pette lived in a town house that had once belonged to her parents. Perhaps out of guilt over what they had done to their only child, Lord Pette had left Minerva with enough money to live in comfort. But it was too little too late as far as Letty was concerned.

  “If you will come this way, please.”

  “Dear lord, this place looks like someone is in mourning,” Letty whispered as they followed a stiff-backed butler down a dark paneled hallway.

  Sophie nodded and wondered how a lively girl like Amelia had survived in such an environment. The Monmouth women looked like two birds of paradise in such a gloomy setting. Letty wore a beautiful pale blue dress with white trim around the cuffs and hem. Her hair was piled into its usual elaborate style with a few small diamond pins securing it. Sophie had chosen lemon, which seemed to suit her coloring, and had left her hair simple, not wanting to make the contrast between herself and Amelia too obvious. Little did she know that the simplicity merely allowed her beauty more freedom and that the lemon perfectly complemented her raven curls and alabaster skin.

  “Lady Carstairs and the Countess of Monmouth,” the Pette butler announced in serious tones befitting the somber surroundings.

  Sophie’s first impressions as she entered the drawing room were no different from those she and Letty had formed upon entering Amelia’s home. There was a sense of bereavement everywhere. The room was decorated in dark colors and the drapes were pulled against the bright sunlight. A fire blazed in the hearth and Sophie felt the stifling heat like a blanket as she moved forward.

  “Sophie!” Amelia cried, rushing across the room to clasp Sophie’s hands and give them a little shake, her brown velvet eyes twinkling with excitement.


  “Amelia, unhand the countess and take your seat at once!”

  “Sorry, Mama.” Amelia gave a little sigh as she let go of Sophie’s hands and returned to her seat, her previous excitement now snuffed out like a candle’s flame.

  Minerva Pette sat in a very upright chair with a high back that resembled a throne. Her hair was drawn severely from her pale face, upon which sat a fierce scowl, and her slight body was dwarfed in a dress of heavy dull brown brocade that started at her chin and finished at the floor.

  “My lady,” Sophie said, sinking into a curtsy.

  “Countess.” Lady Pette acknowledged her with one short, sharp word.

  “I believe it is customary to curtsy before a countess, Minerva.”

  Sophie stiffened as Letty stepped up beside her. She quickly looked at Lady Pette, who seemed to be suddenly frozen to her chair, her eyes almost bulging out of her head as they studied her old friend.

  “Minerva,” Letty prompted, this time with a little more force. Sophie had never seen such a fierce expression in her sister-in-law’s eyes.

  “O-of course,” Lady Pette said, then gained her feet and curtsied to Sophie, her movements stilted, almost as if the gesture was unnatural.

  “Hello, my dear,” Letty said, turning to Amelia. “It is my great pleasure to finally meet you.”

  “And you, Lady Carstairs.”

  “Your mother and I were once dear friends, Amelia, and it has been my fondest wish to meet with you for many years.”

  “Oh,” Amelia said, looking at her mother whose face was now flushed with color.

  “You will not speak of that time,” Lady Pette’s tone was fierce.

  “What time, Mother?” Amelia looked worried.

  “Sophie, go with Amelia to see her doll’s house,” Letty said.

  “Amelia, you will stay here!” Lady Pette demanded in a shrill voice. “The countess has no wish to indulge in your ridiculous hobby.”

  Sophie grabbed Amelia’s arm and pulled her from the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

  “I will explain everything, Amelia, but first we must reach your rooms,” Sophie said to her friend as Amelia threw her a questioning look. Thankfully, the young lady nodded and led the way.