The Reluctant Countess

by Wendy Vella

  Patrick blinked. He knew that voice even if it was shrieking loud enough to drown out a dockside whore. Had she really just cursed in public? His eyes studied the fall of black curls trailing down the slender if somewhat rigid spine before him. Yes, it was definitely Sophie, Countess of Monmouth, kneeling in the dirt before him. It seemed that every time he left his house lately he found her in a position from which she needed help extricating herself. He studied the simple white muslin dress she wore today. Part of the hem was torn and trailing behind her. The sight of two small leather soles peeking out from beneath the dress produced a pain in his chest, which he immediately credited to the beef he had demolished for breakfast.

  “I believe I asked for your handkerchief, sir. I have need of it to stop the blood that is currently flowing from the wound your carriage inflicted on the young lady’s head!”

  Patrick felt his lips twitch at her curt tone. He had never heard Sophie speak this way. Her voice was calmer now, although it still held threads of anger, which she was obviously making an effort to withhold. Taking the two strides necessary, he crouched beside her and held out his own handkerchief. “Will this help?”

  “Lord Coulter!” Sophie gasped. Why, why, why is he always the one to find me in an undignified position? She pulled her eyes from his dark gaze and tried to focus on the task at hand. Holding out one hand, she did not look at him again as he passed her the soft, snow-white square of linen.

  “Thank you.”

  Turning to the girl who had woken and was now whimpering in pain, Sophie made small soothing noises as she gently dabbed the cut, which was oozing a slow trickle of blood. “It will be well, please remain still,” Sophie said, using her other hand to pat the girl’s shoulder as she tried to rise. “Can you tell me your name, my dear?”

  “Ginny, Miss,” the girl whispered in a voice laced with pain.

  Patrick moved to the opposite side so he faced the countess. He was in time to see the gentle smile she gave the girl. Her dimples flashed and the result was a tightening of every muscle in his body. Bloody hell, Coulter, you would do well to remember that you are in a public street.

  “Well, Ginny, my name is Sophie and I would like to help you if I may.”

  Sophie had instantly given her first name, which was puzzling; most of the women of Patrick’s acquaintance would never be so familiar. A slow flush crept into her cheeks as he looked at her. He raised an eyebrow and her color deepened. This was just another piece of the puzzle that was the Countess of Monmouth.

  “M-my basket, Miss?” the injured girl asked.

  Sophie looked at the basket where it lay strewn across the road; small brightly-colored threads and pieces of fabric were scattered everywhere. Getting to her feet, she placed her hands on her hips.

  Patrick remembered those slender hips encased in emerald satin and how they had felt in his hands. The woman was a temptress, even here, dressed as prim as any young miss. He watched as she then pointed a finger at the man who seemed to be behind the woman’s injuries.

  “You will pick up those things,” she said in a very stern voice that belied her soft feminine appearance, Patrick thought with a small jolt of pride.

  “Or the Earl of Coulter and I,” she said, pointing first to Patrick and then to herself, “the Countess of Monmouth, will make it known that your behavior today w-was extremely ill-mannered and … and shabby indeed.” Sophie didn’t know what to say or how to take someone to task. She was usually the one on the receiving end of sharp words and orders, or she had been up until two years ago.

  “I most certainly will not!” the man said, his eyes bulging out of his face at her effrontery. He took a menacing step toward her that made Sophie flinch and shuffle back a few paces. Patrick was beside her in seconds, his hands on her waist to steady her, eyes narrowed in anger.

  “In the interest of your health, sir, I would advise you to do exactly as the countess requests.”

  Sophie shivered as the earl’s breath brushed her cheek—his voice was deep and menacing. The short man obviously saw his life flash before his eyes, as he was soon on his knees scrambling to refill Ginny’s basket.

  Patrick reluctantly let her go and signaled to his driver to bring the carriage nearer.

  Once again kneeling beside the injured woman, Sophie held the bloodied handkerchief, trying to refold it to a cleaner part, then reapplied it to the girl’s head

  “The Earl of Coulter and the Countess of Monmouth!” the man gasped as he stood with the basket held in one pale chubby hand. His other was clutching the lapel of his pale salmon jacket. Obviously it had taken him a few minutes to register Sophie’s words.

  “I … I am Mr. Heptaia Willis, and this woman,” he wheezed, waving the other hand to where Ginny still lay, “through no fault of my own is …”

  “Enough,” Patrick said, still in the soft lethal voice that made the hair on the back of Sophie’s neck stand to attention.

  “We have established who is at fault and now you will place the basket beside us and leave,” Patrick stated as he started to encourage the small crowd that had formed around them to move along. “Neither the countess nor I have any further need of you.” He dismissed Mr. Willis, who was now close to tears, with a wave of his hand.

  Mr. Willis felt his heart plunge to the soles of his elegant walking shoes. For many years he had longed to be in such illustrious company and now he had ruined his one chance for advancement. “If I could just say …,” he said, hoping to redeem himself in the earl’s eyes.

  “The only thing you could possibly offer would be an apology to both these women,” Patrick said.

  The earl’s black look softened as he once again dropped his eyes to her face and Sophie felt something inside her flutter. Oh lord, this man was dangerous in so many ways. Her heart was beating furiously in her chest because he was near.

  She had never, not once in all her years, spoken to a gentleman like she had today with the pompous Mr. Willis. She felt rather ill, now that all the fuss was over. Sophie took in two big lungfuls of smelly London air. She did not like scenes, and most especially not ones of her own making.

  “You are both safe, Countess.” Patrick watched the color drain from her face. Sophie’s hands shook as they reached to brush a lock of hair from the prone woman’s cheek. “We need to get this young lady off this street and into my carriage.”

  “M-my carriage is also here somewhere.” Sophie looked around her for Robbie. She bit her lip as she searched through the people.

  “I will take you home,” Patrick said, and Sophie knew there would be no arguing with him, even though she would try.

  “That will not be necessary, my lord. If I could just locate my driver and my maid and have them help me with Ginny …”

  Ignoring her protests, Patrick merely lifted the girl effortlessly into his arms and carried her to his carriage, which had suddenly appeared before them.

  Sophie stood watching his broad shoulders for several seconds. What should she do? Surely going anywhere with the Earl of Coulter would be folly, yet it was up to her to ensure Ginny was returned to her home.

  “She is chilled, Countess; I suggest you make haste and open the carriage door.”

  Sophie heard the words quite clearly even though he was several feet in front of her.

  “I do not think it would be a good idea for me to accompany you, Lord Coulter,” she said as she caught up with him and reached to open the door.

  “She needs you, Sophie,” Patrick said, ruthlessly playing on her emotions, and as if to support his words, Ginny shivered.

  Her eyes dropped to the girl and Sophie began to chew her bottom lip in a gesture that Patrick found both sweet and hellishly sensual. Placing the girl inside the carriage, he then turned and lifted Sophie off her feet and settled her beside Ginny.

  “Stay,” he ordered, then closed the door.

  Sophie stared briefly at the closed door before turning to look at Ginny, who seemed much more comfortable settle
d on the soft brown seats of the Coulter carriage.

  “I have told your driver to continue home without you,” Patrick said as he climbed into the carriage and took the empty seat across from the ladies a few minutes later. “He was reluctant to leave you, but I promised him you were in safe hands,” Patrick said, his eyes holding hers.

  “Where is my maid?” Sophie asked, then quickly looked away; the man was disturbing enough surrounded by hundreds of members of the ton, but here in the close confines of a carriage, he was potent.

  “Gone with your driver.” Patrick held his smile as Sophie lifted her chin and glared at him. However, she did remain silent.

  Trying to ignore him, Sophie instead looked at Ginny’s injury. “Excellent, it has stopped bleeding,” she said a bit too loudly, her voice sounding shrill in the small space. She could see his hands from the corner of her eye, gloveless and splayed on one muscular thigh. His fingers were large and long, and she felt heat rush into her cheeks as she remembered how those very hands had felt on her body.

  “Ginny, can you give Lord Coulter directions so we may deliver you safely to your home?” Sophie asked the frightened girl who had said nothing since being put in the carriage. Picking up one of her chilled hands, she rubbed it gently between her own.

  “Do you have a blanket in here, my lord?”

  “Of course.” Patrick pulled a warm rug out from under his seat. “This may also help,” he added, removing a small flask from a concealed space in the door panel.

  Sophie took both items, quickly wrapped Ginny in the blanket, and began to uncork the small flask.

  Patrick watched Sophie—she was very gentle with the girl and even forced a tiny smile from her as she coaxed her to sip his imported French cognac. What was behind those bewitching green eyes? He needed to know her secrets, break down her resistance, and take her to his bed; only then could he slake this uncontrollable lust he felt whenever she was near. Her hair was now completely free of its restraints and hung to her waist. Patrick wanted to roll the satin coils between his fingers and then spread them around her head when he drove into her lush heat. If those women who had made her seek the safety of a window ledge could see her now, they would have plenty of gossip fodder. Many of them would never stoop to help someone below them on the social scale—they kept those activities strictly to a charity basis, helping the less fortunate from a comfortable distance.

  “I live in a room above the Potters Crown, Miss, with five other girls,” Ginny whispered.

  Patrick gave his driver instructions. He knew the area, but he doubted Sophie had ever seen this side of life and part of him wanted to save her from what she was about to see, yet the selfish part of him wanted to get her alone in his carriage and by dropping the girl off first, he would achieve just that.

  Sophie felt Ginny stiffen as they drew closer to her lodgings, and instinctively she took the girl’s hand in hers.

  “Are you afraid to go home, Ginny?”

  Patrick cursed beneath his breath as the girl nodded. Hell, he could just see where this was going to end.

  “Sophie,” he warned.

  Ignoring the dark brooding male seated across from her, Sophie continued to speak to the girl. “Are you in danger?” She watched as the girl bit her lip to stop fresh tears. “Are you forced to do things that upset you, Ginny?”

  Christ! Patrick felt his palms begin to sweat.

  “Not yet, Miss, but it will not be long before I’m on the streets with me friends,” Ginny clung to Sophie’s hands. “Me ribbons don’t bring in enough money to pay for me lodgings, Miss, and me pa can’t have me at home no more what with the little uns.”

  “Have you ever worked in a large household, Ginny?”

  “Sophie!” Patrick said, this time with more force.

  “Only my pa’s house; there be seven of us, Miss,” Ginny said, looking at Sophie, her eyes filled with hope. “Me ma died so me and my gran cook and clean and mend all me brothers’ and sisters’ clothes.”

  “If you are thinking what I think you are thinking, Sophie,” Patrick said, and this time Sophie looked at him, her green eyes narrowed. “Then I think it would be prudent to speak to Lady Carstairs first.”

  Sophie lifted her chin and turned back to Ginny, ignoring his words. “Would you like to come and work for me, Ginny?”

  Patrick cursed. She really was most impetuous.

  The young girl nodded, then promptly burst into loud sobs and threw herself at Sophie.

  Patrick watched Sophie take the full impact of Ginny into her arms. She then sought his eyes, ignoring his warning—a warning that would have sent several members of his family, servants, and friends into hiding. She was tougher than she looked, he thought, remembering that she had dropped Myles with a well-placed knee. For it was rare that anyone stood up to him, let alone someone half his size.

  “Do you want me to wait for you while you gather your things, dear?” Sophie said into the girl’s matted hair, seemingly oblivious to the grime and blood smears the girl was depositing on the soft fabric of her dress.

  “I … I don’t want to go back there,” Ginny sobbed. “Can you take me to my pa’s, then I can tell him my news?” Pulling back, the girl looked at Sophie. “That is if you’re sure, my lady?”

  “Of course I am sure.” Sophie sent the earl a dark look as he opened his mouth to say something. “Now please furnish the earl with your father’s address and we will get you home, as your poor head must be quite sore by now.”

  Resigned, Patrick gave the new address to his driver. He would have to wait until the girl was out of the carriage before he spoke to Sophie. She had to understand that it was not safe to pick up servants from the street. Good God. Patrick felt ice sluice his veins. If he had not turned up when he did, lord only knew what the outcome could have been.

  Patrick’s driver sent him a steady look as he opened the door to the carriage. Scully was merely expressing his concern about where they had stopped, which was surely not fit for a countess to be seen in.

  “Stay your fears, man, I will let no harm come to her,” Patrick growled as he followed the women and stepped from the carriage.

  The neighborhood, though not the worst Patrick had seen, was by no means the best either. The stench from refuse tossed out of the windows was foul, and small children dressed in scraps of clothing scurried about, kicking a ball made of rags up and down the street. Sophie, he noted, did not seem to notice.

  “You will need a few days to recover, Ginny, so I will give you my address and you can come to work when you are feeling well enough,” Sophie told the girl

  “Thank you, my lady,” Ginny said, shooting a nervous glance at Patrick.

  “Ginny!”

  “Oh lord, it’s me gran,” Ginny wailed, her eyes following the path of a very old lady as she limped down the stairs toward them. “She be a right old tartar, I am sorry, my lady.”

  “I see blood!”

  Patrick’s swallowed his smile at the shrill sound that came from the frail-looking old lady. He moved to stand before Sophie as if to shield her as the old woman grabbed Ginny. She was less than five feet in height, with wiry gray hair and squinty eyes that snapped sparks at Ginny. The elderly woman walked like a drunken sailor and, he guessed, weighed less than a small child, yet there was no doubting the determination in her eyes.

  “Hello,” Sophie said, stepping around the earl. “I am the Countess of Monmouth and with your permission, I would like your granddaughter to come and work for me.”

  “Work!” the old woman bellowed straight into Sophie’s face.

  “Yes, as one of my maids. We are in desperate need of someone who can stitch a neat line.” Sophie pressed one gnarled old hand in both of hers.

  She is comfortable in this setting, with these people, Patrick thought, surprised. There seemed to be several sides to Sophie.

  “And who be you?” the old woman asked suddenly, shifting her focus to Patrick.

  Patrick gave the old
woman a bow worthy of any duchess and offered his hand. “The Earl of Coulter, madam.”

  A cackle shook the small form.

  “Well, Ginny my girl, we had best see what your Pa thinks about your change of fortune,” the elderly lady said, then she patted Sophie’s check. “Thank you, child.” The woman’s wide smile revealed a sparse sprinkling of yellow teeth.

  Sophie offered her a smile in return that made Patrick’s stomach clench.

  “You’ll be looking after this sweet lady, my lord,” Ginny’s grandmother said with a last toothless smile at Sophie. Then she turned and tugged her granddaughter behind her and walked back up the stairs. “Let’s get you fixed up, Ginny.”

  Patrick and Sophie watched Ginny wave to them and then disappear inside the worn black front door.

  “Oh, was that not wonderful, my lord? Ginny will fit well into my household.”

  “You think so, do you?” was all Patrick said as he bundled her back inside his carriage.

  Shooting a glance at the earl as he gave her a small push onto the opposite seat, Sophie noted his fierce scowl. Now that Ginny had left and there were just the two of them, she was very aware of his presence. Lord Coulter seemed to take up a large portion of the interior, Sophie thought, shuffling closer to the door. He appeared to sprawl along the entire length of his seat, unlike her, who sat primly in the corner.

  “I am sorry, my lord,” Sophie said, aware that she had taken up both his time and his carriage.

  “Sorry?” he asked politely and Sophie knew he was not about to make it easy for her.

  “Yes, I understand that this … um …” She felt heat suffuse her cheeks as the earl kept his steady gaze on her face.

  “Yes?” the earl prompted.

  Sophie could hear something in his tone, something she could not quite identify. “S-sorry for a-any inconvenience I … I may have caused you,” she stuttered. “And th-thank you,” she rushed to add and then clamped her bottom lip firmly between her teeth.

  Patrick let the silence stretch. He knew that Sophie was aware that she was now alone in the carriage with him. He watched as she fidgeted with her skirts and then tried to wipe a smear of blood from her sleeve. It was obvious she was uncomfortable. Her stutter only appeared when she did not have herself under control. The ice maiden routine was now becoming very clear to Patrick; it was how she coped with society, a protective cloak she pulled around herself. “What you did today, Sophie, was reckless.” That brought her eyes up. Patrick bit back a smile as her chin once again elevated several notches. “You have no idea of Ginny’s character or reputation and to thrust her upon Lady Carstairs without first asking permission …”