The Countess and the Rake: A Super Hot Historical Romance

by Georgette Brown

  But you were not the first to break the wedding vows, a small voice reasoned.

  When Gertie looked upon Mrs. Westmoreland, there was empathy for a woman who perhaps felt trapped in a joyless marriage. She had not seen anyone receive such coldness from others and noted the woman had such sadness in her eyes despite her defiantly lifted chin.

  “The pastoral scene is one of my favorite works by Gainsborough,” Gertie remarked as she looked at the painting alongside Mrs. Westmoreland.

  “Mine as well,” Mrs. Westmoreland replied. “I find his paintings possess many facades. One could study it for hours.”

  Gertie only nodded. Although she appreciated the art, she could not fathom having the patience to stare at it for above a few minutes. Instead, she looked about the hall and glimpsed Lord Barclay talking to a beauty in an ice blue gown. A flush of jealousy crept up her neck. Of course he was engaged in his next conquest. Why should that surprise her?

  She had not intended to come this night and much preferred the prospect of being with Hephaestus. Indeed, she welcomed an evening at the Ballroom with him. But the Dowager Lowry had expressed a headache, and Gertie did not relish having to spend the evening with Belinda. Sarah, no doubt with similar dread towards having to keep her mother’s company, had also opted for Vauxhall. No sooner had brother and sister set foot in the boat when they began arguing over Sarah’s marital prospects. Alexander was quite set on an older gentleman by the name of Mr. Rowland and admonished Sarah for not encouraging the man. After pouring out all the reasons why Mr. Rowland would not make a suitable match, Sarah had looked ready to cry. Gertie had begun to sympathize with her sister-in-law. At least her own unhappy marriage had been of her own making.

  “They have works by Reynolds at Ranalegh,” Gertie said to Mrs. Westmoreland.

  “How delightful. I have not been to Ranalegh in some time.”

  “Nor I.”

  “I grow weary of London at times.”

  “And I,” sighed Gertie. She liked the lands of Lowry, but Alexander preferred to spend his time in town.

  “But it is nice to have found a kindred spirit, if I may be forward. You and I have not conversed much in the past, Countess.”

  Gertie smiled in empathy. “Perhaps we shall have more occasion hence.”

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed movement. Lord Barclay was approaching them. Instinctively she sprang to her feet. “I think I shall find my husband and see if he intends to take supper.”

  Georgina looked at her in surprise but nodded. Gertie took her leave and began to walk briskly towards the maze in the gardens. It was childish of her to avoid Barclay, silly for her to be jealous of the woman he spoke with, and absurd of her to feel any sentiment towards the man. How much easier it was to detest him! Perhaps she still could—she had only to imagine him with Sarah. Their sort deserved each other. Men like him could never appreciate any other kind of woman.

  Although the image of him with Sarah fueled her anger, it also made her miserable. She barreled into the maze, upset that she had felt the need to lie to Georgina about going in search of Alexander. Perhaps she had been better to stay at home with the Dowager. Once Belinda had taken to bed, she could have slipped out and made her way to Madame Botreaux’s. Now she was all alone in a garden meant for lovers while her husband gallivanted publicly with his mistress.

  She walked into a dead-end. Huffing to herself, she turned around and slammed into the body of Lord Barclay. A flush flared through her as she realized who it was. She wanted to demand why the bloody hell he found it necessary to approach her with such proximity, but his hands upon her as he steadied her had her too flustered. She could not recall ever being so firmly grasped by a man. His touch seared straight into her bones and somewhere deep within her.

  Satisfied that she had come to no harm, he released her. She took a step from him to gain her composure. She expected him to retreat and allow her passage, but he stood where he was, blocking her exit.

  “Sarah—Lady Sarah is not with me,” she informed him as she pushed her headdress back in place, hating that she could not keep out the hint of jealousy.

  “How fortunate,” he replied. “I had hoped to speak with you, Countess.”

  “Me? Why?”

  The words had slipped inelegantly from her in her surprise, but he appeared genuinely stumped by her query for he only stared in response.

  Unable to remain silent beneath such study, she assisted him by saying, “You had some matter you sought my audience to address?”

  “Yes,” he said carefully. “A matter of business, but I will not disturb you here–”

  “Are you afeared to broach the matter? Is it quite loathsome?”

  He appeared to assess her aggression, no doubt wondering at her antagonism.

  “Not at all, Lady Lowry,” he said. “Quite the contrary. I have a proposition that could prove beneficial to both parties.”

  She raised an eyebrow, impatient for their tête-à-tête to end.

  “The foreman for our copper mine believes there to be significant lode on what could prove Lowry land. We seek access to your properties and would grant you a share of the profits from the copper hauled from that effort.”

  It was not what she had expected Lord Barclay to present.

  “Have you spoken with our steward?” she asked.

  “He has but without much progress.”

  That did not surprise her. The Lowry steward could be quite stubborn in his prejudice of the Barclays.

  “And why has the Baron not approached me?”

  “Do you wish the truth?”

  Gertie blinked. Why would she not?

  Taking her silence as an affirmative response, he answered, “My brother thinks that I would present a more persuasive case, though I asserted to him that you abhorred me no small amount.”

  She would not dispute that. Nonetheless, his honesty and perception thawed a little of her resistance.

  “How much of the profit?” she asked.

  “Given that we would undertake all the risk and the work, I think ten percent to be fair.”

  “You would have no profit to share if we did not grant you access.”

  “Fifteen, then.”

  Gertrude contemplated the proposal. A partnership between the Farringtons and Barclays would be unheard of, but it would make no sense not to. She could convince their steward of the wisdom of the opportunity. Even Alexander might swallow his reluctance if he could be assured of having more finances to sustain his gambling—or his mistress.

  But could she trust the Barclays? Aside from the Farrington family objection to them, she had no reason to distrust the Baron Barclay. As for Phineas...strangely, despite her disapproval of his philandering, she felt a sense of comfort in the way he dealt with her on this matter. She wondered if perhaps his visits with her to the asylum was a means of currying her favor, but if he meant to play the sycophant, he was not very adept at it. No sooner had he become more favorable in her view, he was sure to utter something that riled her like no other.

  Yet how could she trust a rakehell? A man who had engaged in a duel and killed.

  “I had asked my brother to assume the negotiations,” Barclay said, as if reading her mind, “for he has not my tarnished reputation, but he is not partial to such dealings.”

  She wanted more space to think, but she knew the proposition to hold minimal risk for Lowry or the family.

  “I have no wish for you to shoulder all the risk and all the work,” she pronounced. “We have tenants who have little means of income. If we grant you access, I wish for your mine to employ some of our men.”

  “That will cut into the profit for all of us.”

  She nodded. “I understand.”

  He studied her, perhaps wondering what sort of woman he was dealing with and if she had a sound mind for business.

  “Done. I will have Mr. Hancock draw up the details with your steward.”

  She nodded. “I appreciate yo
ur seeking our consent for you could have easily dug beneath our lands without our knowledge.”

  “We Barclays are not always as loathsome as the Farringtons would wish to believe.” He paused and once again fixed his stare upon her. “But you are not like the other Farringtons.”

  Her heart hammered beneath her bosom at the intensity of his gaze. Why did it feel as if he meant to probe the recesses of her soul?

  “What—what do you mean by such a statement?” she stammered, though she believed that he meant her a form of compliment.

  “How does a person with your compassion and your qualities become a Farrington?”

  His question prompted her defenses. Lacking an answer that she was willing to share with the likes of him, she turned to the only reservoir she felt comfortable drawing upon at the moment: her jealousy.

  “Certainly you do not intend to demean a Farrington, Lord Barclay? I know you to be quite partial to at least one Farrington...”

  Her response did not have the benefit she had desired for her own sake. Instead of feeling in a position of command, she felt weak and trifling. She made a move to walk by him, but he did not budge.

  “Mine is a sport your tender persuasion would not understand.”

  “And I am glad for it!”

  This time she brushed past him, not caring that she had to collide with his left side. She did not look back to see his expression. She only knew she had to escape his presence before she lost control of her nerves and smacked him across the face or, worse, began to cry in front of him.

  PHINEAS WATCHED AS the Countess headed in a direction that would take her further into the maze. He had apparently done much to offend her, but her vehemence startled him. Had he not flattered her with his remarks? Or did Alexander and his family yet manage to command a form of loyalty from her? He shook his head, refusing to believe it. None of the Farringtons deserved such devotion. He had seen the way Alexander spoke to his wife and the sneer upon the Dowager when she looked upon Gertrude—er, Lady Lowry. Sarah could not disparage her sister-in-law enough—he doubted her ability to coat her animosity.

  All that notwithstanding, he did not believe the Countess to be a dolt despite her occasional awkwardness—which, as he spent more time in her company, he found rather delightful. She was a woman of obvious intelligence. That she would marry into the family could simply have been the allure of title and prestige, of ignorance upon her part as to the true nature of the Farringtons, or even misguided affection for Alexander, who had both countenance and the ability to charm when he so desired. As Mrs. Pemberly had alluded, the Farringtons were unworthy of Gertrude. But why such sensitivity when he broached the subject of her husband and in-laws?

  He had detected a note of jealousy in her words, but that did not surprise him. The Countess was plain and her sister-in-law beautiful. But perhaps her jealousy stemmed from more than mere envy of Sarah’s attributes? He recalled how her breath had left her when he had helped her off her horse. That small respiratory pause was barely perceptible, but he was too skilled in the art of seduction not to have noticed. That awareness had enlivened him in a way he had not expected.

  Glancing at the position of the moon, he realized he would have to depart soon if he were to make it to the Ballroom. He was confident that if he kept Lady Athena waiting, she would be done with him. All his efforts would be for naught, and he had every intention of conquering her. But if he left, he would be leaving the Countess to wander in the maze when he could easily direct her out. He had had too many trysts in this wonderful garden not to know his way around.

  He walked over to a marble statue and waited. The Countess would eventually realize her error and retrace her steps.

  As he predicted, the Countess emerged, but upon seeing him, she quickly turned to her right and headed down another row that would lead her nowhere. A minute later, she returned. Refusing to make eye contact, she strode past him and headed in the other direction.

  “That path takes you to a pretty little fountain,” he informed her.

  She halted in her steps. He suspected she was grinding her teeth. She whirled around to face him.

  “Why are you here, Lord Barclay?”

  “To make myself available should you require my assistance.”

  She bristled.

  He took a step towards her. She had better accept his aid with gratitude for he was about to ruin his prospects with Lady Athena.

  “A debaucher with noblesse oblige?” she asked. “Your services are unnecessary. I am content to—”

  “Wander aimlessly and admire the shrubbery?”

  “A far better way to pass the time than in your company!”

  She walked in the correct direction. He followed. They reached a fork in the path, and she chose the wrong one yet again. She had as much sense for direction as she did for fashion, he decided.

  Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. She stood frozen for a moment before spinning on her heels, brushing by him with all speed. He saw a look of dismay upon her. Turning his head to see what had prompted her vexation, he saw Alexander, his face buried in the neck of a brunette. If the Countess had not known of Alexander’s mistress, she knew it now.

  Phineas hurried after Lady Lowry.

  “Countess–”

  He silently cursed Alexander for a bastard.

  “Countess,” he tried again as she barreled down another misleading path. “Lady Low–”

  Turning around, she demanded, “Why do you persist in following me?”

  He gazed deep into her eyes and saw that she had known of Alexander’s infidelity. He marveled a little at her fortitude.

  “Noblesse oblige,” he offered.

  “Sir, you may take your bloody noblesse oblige and shove it up your arse!”

  He stared at her. Her language surprised even herself for she began to blush. He was about to commit a horrible mistake, one that could destroy the agreement they had come to earlier over the mine and give Robert several more hairs of gray, one that would make permanent her loathing of him. But her show of defiance was too irresistible. She had spoken with such command, such unabashed ardor...

  Grabbing her by the arm, he pulled her to him and brought his lips down upon hers as he wrapped his other hand behind her head. Stunned, she allowed him to kiss her. He pressed his mouth firmly upon her soft, plump lips. And then she gave way. He found himself sinking into her mouth, his tongue brushing hers. She tasted divine. The warm wetness of her mouth mixed with the feel of her body so close to him made the blood course forcefully in his veins and pound in his head. With his hand still upon her head, he angled her in the different ways he wished to devour her. Whole mouthfuls were not enough. He desired to have her body pinned against him.

  Just when he suspected she meant to return his kiss, she tore away. Surprised, he let her go. She had stumbled a few steps away from him and stood staring at him, a few tendrils of hair loosened near her nape and her rouge mussed along the lines of her lips. She looked beautiful.

  He could not tell if she was angry. Flustered, yes. With any other woman he would have smiled, confident of his effect upon her, or he would have advanced, a predator coming upon its doomed prey. But he did neither. He waited to see how the Countess would react and what she would say.

  Lady Lowry hesitated, as if wanting to speak, but wordlessly she turned away from him, and despite her addled state, ventured down the path that took her out of the maze and away from him.

  Chapter Nine

  WHY HAD HE KISSED HER? Gertie wondered as she pulled out a diaphanous chemise to wear to Madame Botreaux’s later that evening. It had been two days since Vauxhall, and yet her body flushed with the memory as if it had been but an hour ago. Over and over she recalled how masterfully his mouth had moved over hers, how fully he took her in. Her jaw had never been worked with such vigor. Her body felt ignited and weak all at once. She had never thought a mere kiss could be so involved, so engaging, so thrilling. Little wonder women overlooked his f
aults. His kiss had the ability to wash away their discretion.

  Indeed, she had forgotten where she was, even who she was. She was aware only of him and his effect upon her. The warmth of his nearness, the pressure of his hand upon her head—how secure and comforting that had felt, the heat of his mouth, the surge of longing in her loins. She wanted the kiss should never end. How she had summoned the will to break away from him, she knew not. With relief she had made her way out of the maze. Her heart had fluttered with the ferocity of a butterfly’s wings. She could focus on nothing thereafter—not the food, nor the music, not the daring acrobats who made the audience gasp as they flipped and somersaulted over one another high above the heads. How she envied Sarah, who would have had no qualms in surrendering her body to Barclay.

  Had he kissed her to prove he could? Gertie wondered. Did he think it some reward for her acquiescence to the mine? Or had he acted out of pity? Her cheeks burned at the thought. Barclay might have seen Alexander with his mistress. Perhaps Barclay intended to provide her a set-down for her rudeness. And she had given him the satisfaction that she did not object to his kiss for she could not muster a word in response. Instead of pushing him away the instant she knew what he was about to do, she had given in, had surrendered to his lips and allowed this tongue to probe where none other had. And enjoyed every moment.

  Gertie shook her head. She had had every intention of visiting the Ballroom that evening, but she did not. Instead, she had sat down to write a letter to Harrietta, divulging all that had occurred between her and Lord Barclay, only to tear the letter, begin anew, and toss it aside. Over and over.