The Countess and the Rake

by Georgette Brown

  “I was bound by my affection for...If you’ve no interest, sir—my lord, I will take my leave and trouble you no further.”

  “Did I say I had no interest?”

  “I assumed...”

  “Do you make a great many assumptions, Countess?”

  “Are you always this impertinent?” she retorted, finding courage in her ire.

  His smile broadened, the amusement twinkling into this eyes. To her relief, he stepped away from her. As he called for his butler, she inhaled a much needed breath.

  “Gibbons, my hat and coat,” Barclay instructed. He turned back to Gertie, this time speaking seriously. “I should be pleased to accompany you to the orphan asylum, Lady Lowry. I hope you will not hesitate to request my attendance anytime you venture into St. Giles.”

  “Are you offering yourself as a chaperone?” she asked, unable to fathom his chivalry to her.

  “I doubt you have an interest in my fulfilling any other capacity,” he stated as he donned his hat and gloves.

  She flushed. “I would have no interest in you at all if not for the girls!”

  “I rather doubt that.”

  He gestured for her to proceed before him. Grinding her teeth together, she gathered her skirts and swept past him. He was amusing himself at her expense, but she could not help her indignation and cursed herself for having sought him.

  “Allow me,” he said to his footman when Gertie prepared to mount her steed.

  She bristled, envious of the independence men had when it came to mounting, but she stepped into his waiting hands. He lifted her into her saddle with ease.

  Once more they began their ride in silence. She did not understand this man at all. One moment he was purposefully vexing her with language as his arsenal, the next he was dumb.

  “You ought not feel obligated,” she began.

  He stared at her. “But of course I feel obligated, Countess. I could not disappoint the orphans.”

  Gertie knit her brows as she studied him. His words rang sincere. Could there possibly be a shred of kindness in him?

  “I take it one of your assumptions of my character is that I am heartless?”

  Damnation. How was he able to read her thoughts?

  “Why should I think otherwise?” she returned.

  “Because many men are not what they seem, even ones you would consider indecent.”

  “I merely thought that you would be busy—appointments with your tailor or bootmaker.”

  He smiled, amused once more. “Ah, you think me heartless and frivolous.”

  “Are you not?” she challenged. “Have you a purpose, sir, beyond a well-turned cuff or the pursuit of a skirt?”

  “No.”

  Expecting him to be a little sheepish, his brazen response surprised her. At the least, he was truthful, she granted him wryly.

  “And you disapprove,” he stated, providing her something more to respond to.

  “Of course. Man was not gifted with intelligence and abilities that he may spend his time as a philanderer.”

  “You would rather I wile away my time at Brooks or White’s with my own sex, indulging in smoke and drink, a good round of hazard, or a lively discussion of pugilism?”

  “I do not disapprove of recreation but would rather men engage in useful pursuits. I wonder that we can allow such suffering as exists among our fellow man?”

  “It would seem to me that when Man engages his intelligence and his abilities, he is wont to wreak destruction and suffering.”

  She shook her head. “That can be no excuse. You, sir, are clearly capable, intelligent, and possess certain skills that are perhaps best placed in a more deserving person. You could do much if you applied yourself.”

  For the first time, it seemed she had made him uncomfortable. He had no witty remark, no bold response.

  “You overestimate my abilities,” he said at last.

  “I think not, but it would be a shame if your legacy was naught but that you excelled at debauchery.”

  “I have had no reason to care about my legacy. Why should I mind what is written upon my tombstone when I am dead?”

  “And whilst you live?”

  “Lady Lowry, you sound suspiciously of the Evangelical or Quaker faith.”

  “I am neither. My attendance to church has been wanting,” she admitted.

  “And mine horrific.”

  “How surprising,” she said ironically.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”

  She suppressed a smile. He had a disarming way about him. No wonder the women succumbed to him. She remembered how closely he had stood to her in the vestibule of his apartment. No man had desired to stand in such proximity to her. Did he possibly have an interest in seducing her or did he simply act in such a manner for effect?

  As she expected, the girls at the asylum were thrilled to see their prince and dance master. He taught them steps from the cotillion and regaled them with stories of the French court and descriptions of Queen Marie Antoinette.

  “Perhaps it is unwise for us to fill their minds with such glamour,” Mr. Winters whispered to Gertie as the two observed how the girls hung upon Lord Barclay’s every word. “But he brings them so much cheer, I’ve not the heart to stop it. You said he is a cousin of yours, my lady?”

  “Of my husband.”

  “Pity he has spent such time traveling that he has not found a wife.”

  Gertie remained silent. There was no reason to divulge the reason for Lord Barclay’s time on the Continent. As for a wife, she kept her thoughts to herself. She imagined Barclay had less a mind for a wife than his legacy.

  After she had spent her time with little Peggy in the nursery, she and Barclay prepared to take their leave.

  “When shall we see you again?” the girls clamored.

  “I think they direct their question to you, sir,” Gertie told Barclay with a grin. It was hard to stay jealous at him when he behaved so well with the girls.

  Barclay looked at her, then turned to the girls. “If Lady Lowry will allow it, I should accompany her every Wednesday.”

  The girls flew to Gertie. “Oh, please! Lady Lowry, please! Do!”

  She blinked several times as the situation sunk in. How could she possibly show without Lord Barclay now? She glanced towards Mr. Winters, but he proved of no help.

  “Do, Lady Lowry, do say you will allow it!”

  “I suppose...” she said.

  The girls cheered and clapped their hands.

  When she and Barclay were once again upon their horses headed home, she turned to him. “I hope you have not lifted their hopes only to disappoint them at a later time.”

  Surely he had no intention of visiting the asylum every week.

  “And who else would escort you through St. Giles, m’lady?”

  She stared at him, dumbfounded. Had he devised his response for the purpose of accompanying her? Why?

  “As I have said, I need no escort,” she said, refusing to accept his act of gallantry.

  “Riding through St. Giles alone is most reckless, my dear Countess. I wonder that your husband allows it?”

  She felt her bottom lip about to quiver. Alexander did not care enough to prohibit her from going.

  “My husband is...busy.”

  “At the races and card tables? At the very least, he should demand a groomsman–”

  “It was my choice to discharge our groomsman.”

  “Ah, Alexander has been ineffectual at both horses and cards. Little has changed since last I saw him.”

  “He has been unlucky,” she acknowledged, unsure why she should be defending her husband.

  Barclay snorted. “He has forever been out of Fortune’s graces then.”

  “Much to your satisfaction, I imagine!”

  “Frankly, Countess, I worry more about my barber. The life of the Earl of Lowry concerns me not at all.”

  “It is common knowledge the disdain you bear
the Farringtons.”

  “I haven’t enough interest to disdain them, but I am sure their disposition is known to you.”

  She had to admit she would not be surprised at all if the disdain had first come from the Farrington side. And Sarah clearly did not disdain him. She suddenly remembered how in earnest he had sought her audience. What had it been in regards to? Did it no longer matter? If so, it was undoubtedly best that she not bring it up.

  Curiosity, however, overcame her.

  “Why did you wish to see me?” she blurted, then wondered in horror if he had perhaps wanted to talk to her about Sarah.

  He eyed her through his quizzing glass. “I think that shall have to wait. You are far too vexed for critical dialogue.”

  “If I am vexed, it is because of you! If the Earl of Lowry affects you not, why did you want to speak with me? I demand to know! Lest it be in regards to my sister-in-law. I will not aid you in your efforts to seduce her.”

  “I think you have seen I require no aid in that realm.”

  Gertie felt her cheeks burn. “Then, pray tell, what concerned you enough to seek a meeting with me?”

  “We can discuss the matter next Wednesday. May I suggest a riding habit of a different color? That shade of olive is less than complimentary upon you.”

  Her eyes widened. She had heard enough from others, but for him to remark upon her dress was too much. She pressed her lips together before saying through clenched teeth, “I can see why someone should wish to put a bullet through you.”

  “We dueled with swords,” he corrected. “I should choose a more lively color for you.”

  “If you think I would take advice from a murderer, you are mistaken!”

  The look of steel entering his eyes made her instantly regret her words, but she had felt trapped for she could not shake his presence on their journey home. It would be foolhardy to break into a gallop on the narrow cobbled streets, and she was not so skilled a rider that she could do so even on level ground.

  His tone had lost its touch of amusement. He spoke slowly, “An’ you think me such a monster, why do you allow me near the girls at the asylum?”

  At first, she faltered in the face of his logic. As odious as she thought him to be, she could not bring herself to believe him evil.

  “I would not,” she finally decided, “had I a choice.”

  He shook his head. “It was in your power to decide otherwise. One always has a choice.”

  “I could not disappoint the girls.”

  “And if they wished to eat naught but cake and confections at every repast, you would not disappoint them?”

  She sucked in her breath, bristling at his apt rejoinders, but then when she glanced at him, she chanced to imagine him a plumb cake and laughed. The humor returned to his face, brightening the sparkle of his eyes.

  “You are a hundred times worse than the most deceitful of cakes,” she said with a shake of her head, “and I am a fool to have allowed them to indulge such temptation.”

  “Thank you, I loathe to think I could not best a trifle or sugar plum.”

  A chuckle escaped her. This was madness. How could she engage in such banter with a man she had labeled a murderer but a moment ago? Granted, there were clearly circumstances surrounding his duel with Jonathan Weston that favored Lord Barclay somehow. Even the men serving as seconds for Weston had refused to implicate Barclay.

  He was still a blatant debaucher. She should fear for her own repute if they were discovered to have spent such time together, but no one would seriously consider that Lord Barclay was attempting to seduce her. A wistful sigh rose within her. When they arrived at Lowry House, she almost wished the ride had not finished so quickly.

  “Have you discharged your footman?” he commented when none of the servants arrived to greet them. He dismounted and came to her side before she could protest.

  She had already begun to slide off her mount. He caught her at the waist and eased her to the ground. It was a natural action for him to take, and she did not think to accuse him of any impropriety, but the blood pounded madly between her ears. She found herself in such proximity to him that the brim of her hat could graze his face. Trapped between his body and that of the horse, she could manage no movement. She looked up at him and saw a quixotic intensity upon his features she had not seen before. Warmth flared through her body in response. She felt like she was about to be his prey, and it was the most intoxicating sensation. If he should lower his head to kiss her, she would not stop it.

  Instead, he reached for the bridle behind her. “Allow me to see to your horse.”

  Dumbly, she nodded.

  He bowed his head. “Until next Wednesday, Countess.”

  Tempering her disappointment, she nodded and walked up the steps. One of the maids answered the door, and Gertie swept inside without a backwards glance. Her heart continued to hammer at her chest. How she wished Harrietta were in town! She desperately needed a friend to help untangle the mess of thoughts swirling in her head. Alas, she had received a letter from the Marchioness this morning stating that she did not think her little one ready to make the journey to London and she could not bear to leave him.

  “Was that Lord Barclay?” Sarah asked when Gertie had walked past the parlor that overlooked the entry to Lowry House.

  “It was,” Gertie answered curtly, not wishing to engage in dialogue.

  “Does he mean to call upon us?” Sarah inquired eagerly.

  “I think not.”

  She wanted solitude in her chambers, but Sarah continued to speak.

  “Then...I don’t understand. What is he doing here then?”

  “He—he accompanied me on an errand.”

  “He accompanied you? Why?”

  Gertie almost found herself replying because he is a gentleman. Which was an absurd consideration for a debaucher. But she had to admit that he did not have to escort her to St. Giles. One always has a choice, he had said.

  To Sarah, she simply shrugged, saying, “I am not one to guess at his motives.”

  Sarah knit her brows, and Gertie could not help a small sense of triumph at Sarah’s obvious jealousy.

  “I heard he is wont to be capricious,” Sarah said.

  Gertie had not heard such a thing, but she merely nodded and took her leave. In the quiet of her own chambers, she replayed her last moment with Barclay. His nearness had been overpowering, yet exhilarating. It had been by chance, of course, that he stood so close to her. Yet the look in his eyes...Gertie shivered, recalling how a muscle along his jaw had twitched.

  Agitated that she was proving to be no different than any other weak-willed quarry of his, she reached for her riding crop and called upon the powers of Lady Athena to shore her resolve. Then she remembered the handkerchief that she had seen at Lord Barclay’s home.

  It belonged to Sarah.

  Chapter Seven

  THE FARRINGTON WOMEN had taken leave of their senses, Phineas decided as he opened his door to admit Sarah. The Countess of Lowry suffered delusions that she could ride safely into St. Giles alone, and now Lady Sarah was risking her reputation calling upon him at his home during the day.

  “Are you seeking to have me exiled, Lady Sarah?” he asked as he settled himself into a chair after seeing her seated on the settee of his drawing room.

  “Nonsense. You and I both know Alexander has not the courage to demand satisfaction,” she replied stiffly.

  “There will come a time when he feels his hand has been forced.”

  “He cares not what I do. He only wishes to marry me off to some fat, old man that he can collect upon the dowry,” Sarah said with biting bitterness.

  “If he be a kind fat, old man, there are worse conditions.”

  “What a heartless man you are!”

  He recalled the dialogue he had had earlier with Lady Lowry. The remonstrance from Sarah affected him not at all, but the accusations of the Countess had not fallen as lightly. Perhaps it was the emptiness of having spent fiv
e years on the Continent that had made him more susceptible to Lady Lowry’s comments. He did not often associate himself with women of her character, though a woman like the Countess could easily be seduced into admitting her own hypocrisy.

  Lacking in admirers, the Countess, despite her vociferousness, would ultimately be flattered by his attentions. He could see the sadness that she tried to hide from him, covering it with indignation over his audacity. He knew her marriage to Alexander to be unsatisfying but could not tell if she knew of his mistress. No doubt she did. But what could a woman do? Such was the tragedy of the fair sex when it came to matrimony. He would never place a woman in such a pitiless position.

  He could have seduced her right there against her mount. She would not have offered much resistance. He could see it in her eyes, sense the tension in her body, smell her anticipation. Strangely, he had felt an urge to kiss her—and in full view of the Lowry House and its habitants. He remembered her full and supple lips, the rouge upon them wanting a little more application. With the proper aid, the Countess need not present herself quite so plain.

  His body was tuned for sex, and it did not surprise him that he should respond to her arousal. Why he should care about how the Lady Lowry felt towards him was a more intriguing puzzle. The fact that he could seduce her into agreeing to the question of the mine did not escape him. Perhaps that was what Robert expected him to do. But he had no interest in pursuing that means to the end. The Countess warranted better than that.

  “Have you lost your ability to speak?” Sarah’s churlish voice intruded into his thoughts.

  He eyed her with the notion to lay her across his lap and spank her. He had suspected she was a naughty girl in search of punishment. Last night, she had invited herself over. He trusted his servants to be discreet, but she had no such knowledge. Nonetheless, she had all but demanded he take her to bed. He had willingly done so, for his last session with the Lady Athena had left him aggravated.

  Without bothering to release her from the confines of her gown, he had bent Sarah out his open window, threw up her skirts, and taken her from behind. The hour had been late, the candles in his room snuffed, but the moon had been out and an occasional patron of the alehouse around the corner stumbled by. He knew Sarah had enjoyed every minute of it.