Rogue Countess

by Amy Sandas

  Did he know her?

  She smiled and he felt a response deep in his loins.

  Surely not. He would never have forgotten a woman with such striking sensual impact. He had known many beautiful women. But he had never before encountered a female who so easily ignited such an instant and elemental physical reaction within him.

  “Ah, here we are.”

  Jude was reluctant to look away from the woman in blue, but the exclamation of the man beside him swiftly recalled his attention. He glanced at his friend.

  Michael Gerard, Marquess of Rutherford, had not changed much over the years. Handsome, resourceful and charming only when he chose to be, he had come into his title and inheritance as a boy and had been taught from a very young age to expect the privilege and position afforded him by his wealth and title. Rutherford had tracked Jude down at his hotel that very morning with a familiar combination of dry humor and arrogant expectation. He had convinced Jude to accompany him to the costumed ball, if only to stir up a little excitement in the stale town. The marquess had thought it would be supremely amusing to gather up the fellows for a bit of a reunion.

  Rutherford gestured lazily toward two men who had just entered the ballroom. “Whitely and Grimm, the old devils. They must have gotten my notes.”

  Jude followed his gaze.

  Lord Grimm was an average fellow in every way. Medium height, medium brown hair and light brown eyes. And now at nearly thirty, he had grown thicker around the middle and started to look like an exact replica of his father. Jude hoped it was only in appearance since he remembered the old man to be a terrible puritan who had despaired of the day his son met up with Rutherford’s bunch.

  Lord Whitely was the opposite of Grimm. Women swooned over his angular features, black hair and bright green eyes. The man used to take every advantage of his looks and had been an unrepentant rake, claiming the innocence of countless young women before sweeping them aside in pursuit of the next conquest.

  Eight years ago, they had been a careless group of young men, fresh from university, convinced of their own wit, virility and invincibility. Life had been about late nights carousing around town, stopping in at favorite pubs and gambling dens and dance halls. It had been filled with high-society parties overflowing with not-so-innocent debutantes eager to sneak away from their chaperones and trade a little grope and tickle for a few whispered love words.

  And Rutherford had been their leader. Likely because he always knew where the best parties were, always had a solid stash of French wine and always had some wild prank up his sleeve if the usual round of entertainment got too dull.

  Jude was intrinsically aware of how far away those days were. Strange how the most inconsequential decision, such as accepting a glass of warm milk before bed, could change the course of one’s life so drastically.

  His smile was genuine as he faced the approach of his old friends.

  “What the hell brought you back?” Grimm demanded jovially.

  Rutherford glanced at the man with droll reproach. “You do recall that Sinclair is now the earl. Did you think he would neglect his duty?”

  “Forgive me for pointing it out, but the earl died more than a year ago,” Grimm argued. “I would have expected to see you then, if you had intended to return.”

  “I was not in a place where the post could reach, I’m afraid,” Jude explained. “As it was, I had already decided to come back when I learned of my father’s unexpected passing.”

  He didn’t add how he would give anything to regain the lost opportunity to reconcile with his father. If he had been home, he might have been with his father on the hunt the day he died. Somehow, he might have prevented the horse from throwing him.

  Jude took a deep and practiced breath to diffuse the tension that crawled up his spine and tightened the muscles of his throat. He had to believe everything happened for reasons he might not be privy to. Every choice led to a new outcome. His father’s decisions eight years ago had contributed to the situation which ultimately led to Jude’s departure from England. Being fully honest with himself, he knew that his choice to return could not have come any sooner than it did. He hadn’t been ready.

  Reconciliation with his father would have to come in another way.

  “I’m not sure I would’ve come back.” A wily grin accompanied Whitely’s declaration. “From what we used to hear, you’d been living like a traveling sultan with women fighting for your favor wherever you went.”

  Jude chuckled as was expected and answered, “An exaggeration, I assure you.” A slow smile spread his lips. “Then again, you probably never even heard the half of it.”

  The other men laughed as Jude had intended.

  “Oh, don’t hold out, Sinclair,” Whitely insisted with a lecherous grin. “You have to tell us about the orgies in France, or those sisters in Russia. Twins, weren’t they?”

  “Right.” Grimm jabbed a fist at Whitely’s shoulder. “Good God, why would you give up such excitement? And why the hell hadn’t we heard anything of your adventures in so long? There was some speculation that you met an unfortunate end.”

  “I nearly did,” Jude replied and the corner of his mouth curled ruefully away from his smile.

  The last eight years of his life could easily be split in two very different portions. A rebellious fire fueled the early years and had driven Jude into an existence of meaningless hedonism. Nameless women, dangerous escapades along waterfronts and in back alleys and the steady descent into numbing opium addiction.

  His friends were not interested in hearing about those times when he emerged from an alcohol and opium induced fog, not knowing where he had been or what woman’s perfume and sweat scented his skin. Or the day when he found himself on a ship bound for India, mistaken for someone else and suffering the pain of his body releasing its fierce dependence on the sweet drugging smoke.

  “I assure you, the stories you heard were likely very selective,” he drawled with a suggestive and rakish smile, allowing his companions to assume what they would. The truth of the last few years were only valuable to himself and were not nearly as titillating as what they could conjure with their depraved imaginations.

  Whitely shook his head in amazement. “I’m lucky if I can get out to my club once a week, let alone travel the world conquering the hearts and parting the thighs of countless foreign beauties.”

  “That’s because you’ve got a chain attached to your hind leg, mate,” Rutherford interjected with the superior attitude of a fox that had not yet been caught and had no intention of getting anywhere near the type of trap that had so effectively snared his friend.

  Grimm guffawed. “That’s right, and the other end of the chain is wound tightly around the delicate wrist of your little wife.”

  “True,” Whitely admitted readily, clearly accustomed to the ribbing. “But I’ve got to say, mates, I’d rather crawl into bed with my delightful wife than pass out in a pile of hay after drinking all night with you cads. Besides, we all know why Grimm stays away from home as often as he does.”

  Rutherford laughed and Grimm’s face turned sullen. Grimm had never been as good as Whitely at taking good-natured criticism.

  As the other men went into another round of personal insults, Jude found his attention drawn back across the room. The blue of her dress was a vivid beacon in the myriad chaos of colors, and his gaze found her easily.

  She was no longer alone.

  A young gentleman stood partially in front of her, as if to block her off from the rest of the room, either as a subtle means of protection or as a show of possession.

  Jude guessed it to be the latter.

  Their heads were tilted toward each other as they appeared to be discussing something very private and personal, and her slim hand rested against the man’s face in a gesture clearly meant to soothe. These two were very comfortable with each other.

  Disappointment pierced Jude’s awareness. The deep attraction he felt for the mysterious woman surprised
him. It had been ages since he had felt such an intensity of desire for anything.

  The masked woman glanced coyly over her shoulder and met his eyes for just a second. He saw the sexy little smile peeking out from beneath the turquoise and magenta feathers of her mask. Then she turned and walked away from her companion, disappearing into the crowd.

  Jude’s blood raced hot and wild through his body though he kept his reaction carefully contained. She had given every indication she would welcome an assignation. But Jude wasn’t sure yet how he wished to proceed. Long gone were the days when he pursued every woman who sent him a coy smile. Not that he was celibate, by any means. Simply much more discerning.

  “Sinclair, are you up for it?”

  Jude turned back to his companions. “Up for what? I don’t intend to end up sleeping in a tavern barn, I assure you,” he said in a dry tone.

  Rutherford laughed and clapped him on the back then started to lead their group from the ballroom. “Let’s start with cards, shall we? Then see where we end up.”

  Jude walked with his old friends, though he kept his gaze sharp as he took one last sweeping look over the ballroom, involuntarily searching for a striking azure gown encasing a phenomenal female figure.

  Just as they reached the wide landing at the top of the staircase the fine hairs on the back of his neck lifted in acute awareness. He looked back over his shoulder just in time to see the lady in blue stepping through an oversized door to the left side of the landing. The fleeting glance she cast in his direction the moment before she disappeared into the shadows solidified his choice.

  On straight instinct, Jude changed his course.

  His friends might be annoyed that his abandonment left them one man short at the card table, but they would not interfere.

  Chapter Three

  Reaching the doorway, which had been left slightly ajar, Jude crossed the threshold and passed into a darkened hallway. His pulse raced and he felt a light touch of uncertainty. He chose to ignore it. After only a few steps, he reached another oversized doorway opening into a long, narrow room dimly lit by the eerie glow of medieval wall sconces set about fifty feet apart down the length of the gallery.

  Jude stopped to allow his eyes to become accustomed to the near darkness.

  The walls were almost covered in varying sizes of ancient tapestries. The largest extended from the cornice of the twenty-foot ceiling all the way down to the marbled floor and spanned the entire space between two sconces. In areas where no tapestries hung, groupings of ancient weapons were arranged as morbid artwork. Suits of armor representing multiple cultures and time periods stood stoic and silent in the shadows as if waiting patiently for their services to be required.

  Jude stepped into the room, feeling as if he had entered a secret and dangerous world far removed from what existed beyond the short stretch of hallway behind him. Everything bright and sparkling and full of gaiety outside became heavy and quiet with the somber metals and deep woven colors of a way of life long gone.

  He continued farther along the length of the gallery and finally saw her standing still and beautiful with her eyes cast upward and her hands clasped casually behind her slim back.

  A heady scent hung suspended in quiet space. It was rich and dark and recalled his senses to some elusive memory from his past. The memory would not completely form and he released it to return his focus to the present moment.

  He knew she must be aware of his presence. His shoes had not been silent on the marble floor, yet she did not turn toward him. Not even when he came to stand alongside her. He was close enough to hear the subtle rhythm of her breath, but not so close as to threaten the gossamer shield of propriety.

  He was well versed in the delicate and shifting boundaries of a well-executed seduction, and as he stood there, he understood that he had been lured to this woman’s side. He studied her unmoving and confident posture, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence.

  Excitement and arousal coursed through him.

  “Fascinating, isn’t it?” Her voice was low and husky as it flowed into the clandestine atmosphere of the darkened gallery.

  “Definitely,” Jude countered.

  He noted the deep inward curve of her waist and admired the slim length of her spine. His gaze traced the graceful line of her neck and shoulder, rested momentarily on the lush upper rise of her breasts. She had the body of a courtesan. Strong and graceful and fully female in every dramatic dip and curve.

  “I was referring to the tapestry,” she answered with a note of amusement. She spoke in a tone just above a whisper, not out of concern that their conversation might be overheard, he suspected, but out of deference to the solemn tone of the room. He couldn’t help but think the smooth and intimate quality of her voice would be perfectly suited to love words uttered in the plush darkness of a private boudoir.

  Realizing she expected some comment from him, Jude lifted his chin and followed her gaze to the scene depicted on the long stretch of fabric positioned on the upper expanse of the wall before them. The woven artwork depicted a fierce and bloody battle. Mounted knights fell to their deaths under the blades and spears of what appeared to be an army of angels. The obvious victors in the battle were those clothed in white robes with sunbursts spread out from behind their heads. The angels performed their task with cold and emotionless faces that were in stark contrast to the pained and dying expressions of the fallen knights.

  He took an involuntary step closer, drawn in by the odd imagery. “What was their crime?”

  “They used their power to subjugate those they were meant to protect. They became selfish and greedy and started to believe as if they were owed things they had never earned.”

  Jude turned to look down at her. “A rather harsh punishment.”

  She tilted her head and he could see the barest lifting at the corners of her mouth.

  “I doubt their victims would have thought so.” She turned slowly in place to face him and tipped her head back to meet his eyes. “You are a foreigner, aren’t you? Or you have been away from England for a long time?”

  Her sudden change in subject jolted him for a moment, but not nearly as much as her direct and confident nature. Up close, the intensity of her dark masked gaze struck him once again. His pulse beat a staccato rhythm as he realized the mysterious scent that had enchanted him upon entering the room came from the woman herself.

  He replied to her question with one of his own. “Why do you say that?”

  “You have a slight accent, very subtle, but noticeable in the way you draw out the end of your words. Also, you do not behave like an Englishman.”

  Jude arched one eyebrow. “How so?”

  “You were far too bold in the ballroom. Staring at me as you did.” Though her tone was one of admonition, her lovely full lips curled upward as if she could not resist the smile that threatened.

  Now Jude smiled. “You were staring first.”

  “I was,” she admitted freely with a small tilt of her head, “but a gentleman wouldn’t say so.”

  “What if I am not a gentleman?”

  “Oh, you must be, or you wouldn’t have been allowed in the door tonight. The guest list at these affairs is always top notch.” She leaned in toward him just a touch and whispered conspiratorially. “The hostess would not suffer to entertain riff-raff.” When she straightened, he saw that her smile had twisted into a gentle sneer and she added pertly, “It’s a wonder I managed to get past the guards.”

  Her implication was clear. She did not belong here. In that fact, they were more alike than she probably realized.

  “I get the sense you do not object to my forward behavior.” Jude took a step closer to her as he spoke, already knowing what her answer would be.

  “Truly, I should have expected such boldness the moment I saw you,” she confessed quietly. Her voice had become breathless. The soft sound stroked his heightened senses. “Only two types of men would arrive at a masquerade without a mask.” When he
lifted his brows in subtle question, she tilted her head and looked as if she were considering him carefully. “Either you are a vain sort who is loath to hide his handsome face behind the equalizing properties of a domino, or you choose to face the world with your intentions clear for all to see.”

  Jude didn’t try to hide his amusement at her clever deduction. “And which do you believe me to be?”

  She laughed then, lightly, and it was a sound that tickled the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Everything about this woman triggered a visceral reaction in him.

  “Since I already have a pretty good idea of what you want from me, I would be stupid to assume you are anything other than the latter.”

  “In the places I have been, a man cannot afford to be coy,” Jude offered by way of explanation. “He must make his choice and act decisively, or what he desires may become the possession of someone stronger, faster or more determined.”

  The woman lifted her chin, lengthening the line of her bare throat. Her voice lowered. “Is that why you followed me?”

  Jude looked down at her. Her invitation was clear in the glitter of her dark eyes that captivated him from the shadowed slits of her mask and in the parted curve of her lips. But his instinct told him to tread carefully with this one. He lifted his hand and brushed the back of his knuckles down the length of her throat, from the corner of her jaw down to the gentle ridge of her collarbone. She stiffened slightly at the delicate touch, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile.

  She was not as self-possessed as she would have him believe.

  “The man you were talking with in the ballroom,” he said in a softened tone as his fingertips traced the shape of her collarbone, “do you know him well?”

  “I do,” she answered on a gasp.

  His fingers swept lightly over her shoulder to tease the sensitive skin at her nape. Goosebumps rose up on the surface of her delicate flesh. Noting that spot in his memory for future attention, Jude drew his fingers across her back, tracing the upper edge of her gown. At the same time, he took a deliberate step to her side.