Rogue Countess

by Amy Sandas

  “Let me ask you something,” he began gently as he reached her and set his warm hands on her shoulders. “Is he attracted to you?”

  Pink warmth spread over her cheeks at the personal question, but she answered it honestly. “I don’t know. He implies that he is, but it could be a ploy to irritate and manipulate me.”

  “Has he kissed you?” Leif pressed.

  Anna shifted from one foot to the other. “Yes.”

  “In thinking about how he kissed you, what does your intuition say about his level of desire?”

  Anna snorted. “I don’t know, Leif. What difference does that make? His passion could have been a show, a put-on. Isn’t that what you do all the time?”

  Leif cringed at her careless observation, but he knew she hadn’t intended the comment as an insult. It was true, after all. “Yes, but I have practiced the proper reaction. A man without my particular experience would not so easily be able to express a passion he didn’t feel.”

  Anna screwed her features into an expression of embarrassment mixed with distress. “Then I guess I would have to say yes, he finds me attractive.”

  “Excellent,” Leif murmured with a gentle squeeze of her shoulders. “Then making him suffer should prove to be terribly easy for you, sweetheart.”

  Anna’s expression turned incredulous. “You mean I should seduce him?”

  Leif nodded. “Seduce him and refuse him. Understand that’s the key. If you can’t refuse him, there is no point in even attempting this strategy.” Leif dipped to look her more directly in the eye. “Tell me you understand.”

  Anna rolled her eyes and pushed past him to cross the room in nervous strides. “Of course I understand. I’ve realized I have a certain…vulnerability when it comes to him.”

  “You just realized that, did you?” Leif smirked, earning himself a swift glare of reproach as she turned back to face him.

  “I don’t know the first thing about enticing a man,” she argued, which made Leif laugh again.

  “That’s a bunch of bullocks. You, my angel, are one of those rare women who radiate with innate sensuality. You have an instinctive knowledge of how to display your more enticing features to the most dramatic effect. There has just not been any occasion to practice the art of seduction itself. You spend far too much time with men who prefer fast horses to fine women. I promise, you will barely have to do a thing.”

  “I don’t even think I could manage to be nice to him,” Anna warned.

  “You wouldn’t have to be. Your greatest weapon is that stunning body of yours. Let him catch a glimpse here and there. A small patch of forbidden skin or a quick flash of the whole package. With him in your house, it should be easy to maneuver.”

  “And what if I manage to seduce, but then can’t refuse,” Anna asked in a voice that suddenly sounded strained.

  Leif hesitated. Though her posture was stiff and determined, there was a flicker of sadness in her eyes. It was carefully hidden away and only barely visible to one who had seen that look far too much in a time he had hoped was long gone.

  He stepped toward her and answered earnestly, knowing she needed the truth from him more than anything.

  “You might enjoy it. You might lose your heart.”

  Anna closed her eyes and stood motionless. Leif was tempted to reach out and fold her in his arms, to comfort her as he used to when they had been young. But he kept his distance and waited.

  After only a moment, she opened her eyes and met his gaze with strong conviction in the tilt of her chin.

  “Then I think I’d better avoid seduction,” she stated blandly.

  Leif nodded. His blood ran cold with the certainty that Blackbourne would not be the only one to suffer in the coming days.

  Chapter Twelve

  With Anna gone from the house, Jude took it upon himself to become familiar with his new residence. He was in a fine mood, and it was a direct result of his encounter with Anna that morning. The first phase of his plan to become a constant presence in his wife’s life had been rather easy to accomplish.

  She had claimed she wouldn’t alter her routine by his presence, but he doubted she would be able to ignore him completely. He could see that he made her uncomfortable. He felt the same way. It would have been so much easier to just hate her on all levels. The natural stirrings of lust that came to life whenever he was in her presence made things more difficult for him, but it did not change his ultimate goal—to be free of the marriage once and for all.

  The more he learned about the woman, the less he trusted her. A young woman who had risked everything to force a marriage with the heir to an established and respected earldom, did not turn around and refute every connection to it and go about her merry way. There was some piece of the puzzle he was still missing and the certainty of that nagged at him.

  After making his way through every room of the house, Jude stepped outside to investigate the stables. He was surprised by the quality of the small out building behind the typical London townhouse. Usually, there wasn’t much room for full accommodations in the city limits. Many town dwellers didn’t even have a stable, preferring to rent carriages and horses as they were needed. But the countess had extended her service building into the small garden that stretched behind the house, allowing for a quaint stone courtyard. The space made a fine display area to show a horse for an intended sale.

  He spent the better part of an hour talking with the very capable and knowledgeable lads in charge of the horses. They knew an inordinate amount about the care and treatment of thoroughbreds, and very little about the woman who paid their salaries. Any questions Jude posed about her business in breeding and selling racehorses were answered with quick confident responses and wide grins of pride. But the best he could determine about their mistress personally was that she spent her time equally between London and Thornwood Abby in Suffolk, depending upon the season, and she rose early every morning without fail to ride in Hyde Park.

  Jude never slept late, but the next day he woke exceptionally early in order to accidentally intercept his wife. Yet for all his planning, he still heard her heading out more than fifteen minutes before he was ready to leave his bedroom. He ignored the flash of annoyance over having to chase the woman down in order to irritate her.

  But his pique didn’t last long.

  It was a beautiful day after all and it was already shaping up to be unseasonably warm. When he entered the courtyard the sun was just starting to stretch its rays from below the horizon. A couple of the stable lads he had talked with the day before were already finishing up their morning chores and waved a friendly greeting as he passed. He walked into the building and breathed in the rich scent of fresh hay, oats and oiled leather.

  Not much later, Jude was riding along one of the many lanes in Hyde Park.

  As the horse’s hooves thundered over the perfectly prepared path through the park, Jude thought back to that summer and the weekend that had changed the course of his life.

  It was strange to him now to think that he had ever been so young and naïve. At twenty-two, he had thought himself a man of experience. He was betrothed to a woman he loved and he thought the entire world was his for the taking.

  He and Olivia had met at one of the many balls that overran London during the official season. She had been a vision of golden beauty. Her pert wit and pouty pink smile had claimed the hearts of many young men about town, and for some reason she had chosen him amongst all of her possible suitors. Jude had been flattered and bewitched. Miss Olivia Locke knew exactly how to make a man feel as if he were the strongest, cleverest and most interesting human being in the entire room. The girl had wrapped him around her finger.

  But he had been content. His mother and father had approved of the match, though his father had cautioned a long betrothal so they could have time to get to know each other, which was the purpose of the many weekend visits during those hot summer months. The Locke house had been filled with guests desperate to escape the heat an
d stench of the city. Jude had lavished nearly all of his attention upon Olivia, and she had relished in his single-minded focus.

  The younger Locke sister had only been a faint shadowy waif who drifted in and out of Jude’s memory of those days. Back then she had been a sullen and quiet girl. She had been too young to join in the amusements of the house party and for the most part kept out of sight. Though there had been that one time when he had convinced Olivia to sneak away from the house with him. He had had her pressed up against the outside wall of the stables with his hand shoved up her skirts and his mouth pressed to the top of her bosom when Anna came upon them. Olivia, in her embarrassment and fear of discovery, had shooed her younger sister away with a sharp and biting tongue.

  He could still remember the stark astonishment on the young girl’s face. Her dark eyes, even wide with shock as they were, still held a depth of melancholy that was disturbing in one so young. As Olivia had shouted at her to run along back to the schoolroom and keep her mouth shut about what she’d seen, the child had turned those doleful eyes on him and he had felt a moment of searing awareness. As if the girl had seen into his soul and had been disenchanted by what she saw. The sensation had bothered him and cooled the ardor that had run so hot minutes before.

  And the very next morning, disaster fell like an anvil.

  Jude woke up feeling like he had to swim through layers and layers of London’s thickest fog. His entire body ached and his head pounded with a headache that made it hard for him to think straight. Even the details of the night before were vague and distorted. He had been afraid to even open his eyes in fear that the light of the room might split his skull completely.

  But then, something had managed to break through to his consciousness with disturbing alarm. It was the voice of Edward Locke bellowing loud enough to wake the dead. In Jude’s confusion, he’d thought for a moment he must be dreaming. Why on earth would Olivia’s father be in his bedroom? Then he had heard a pitiful female wail and had struggled to open his eyes. Olivia was there too? His confusion had been so great he couldn’t even make out what the Lockes were saying in such angry tones. It was as if their voices were coming at him from under water.

  He’d managed to crack his eyes open and not only Olivia and her father were in his bedroom, but other guests were crowding in behind them, their gazes pinned on something beside him. Jude had pushed himself onto his elbow and turned his head, the slight motion making his stomach heave.

  Sprawled next to him in the bed was the slim, pale body of Olivia’s sister. The girl had looked so young and defenseless lying there still asleep, or pretending to be, in spite of the commotion surrounding them. At the same time, lying on her stomach with her limbs flung out in all directions and her black hair tangled about her, she had also appeared devastatingly wanton. Jude had known then with a sobering certainty that he wasn’t dreaming at all.

  He had awoken to a living nightmare.

  He didn’t remember much of what happened immediately afterward. He had no idea how he got back to Silverly, and it wasn’t until the following day that he recalled the glass of warm milk that had been sent up to him before bed. His fury at the full realization of what had happened had no outlet. There had been too many witnesses to the girl’s ruination, and Edward Locke had already begun a campaign demanding retribution.

  He was trapped. His fate sealed by the devious actions of a girl still in the schoolroom.

  When he went to his father and explained privately what had happened, the earl had only looked at him with sorrowful eyes. Jude had never been able to discern if his father had believed his explanation or not, but the earl made it very clear that regardless of how the events had been put in motion, he fully expected his son to behave with honor.

  Though his mother had fought the earl on his behalf, Jude had known there was no escaping the monstrous machine that had been set in motion. And he’d started to go numb.

  The numbness had persisted even when he’d met with Olivia for a final farewell. The tears had fallen unheeded from Olivia’s golden-brown eyes. But for some reason, the scene didn’t affect him as he knew it should. Jude could recall with vivid clarity how he had sat opposite Olivia and watched her sob inconsolably, but he had lost all connection to her sorrow and to his own sense of loss. All he could think was how amazing it was that her eyes didn’t get the slightest bit red even with the great tears tracking down her cheeks.

  Oddly, when it came to the younger Locke girl, Jude was able to tap into a wealth of feeling—rage, revulsion, loathing. He hadn’t even been able to look at the girl as she stood beside him while they recited the necessary vows that bound them in marriage. All of his energy had been focused on getting through the evil proceedings and then getting as far away from her as possible. There was no reception planned to follow the ceremony, something he had refused that his father had agreed to. Jude was not about to parade about amongst a bunch of guests, accepting half-hearted congratulations for such a hideous event.

  In the short carriage ride from the church to Silverly, Jude had struggled to imagine life with the silent bride across from him. By the time the carriage stopped in front of Silverly, his stomach had been twisted in knots of furious protest. The footman had helped his bride step down to the gravel drive, and when she’d turned around to peer into the carriage with large dark eyes, waiting for him to follow, Jude had stared back at her in solemn silence. All he’d seen when he looked at her pale thin face was a devilish witch and the end to the life he’d always thought to have.

  In a split second of decision, Jude had leaned forward to pull the carriage door shut and then shouted for the driver to continue on. He hadn’t stopped until he reached the docks of London and found a ship to take him from England, his family and the wife he refused to acknowledge.

  Jude had committed himself to a state of perpetual oblivion, not wanting to devote another second of thought or drop of energy to the circumstances that preceded his departure from England. His memories of those years were fuzzy at best with the effects of alcohol, the smoke of opium dens and the faces of many nameless women. He’d devoted himself to constant movement, a constant changing of scenery. He’d learned how to disconnect from the world around him and become only a superficial participant.

  It wasn’t until much later that he had a chance to wonder at how easily he had shoved not only Anna from his mind, but also Olivia, the woman he had thought he loved. When news of her marriage to the Duke of Clavering finally reached him, he had only felt a certain relief to know she had managed to move on after the tragedy of their parting. Then he had barely thought of her again.

  For years, he barely thought of anyone.

  But after he had been in India for a time and began to gain new perspective, his thoughts had often turned to his father. Jude’s last words to him on the day of his tragic marriage had been filled with resentment and wrath for the very traits that made the earl a man to be admired. His father was fair in judgment beyond all things and never made a decision without weighing out all possible consequences. It took Jude a long time to acknowledge that his father’s position on the marriage had not been the great betrayal he had felt it to be at the time.

  Jude had already decided to return to England when he had received news of his father’s death. His mother’s sad letter had taken several months to reach him, and although he’d rushed through his travel plans, it still took a few more months before he stepped off the ship in London.

  When Jude had made the decision to return home, it had been with the full intention to resume the life he had rejected with one unmovable exception. His unwanted marriage would be dissolved as quickly as possible. He had learned much about himself and his place in the world. He knew that fleeing from the disaster his life had become eight years ago had been infinitely foolish and pointless. A young man’s reckless rebellion. But during his time away, he had also come to value the understanding that life was made up of an endless series of choices. How a man reacted
to things he could not change was a matter of choice. It was Jude’s choice to go back to England and take his place as the son he had been raised to be. It was also his choice to annul a marriage that never should have taken place, a union based on deceit and manipulation.

  He should have realized, however, that acquiring an annulment was not going to be without its challenges. If a girl of sixteen could feel no compunction against climbing naked into the bed of a drugged and unconscious man, as a grown woman, she would be even more dangerous. He just hadn’t considered she would be so strikingly beautiful or that he would have such an intense attraction for her.

  It was a fact he couldn’t ignore no matter how much it disturbed him.

  He would have to be clever to get what he wanted. But he would get it.

  Jude nudged his mount with his heels, wanting more speed, more wind in his face. The park at this early hour was virtually empty, with only the most serious riders out on the lanes. The flood of stylish carriages carrying society ladies and debutantes desperate to be seen and admired would come later. As would the posturing dandies on horseback, intercepting the ladies to engage in a light flirtation or a more serious courtship.

  Jude rode for more than half an hour before he came around the pond and spotted her up ahead, watching him from beneath the branches of a wide spreading oak. The countess.

  He turned his mount in her direction. How long had she been watching him? He should have been paying more attention. He had wanted to come upon her by surprise. He had wanted to disarm her and catch her off-guard.

  As he neared, he couldn’t help but admire the image she presented as she sat astride a stunning gray thoroughbred. She looked poised for battle. He could suddenly picture her with startling clarity as one of those mythical Amazon warriors as she surveyed the approach of a hated enemy.

  Jude smiled. He couldn’t help it. He knew of enough husbands and wives of arranged marriages who discovered themselves to be incompatible. He knew of a few couples who very plainly disliked each other. But he had to believe he and Anna were likely the only pair in recent history to declare open war against each other.