Counterfeit Countess: Brazen Brides, Book 1

by Cheryl Bolen

  Good lord! Edward thought. Did Fiona think Maggie would be even remotely interested in Lord Agar as her newest conquest? Then he realized Fiona--and her father--would quite naturally believe Maggie attracted to wealthy old peers. The very idea of Maggie and Agar revolted him. Why, she was too . . . too what? he asked himself. He had initially thought her unimpressed by titles, disinterested in fortune. Hadn’t she turned down Lord Aynsley? But now he did not know what to think after her behavior in the carriage this morning. Mercenary, was probably what she was! His face clouded when Agar returned to the table and threw out a card.

  Fiona was not a bad player. For a woman, she was quite good actually. Whenever he had played with her in the past, Edward had thought she would much rather be talking to friends than concentrating on her cards.

  “How did you find Hogarth Castle?” Fiona asked Maggie.

  He could see the blank look on Maggie’s face. Of course she would have no idea that Hogarth Castle was the Warwick country estate. “I believe the countess much prefers London,” Edward said.

  A look of relief washed over Maggie’s face. “Yes, quite, though--due to my mourning, which I’m heartily glad to be out of--I’ve seen very little of London.”

  “Then you’ve not been a good host,” Fiona scolded Edward. “Did you take her ladyship to the theatre?”

  “We saw The Tempest,” he answered.

  “Were you able to go up to Richmond?” Fiona asked Maggie.

  “No, but we did go to Greenwich one day,” Maggie said as casually as she would utter a salutation.

  God help him! It was hard enough sitting so close to Maggie, feeling the touch of her leg against his, peering at those lovely breasts, without having to be reminded of Greenwich and the most incredible lovemaking in his entire life. He felt the perspiration popping out on his brow. Damn but it’s hot in here.

  “Do you know,” Fiona said, “I have never been to Greenwich. Do you recommend it, my lady?”

  Maggie shrugged. “It’s hard for me to say because the weather was so very dreadful the day we went.”

  “But you were able to return to London the same day?” Fiona asked, her brows lowering. “The roads were passable?”

  Edward felt as if he had been kicked in the gut.

  “We just barely made it back,” Maggie said calmly.

  Damn Fiona! She was entirely too perceptive. “The worst of it was, Lady Warwick’s unduly upset over thunderstorms.”

  Fiona sent Maggie a concerned look. “How awful for you!”

  “Yes, it’s dreadfully inconvenient. If I’m home I can bury myself beneath the covers of my bed for the duration of the storm,” Maggie said with a laugh, “but if I’m away from home my fears render me an absolute burden to whomever I’m with.”

  “You were not a burden,” Edward said, kindness in his voice. When he glanced across the table, the haunted look on Fiona’s face troubled him. She knows.

  Chapter 23

  Randolph Hollingsworth returned to Windmere Abbey the following afternoon. To say that he was infatuated with Maggie would be an understatement, Edward reflected bitterly. If she had been attracted to Harry Lyle, she would undoubtedly be bowled over by Hollingsworth. Unlike the other members of his family, Randolph Hollingsworth was not short, nor was he slender. From Lady Agar’s family he had inherited height considerably above average (though not as tall as Edward) and a sturdy, well-muscled body that gifted him in athletic endeavors. Like his sister, he was possessed of a full head of blond hair and displayed impeccable manners.

  Though he was Edward’s oldest friend and Edward had always been remarkably fond of him, now Edward found himself quite out of charity with Hollingsworth. The man was an irrepressible flirt who was uncommonly popular with the ladies. Including Maggie.

  One look at Maggie’s lovely face and dazzling figure, and Hollingsworth had been completely captivated. Edward had never known his friend to forgo a romp on his gelding or a round of billiards, but the man now refused to participate in those activities or in any activity from which Maggie was excluded. Uncharacteristically, he even rose before noon in order to take breakfast with Maggie!

  In addition, he took long walks with her, stared at her with adoration throughout dinner (where he insisted on sitting beside her), and selfishly claimed her as his whist partner nightly, forcing his poor, aging father to join Miss Peabody in the library night after night. Of course, being the lady she was and knowing how keenly her father enjoyed whist, Fiona urged her father to take her place as Edward’s partner, but Lord Agar nobly bowed out, saying he would leave the game to the young people.

  All of this made Edward rather short tempered.

  He was all too happy to see the last of February. With March came milder days, bluer skies, and an awakening landscape, which enabled them to spend more time outdoors. Except for Miss Peabody, who only left the library to eat and sleep.

  Therefore, Edward and Fiona, along with Maggie and Randolph, had begun to take excursions. To fulfill Maggie’s request, this day they rode in the Agar barouche to see the moors.

  “I’ve always longed to see the moors,” Maggie said, smiling up at Hollingsworth, who sat bundled beside her. “We don’t have moors in America.”

  “Is that so?” Hollingsworth asked. “I would have thought there were moors everywhere.”

  The man sounded like a parrot of his slow-topped father. “I believe they’re peculiar to England,” Edward grumbled.

  Fiona grew quiet. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Edward wondered how much she had been able to guess. He was sure she sensed that something about Maggie’s background was fabricated. Did she also sense that he and Maggie had been intimate? Is that why Fiona’s smiles were becoming less frequent, why she was becoming so bloody solemn?

  He felt wretched. One of the things he had loved about Fiona was her good nature and sense of humor, neither of which he had seen for days. Was he to blame? Was he destroying that which he had loved?

  “I’m surprised, old fellow,” Hollingsworth said to him, “that the Foreign Office can do without you for this long.”

  Maggie gave a mock scowl. “After so many years of conscientious service, Lord Warwick deserves some reward.”

  “It is time you allowed yourself a holiday,” Fiona said, setting her hand upon his. “How much longer will we be able to keep you?”

  Would that he could look into the future. By now his adversaries would have had time to visit all of his country properties and would know he was not at any of them. Which could mean that as a last resort they would come looking for him at Windmere Abbey. He should not allow himself to get too comfortable here, but where would he take Maggie next? Where could he be assured she’d be safe? “I need to start thinking about returning.”

  “But surely not the countess,” Hollingsworth protested. “You cannot expect a woman to make that grueling journey again so soon?”

  Fiona’s worried gaze swung from Edward to her brother. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy, but I’m sure Edward means to apprise you of the danger to Lady Warwick.” She eyed Edward.

  Anger raged on Hollingsworth’s face. “What do you mean, the countess is in danger?”

  Fiona looked like a scared child. Edward took pity on her and pulled her hand into his. “It’s all right, my sweet. I have no secrets from your brother.” He turned his attention to Hollingsworth. “The night we fled London, four armed men tried to abduct Lady Warwick.”

  “Good lord!” Hollingsworth said, spinning toward Maggie. “Were you hurt?”

  “No, but Lord Warwick was.” Her eyes softened as she glanced at Edward. “How is the wound to your arm, my lord?”

  “I’m happy to say I’ve had almost a full recovery, thanks to you and to the Hollingsworths’ old nurse.”

  “Her ladyship cared for your wound?” Fiona asked, sliding her gaze to Maggie. She did not sound at all pleased.

  How, Edward wondered, did one bandage a man’s arm without said man removing his
shirt? Fiona was learning too many things he would rather she not know.

  “I fancy myself adept at healing,” Maggie said. “It’s something I picked up from my mother.”

  Fiona turned a bright smile upon Maggie. “Then I’m most grateful you were with Edward when he was injured.”

  “Not as grateful as I am that he was with me when those wicked men tried to grab me. Lord Warwick was really quite magnificent, fighting off four men singlehandedly."

  “Is that so?” Hollingsworth said, admiration on his face. “Were you armed?”

  Edward shook his head.

  “You fought them off with your bare hands?”

  Edward shrugged. “At the end, I had help.”

  “After he had already disabled two of the men,” Maggie praised.

  “You still sparring with Jackson?” Hollingsworth asked.

  “I am.”

  Hollingsworth’s eyes narrowed. “Bloody glad I’ll be to get back to London. I’m longing for a good session with Jackson. This mourning business is beastly.” A few seconds later he stammered an apology. “Not that my mother’s memory is not worth excessive sacrifice on our part, mind you.”

  “I’m glad you’ve brought up the subject of London,” Edward said. “I may need you to go there. Be my eyes and ears until Mag--, the countess is out of danger.”

  His heart raw with pain, Edward watched Hollingsworth beam down at Maggie. Why in the hell did she have to wear the damned blue shawl? The memories it evoked tormented Edward.

  “I’d do anything for the countess,” Hollingsworth said.

  Edward had once said he would trust no other person with Maggie’s safety. He was wrong. He would trust Randolph Hollingsworth. The man was honest, patriotic, and he cared about Maggie. Edward could see that he would have to take him into his confidence, to tell him everything.

  Even about Andrew Bibble.

  As they drew near the moors, they left the barouche and began to walk, Maggie and Hollingsworth arm in arm in front of him and Fiona. The wind grew stronger, the terrain rockier, the landscape more eerily haunting. “It’s lovely here,” Maggie was saying, "in a melancholy way."

  Edward had intrinsically known Maggie would love the verdant English countryside, but damned if he’d known Hollingsworth was going to try to take credit for it! In his smug, proprietary air, the man was acting as if he’d singlehandedly brought on the spring! Damn him.

  Fiona’s hand dug into Edward's arm, and he turned to face her. “Please, let them go on,” she said. “I wish to have you all to myself.”

  “I’m yours to command,” he said grimly, taking a turn away from the moors. They walked some little way before she finally spoke again: “What’s troubling you, dearest?”

  His stomach knotted. “Nothing’s troubling me, save that nasty business back in London.”

  She gave a false laugh. “It’s I who should have changed these past four months, but the most marked change is in you.”

  She was right, of course, but he could not very well tell her, “I’ve bedded another woman, a woman who’s displaced you in my heart.” He had thought that if he could just see Fiona, everything would return to what it had been before Maggie. But nothing was the same. Everything was worse. He had never been more unhappy. He was poised to marry a woman he no longer loved. That woman was now so steeped in melancholy he scarcely recognized her. He longed for Maggie, a woman who neither loved him nor wanted him, a woman who made a habit of collecting men’s hearts.

  Fiona could be entrusted with some of the truth. “It’s my position at the Foreign Office.” He turned to her. “What I say dies here.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said.

  “I’m certain one of my most trusted colleagues is a traitor, but I don’t know which of them is guilty.”

  “Surely not Harry Lyle!”

  His face grim, Edward nodded. “I could be wrong, but I believe the spy is either Lyle or Lord Carrington.”

  “But it couldn’t be Lord Carrington, either!”

  He gave a bitter laugh. “Now you see why I’ve been so devilishly ill-tempered.” Or, now she could see one of the reasons why he’d been such a grump.

  She drew closer to him, her arm resting on his, her modest bosom rubbing against his upper arm. “Would that there was something I could do to help you.”

  He patted her hand. “It’s nothing you need concern yourself with.”

  They were walking against a southerly wind that was so strong it blew the hood of Fiona’s black cloak away from her face. Restoring it would have been a wasted effort. Her efforts were needed to traverse the rocky terrain. He turned to look back, but the moors were no longer in view. He could not see Maggie or Hollingsworth.

  They soon came to an old crofter's hut which had been abandoned decades ago. To his surprise, Fiona ducked into the one-room building. He glanced up and saw that its wooden roof had almost completely eroded away. Then he sent Fiona a questioning look.

  “I would like for you to kiss me,” she whispered in her sweet melodious voice.

  With every beat of his heart he wanted to love Fiona as he once had. Perhaps if he allowed himself to kiss her, the heated passions she had once stirred would return. He took two strides, settled steady hands upon her slim shoulders, then lowered his mouth to brush against hers. The woman he was prepared to spend the rest of his life with had decidedly different ideas about the potency of the kiss. Her slender body swayed against his and her breath was ragged as her arms encircled him, clinging to him, refusing to terminate the kiss. At that moment Edward hated himself. Her desire for him had never been so passionate, his for her never so impotent.

  He stiffened and backed away, but she continued to cling to him. Her smoldering eyes met his and she spoke breathlessly. “I want to make love to you. Now. Here.”

  God in heaven! What had he done to the purest, finest woman he had ever known? “You can’t know what you’re saying. You’re a lady--”

  “A lady who’s madly in love,” she said, her voice heavy with passion.

  He felt as if the very ground he stood upon had caved into oblivion. His hands grasped both her arms, and he backed her away from him. “I will not make love to you until we’re married.”

  An unbelievable melancholy washed over her sweet face, and he felt like a monster.

  * * *

  As Maggie walked along the lonely moors, wind singing in her face, it suddenly occurred to her how remote this forlorn stretch of land was. Her heart beat erratically as she pictured Andrew Bibble's bloody body. Terror gripped her and she had an overwhelming desire to return to the safety of Windmere Abbey. “What are those yellow flowers?” Maggie asked Randolph, gripping his hand tightly.

  “Gorse,” he said. “You don’t have them in America?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” She had taken an immediate liking to Mr. Hollingsworth, and during the past several days had grown comfortable with him. Were she to draw up a list of attributes she sought in a husband (a pastime she frequently indulged), Mr. Hollingsworth would be in possession of every one. She had even begun to think he might offer for her.

  Such a proposal, if indeed he did make it, would merit serious consideration. Edward was completely out of the picture now that Maggie had met Fiona. Lady Fiona was everything he had said she was and more, and Maggie liked her very much. Far too much to want to steal her fiancé.

  That was not to say a little something did not die inside Maggie every time she saw Edward take Fiona’s hand or speak softly to her.

  Maggie and Mr. Hollingsworth were holding hands and he was smiling down at her, when completely out of the blue he proposed. “I don’t like to think of Warwick taking you away. You’re the first woman I’ve ever wished to marry.”

  Her heart stampeded. Was that a proposal?

  He moved closer and delicately touched each of her cheeks. “Will you honor me by becoming my wife?”

  Oh dear. “It’s I who am honored, but I must tell you there is muc
h about me that you don’t know. There’s the possibility that when you do know my history you may not wish to marry me.”

  He took her hand and pressed his lips into her palm. Not letting go of her hand, he gazed adoringly at her. “I don’t think there’s anything you could tell me that would make me love you less. You’ve bewitched me. You’re the first thing I think of every morning, the last thing every night.”

  “I am exceedingly flattered,” she said, pulling back her hand, “but I need time to consider your offer.”

  His huge shoulders sagged, a frown sliced across his face. “And I had hoped to procure a special license and wed you within a fortnight.”

  She gave a false little laugh. She would have to discuss this with Edward. Though she hated her bogus position, she would not reveal the truth to Mr. Hollingsworth until Edward gave her permission to do so.

  A sudden gust of wind almost ripped away her most precious possession, the blue shawl. “We’d better go back,” she said.

  Chapter 24

  Before dinner that night Maggie waited in the corridor outside Edward’s chamber door. When he closed his door and looked up to see her standing there in an elegant pink gown, his face brightened.

  “I should like to have a private word with you,” she said, closing the gap between them.

  “We can go to the orangery.” That the orangery was on the opposite end of the house from the dining and drawing rooms should ensure that neither of the Hollingsworths would intercept them. Edward needed to be alone with Maggie. He wasn’t sure why, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to say to her when he did get her alone, but he had to be with her without the intrusion of Fiona or her damned brother.

  Since night had fallen, they took their own candle to the orangery, where they were quite alone. The glass room had grown cold now that the sun had set, but still the rows of rose bushes gave off their sweet scent. Maggie’s scent, he thought, his memories of that day in Greenwich the sweetest form of self-torture. He set down the candle and turned to face her, his heart hammering. The candlelight glanced off her dark hair, hair that had been swept back but which had escaped its pins to frame her face in limp ringlets. His gaze swept to the pink tinge in her cheeks, along the smooth column of her neck to the bare shoulders of satiny flesh he hungered to touch. God, he wanted to draw her into his arms, but he could see from her casual nonchalance that she had no wish to be her seductive self. Not that she was actually aware of how seductive she was, he conceded.