Contracted as His Countess

by Louise Allen

  ‘Come and sit on my lap,’ Henry invited and two of the Grecian girls promptly obliged, which at least made more room and meant that the jester’s thigh was no longer pressed so insistently against hers.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Madelyn asked when, after ten minutes, it was obvious that they were not about to arrive at some fashionable Mayfair venue. In fact, she was fairly certain they had passed through a toll gate, although it as difficult to see past the jester’s strange belled headdress.

  ‘Chelsea,’ King Henry said, glancing up from his appreciative study of the neckline of the girl on his lap.

  ‘Chelsea?’

  That was miles out of town, surely? Two or three at least. She could walk that far, and often did, but not at night, through strange streets and in evening slippers. How much had she in her reticule? Not a lot, just a few coins for tipping the maid in the ladies’ retiring room, that was all, but perhaps she could find a cab to take her home and send one of the footmen out to pay when she arrived.

  The thought sustained her until she realised that they were not in a busy little village, but bumping along a cart track through a field. Now she had no idea where she was, how to get back...

  In other words, you are stuck with this party and let that be a lesson to you. At least Jack will know nothing about it and I will not repeat the mistake of ignoring Louisa’s assessment of people in future.

  It was not much comfort.

  The barn, which is what the venue turned out to be rather than the ballroom she was expecting, was crowded, noisy and colourful. But Madelyn began to relax a little when she remembered that her mask shielded her identity. At least her reputation was safe. All she needed to do was to stick closely to Lady Hitchin until it was time to leave. That proved easier thought than done.

  ‘Excellent, there is dancing,’ Lady Hitchin said, urging her party towards the dance floor.

  ‘I think I will just watch from over there,’ Madelyn said, casting round for somewhere to sit.

  A masked highwayman stopped in front of her, his skin swarthy beneath the mask. ‘Fair beauty, I salute you. A dance or I demand the forfeit of a kiss.’

  ‘Certainly not!’ She gathered the folds of her domino around her as though they would be some kind of protection. ‘Go away at once.’

  He stared at her as she spoke. ‘Madelyn?’

  ‘Richard? Richard Turner?’ Her lost love from the past here, in front of her, in the middle of this appalling masquerade?

  ‘Yes! By all that’s wonderful, Madelyn—I never thought I would see you again. Dance with me.’

  As if in a dream she let him draw her on to the dance floor, take her in his arms. ‘What—?’

  ‘It is a waltz. You waltz, don’t you, Madelyn?’

  He did not wait for her denial or seem to notice her gasp of shock at being taken in his arms, although at least that stopped her tripping over her feet as she was swept around. ‘Richard, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I am here with new friends, finding my feet in England again—and then there you were. I would know your voice anywhere. But how is it that you are in London?’

  ‘You know that my father is dead?’

  ‘Yes—’ He broke off to navigate a path around a group of revellers. ‘I heard eventually, but I was in India. I have only just got back and the Company—I am with the East India Company, you see.’ He pulled off his mask to reveal his familiar features, but transformed by a tan, still dark despite the sea voyage.

  In India? Had he taken his wife with him?

  ‘Is your wife here?’

  ‘No. I’m not married,’ he said, twirling her around so she almost fell against him.

  ‘Richard, I really do not know how to do this dance!’ He laughed and slowed down. ‘I thought you were going to marry the daughter of that rich grazier.’

  ‘Tabitha Arnold? We found we could not suit and her father died before the contract was signed, so we were able to agree not to go through with it. I found it very hard to think of another woman after you and I think she realised it.’ The expression in his dark eyes made her catch her breath at the sudden unhappiness there. ‘I joined the Company to defy my father, but I soon realised that it suited me and that I couldn’t go on living in the past.’

  ‘You are happy with the life?’ He had an air of confidence and competence she had not seen in him before.

  ‘I love it. And I have an aptitude for trade and money that I had never suspected before. I specialise in taking failing concerns and turning them around, rooting out the discrepancies in the books, dealing with incompetence and corruption. Fascinating—or at least I find it so.’

  It was so good to see him happy.

  I should tell him I am betrothed.

  Madelyn lost the train of thought as her hood slipped off. She grabbed at it, but failed to catch the slippery silk as Richard jolted to a halt. ‘What the devil?’ Most of the dancers had stopped abruptly as a fight spilt out on to the dance floor.

  A tall man slid across the boards on his back, then stood up, wrenched off his domino, lunged back into the fray, grabbed another man by the shirt front and felled him with a blow that left his nose streaming blood.

  Women shrieked, applause broke out among some of the male onlookers and Richard said, ‘What a right hook!’

  The bleeding man scrabbled backwards across the floor, ending up virtually at Madelyn’s feet, and the tall man strode after him, fists clenched, then stopped abruptly, his gaze locked with hers.

  She was suddenly aware that not only had her hood had slipped back, but that her hair was coming down. Which would not have been so dreadful if it was not for the fact that the masked man facing her was unmistakably Jack Ransome.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jack stepped over his prone opponent as though the man had been a fallen branch on the ground. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’

  ‘The lady is dancing with me.’ Richard pushed her behind him, his arm out to shield her. ‘If it is any of your business, sir.’

  ‘It is my business all right. She is mine.’

  ‘She was mine first. And she dances with whoever she likes, not some brawling lout.’ Richard went for Jack, fists flying.

  Madelyn knew nothing about fighting, let alone boxing, but she could tell, in the few crowded seconds, that Richard was absolutely no match for Jack. It took two punches and he had joined the groaning, bloody-faced man on the floor.

  Before she could tell either of them what she thought—if she had been able to collect together any coherent words—Jack picked her up, slung her unceremoniously over his shoulder and marched off the dance floor.

  ‘Put me down!’ It came out as a muffled squawk. She could struggle, but what if her mask came off? Madelyn seethed and clenched her hands into his coat-tails to keep her balance.

  There was some pushing and shoving, then the volume of noise dropped and she was aware of another figure, domino swirling about him, beside them.

  ‘I say, Jack, that’s a bit drastic. I find they usually come quite willingly if I ask nicely, but then I suppose some females go for the swashbuckling approach. You should have worn a Viking costume.’

  ‘Shut up, Charlie. It was this or drag her kicking and screaming. Go and find the carriage, will you?’

  Now they were out of the tent and away from the crowd she could try to get free. But kicking and struggling would be useless and undignified and besides, even if Jack did let her go, how was she going to get home? She could hardly go back to Lady Hitchin and explain that she had just been carried off the dance floor by her betrothed, not without starting a shocking scandal. Madelyn went limp and concentrated on being as heavy and awkward as possible. She heard the sound of carriage wheels and a horse snorted.

  ‘What are you doing up there?’ Jack said.

  ‘Thought you’d want a bit of pri
vacy.’ The other man’s voice came from above them. Presumably he was on the box with the driver.

  Madelyn was bundled into a carriage, struggled to sit up as the door closed and succeeded just as it lurched off. ‘You—’

  ‘What the blazes did you think you were doing in there?’ Jack demanded, throwing himself down on the seat opposite her and dragging off his mask. The carriage had no internal lamp so she could not see his face, but he sounded furious.

  ‘I was enjoying myself.’

  Until Richard appeared and then I was startled and happy, and now I am worried.

  Was Richard all right? He had never been someone for getting into fights, and Jack had clearly both outweighed him and had the skill he lacked. That blow had been a hard one. He had said he was with friends—someone would look after him, she reassured herself.

  ‘Unchaperoned, unprotected—’

  ‘I was with a party and, no, I am not going to tell you who or you will be unpleasant to them, as well.’ She couldn’t imagine what Jack would say if he realised just what company she had been in and the fact that he would have every reason to be annoyed was no help at all.

  ‘Unpleasant? It was the Hitchin woman, I assume, I heard her cackling. I find my betrothed at a vulgar masquerade with the raff and scruff of the town, cavorting with some buck who says you were his—what do you expect me to be? Pleased?’

  ‘Well, you cannot talk.’ Madelyn made a futile attempt to control her hair. All the pins seemed to have been lost and it was spilling over her face. ‘You were brawling like someone in a common alehouse and struck my friend.’

  ‘I was trying to get to you and some drunken buck took exception to letting me past. He hit me first.’

  ‘So that makes it all perfectly all right, of course. Then you hit Richard.’

  ‘I’ll tear his bl—his confounded head off if he tries to interfere with you again. Who is he?’

  ‘An old friend who is just returned from India.’

  ‘He’s more than that,’ Jack said grimly. ‘What was Louisa thinking of, allowing you to come here?’

  ‘I employ Lady Fairfield to give me advice. She is not my keeper—unless you are paying her in addition to be my jailer. She is in bed with a bad cold.’

  There was a fulminating silence as the carriage turned sharply left and reached a rather better surface than the cart track.

  ‘You asked me to trust you. You told me you were not going to do anything scandalous.’

  ‘And I have not. I am masked, there was no one there who recognised me—’

  ‘Other than your lover.’

  ‘He is not and never has been my lover,’ Madelyn retorted.

  Oh, but there was a time when I wished he was, so much.

  ‘I am trying to find out about London life, seeing it for myself. Learning. If you had not started a brawl, no one other than Richard would have known who I was—’ She broke off. But that was not quite true. ‘How did you recognise me?’

  For a long moment she thought Jack was not going to answer her. ‘Your height and the way you moved in that long cloak. You moved like that when I first met you wearing that medieval gown. You walk like a queen.’

  ‘Oh.’ The compliment, even if he had said it as though he was furious with her, was still startling. Like a queen? Suddenly it was very important that Jack understood the truth. ‘Richard being there was a complete coincidence. He recognised my voice when I refused his request to dance. When we were much younger he proposed marriage, but my father refused to allow us to wed and he went away, to London, I think. I haven’t seen or heard of him for years, I give you my word. And he is only just returned from India.’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  She wished she could see his face. ‘I did once. It was a long time ago.’

  Love does not last that long without anything to feed upon, does it?

  ‘Is he married now?’

  ‘Apparently not.’

  ‘Do you want to marry him?’

  ‘I... No, of course not,’ Madelyn answered without thinking. Was that true? It had to be, she had given her word to Jack that she would wed him and to marry Richard would be to go directly against her father’s wishes. But that denial had come without any forethought. It was the truth, she realised. ‘We are different people now. Goodness,’ she added in an attempt to make light of it, ‘he positively dragged me onto the dance floor.’

  ‘I dragged you off the dance floor,’ Jack said in the tone of a man determined to be fair if it killed him.

  ‘You carted me off like a sack of grain, to be accurate,’ she retorted. ‘Or some Viking warrior intent on pillage.’ For some strange reason the anger had drained away for both of them. She could sense Jack’s long body relaxing back against the battered old squabs.

  ‘It was a masquerade, after all,’ he said mildly, but there was an unsteadiness in his voice as though he was trying not to laugh.

  ‘True. Jack... I am sorry. I knew it was not a respectable affair as soon as we arrived, but I did not know how to get back without waiting for the whole party. It has been a useful lesson,’ she added meekly.

  Then he did laugh, a snort of amusement. ‘Do not overdo the sweet reasonableness, Madelyn. I believe you. Is this Richard of yours going to be a problem?’

  ‘I should not think he would call you out,’ she said. She shivered at the prospect.

  ‘That is not what I meant.’

  ‘I cannot believe he would make any trouble. He is my friend and has no reason to wish me ill. Although he may well resent you hitting him, he wouldn’t gossip about me. Besides, I doubt he moves in the circles where it would matter if he did,’ she added to reassure him. ‘He is with the East India Company.’

  Jack stood up, head bent under the roof of the carriage, and shifted across to sit by her. He took her hand in his. ‘I find I have a strong desire to kiss you, Madelyn.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, refusing to let her fingers relax into his hold. Her pulse had only just settled down to a steady rhythm after the drama of the last few minutes, now it began fluttering in earnest. ‘Because you have been fighting or because you want to stake your claim?’ Men were sometimes very basic in their reactions, she had observed.

  ‘Because you are looking very desirable tonight.’ His thumb stroked up the inside of her bare wrist, a whisper of sensation. ‘Because I am going to marry you and I found you in another man’s arms and, yes, that makes me feel possessive.’

  Her pulse slowed in time to the insidious caress. She could tell herself that she did not want him, because to admit that she did only left her open to rejection and heartbreak. But if he truly did desire her, if what he had said in Green Park and just now was not simply honey to sweeten her so he got what he wanted—his lands—then perhaps there was some hope for this marriage as more than a businesslike exchange.

  ‘If I asked to take you home with me to my rooms tonight, would you come?’ His voice was low, muffled because he was kissing her shoulder now, pushing aside the heavy fall of her hair with his mouth until he reached the bare skin.

  Yes. ‘I do not know.’ Would he think less of her if she agreed? Perhaps this was some sort of test. She wished she understood men better in real life, not just from observation and reading. If she had grown up with brothers and their friends, if she had had an ordinary upbringing with her own friends and their families, perhaps she would be more confident.

  ‘You know what I am asking?’ Jack lifted his head. ‘You do not seem to have any female relatives to talk to about...intimate matters.’

  ‘I know,’ she murmured. When she had decided to take the step of marrying she had sought out the information, put what she could glean from books together with observation of nature. She had facts, but facts said nothing about feelings. ‘Should we not wait?’

  ‘If that is what you want, of course.�
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  Jack said it as though it was entirely reasonable that she should choose, not as though he was humouring an irritating female. She knew that tone of voice—she had heard it often enough from her father to her mother, and its absence now reassured her.

  ‘Yes, then. I think,’ she added, suddenly unsure.

  You have to do it some time and you want to. You know you do. You want him.

  Somehow, after coming face to face with Richard, who had been her ideal man for so long, her certainties had been shaken. He had changed, or perhaps she had, but he was not Jack and she knew which of them she desired.

  ‘It is not a legally binding contract, agreeing to sleep with me,’ Jack said. ‘You may change your mind, you know.’ He shifted on the seat and took her in his arms, and Madelyn was suddenly very aware of his breathing and his heat and the strength of him.

  ‘I thought that was very displeasing to a man,’ she ventured as his arms tightened.

  ‘Many things are in life. One just has to learn to live with them,’ he said and kissed her.

  She had thought that she liked Jack’s kisses, even when they ended up with the pair of them in an embarrassing and undignified heap on the floor in front of the servants. Madelyn discovered that in a jolting, rather musty carriage in the dark, that she felt far more than liking. This was need and heat and shivery, alarming, sensation and there was no need to think about what to do because all she could do was hold on to Jack, kiss him back and feel.

  And she was feeling in the most unexpected places. She knew what his mouth on hers would be like and of course she knew that the secret places between her legs were involved in the matter, but all of her skin tingled, her breasts ached and she realised with horror that she was becoming positively wet there. And yet all he was doing was kissing her open-mouthed, his tongue stroking in to tangle with hers, to explore. Then one hand moved down to her right breast and began to caress, and she gasped and pressed into his palm, then gasped again in shame at what she had just done.

  Jack made a sound that was almost a laugh. It vibrated against the swell of her breast. ‘You like that?’