Contracted as His Countess

by Louise Allen

  ‘I will stay here and enjoy the sunshine,’ Madelyn said. ‘And plan the garden.’

  She watched, a warm feeling of happiness behind her breastbone, as Jack jogged down the slope, then strode, long-legged, to the house.

  We can do this together, she thought. We will bring this house and the estate back, make it a home. She found an empty snail shell and tossed it into the well.

  Lucky children, they are going to have two castles to grow up in. And, if I am very lucky, two parents who love each other.

  * * *

  It felt intrusive having more people in the house, she decided after breakfast next morning. Both Mr Lyminge and Mr Paulson, the accountant, were gentlemen and professionals, and as such, took their meals in the dining room with Jack and Madelyn. They were perfectly pleasant and would give her an opportunity to practise her skills as a hostess and to practise small talk, she told herself briskly. She and Jack could not hope to spend every day for weeks dining intimately alone and Jack clearly enjoyed the masculine company.

  Mr Paulson was a cheerful, bouncing redhead, which surprised Madelyn, who had expected accountants to be earnest characters with spectacles, stooped shoulders and a jaundiced view of life. Paulson was clearly an enthusiast. ‘There is music in numbers, Lady Dersington,’ he had explained over dinner. ‘Music and magic and mystery and it is my task to unravel the mystery and to make the music play in tune.’ But he would, he confessed, be delighted to take up Jack’s offer to borrow a rod and fish in the lake.

  Mr Lyminge, with a nervous glance at Madelyn, confessed that he did not enjoy fishing, but that if it did not become cooler soon, he would very much like to swim.

  ‘I will join you,’ Jack had said, prompting Madelyn’s imagination to produce any number of highly provocative images of her husband rising from the water and striding towards her as she stood on the shore. Or perhaps he would teach her to swim. When they were alone, of course.

  Now, as the last of the bacon and eggs were consumed and the men began to spread preserves on toast, Mr Paulson asked where the best place for him to work would be.

  ‘The estate office,’ Jack said. ‘Wystan will show you the way. The older books are all there as far as I can see, but Mr Aylmer held the recent ones, dating from when he acquired the estate.’

  ‘Mr Lansing at Castle Beaupierre has sent them all, retaining only the ones relating to that castle,’ Mr Lyminge told him. ‘We will make a start this morning and hope to give you a preliminary report by tomorrow evening.’

  ‘In that case,’ Jack said, directing a heavy-lidded look at Madelyn, which made her toes curl, ‘perhaps I will investigate the lake with Lady Dersington.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘It is an exaggeration to call this a lake,’ Jack said when they stood on the bank and looked out across the water to the trees on the other side. ‘There were all kinds of cuts and ponds made to divert water from the river into the moat and to provide fish ponds when the castle was built. My grandfather, when he first inherited, wanted to have the grounds landscaped by one of the leading designers, like Brown or Repton, but there were never the funds so he had the fishponds joined up, raised the height of the dam on the lower one and we have this.’

  ‘But the fishing is good and it is deep enough to swim in?’ At his side Madelyn was already easing off her shoes, one hand on his shoulder for balance. He had noticed that she had got into the way of touching him. It was quite unconscious, he was certain, but he was coming to enjoy her fingers on his arm to emphasise a point, the way she would brush a piece of lint from his lapels or run her fingers along his shoulder when she passed behind him when he was sitting in a chair. He was all too aware that when he touched her he wanted far more than that momentary caress.

  ‘I always wanted to learn to swim,’ she was saying now when he pulled his attention back to the present. ‘But there was only the moat and it is very deep with sides that go straight down.’

  Jack grimaced. ‘Definitely not good. The sides shelve quite gently here and the river is clean. I have no idea how good the fishing is because I expect that every poacher in the area has been emptying it along with any game in the coverts.’

  ‘Will you hire a keeper?’ Madelyn sat down on the grass and began to untie her garters, as unconcerned as though she was in her own bedchamber.

  He found the way that she had shed her inhibitions with him both erotic and humbling. He had tried to make their lovemaking good for her, but he had not expected the trust she showed in him nor her sensual delight, not just in what he did to her, but in the ways she was discovering to pleasure him.

  Madelyn stood up, tipping her head to one side to study him as he looked at her. ‘What is it, Jack?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’ He was not ready to tell his wife that he thought he was falling in love with her. He was not even sure himself that was what this feeling was: desire, excitement and, under it, a deep, calm warmth. It was novel and precious and he was not risking losing it by speaking too soon.

  ‘Unhook my gown, please.’

  The cut of the gown with its support under the breasts did away with the need for stays and Madelyn wore only a long under-shift. ‘You are very easy to undress,’ Jack remarked, taking the gown from her as she stepped out of it and laying it across a bush.

  ‘I suspect you have had practice,’ she said over her shoulder, teasing.

  ‘Enough,’ he admitted. ‘Are you going to practise some more with my clothes?’

  ‘Of course.’ She walked towards him through the soft grass, the summer flowers, and he thought of the flowery meadow she was embroidering behind the heraldic beasts.

  ‘Do I have a unicorn among all those creatures you are copying for the chair seats?’ he asked as she pushed back his coat and caught it before it fell to the ground.

  ‘No, neither of us has a unicorn. It is a pity. Perhaps I can lure one out of hiding for you. This is a magical place, so wild and peaceful.’ She tossed his neckcloth onto the handy bush and began to unfasten his cuffs.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Jack said, feigning regret. ‘They will only come to virgins, don’t you remember? You no longer qualify.’

  She pulled the shirt over his head. ‘Oh. Well, never mind, I would rather have you than a unicorn.’

  Jack sat down and took off shoes and stockings as an excuse to hide his face. There had been something in Madelyn’s voice, a tenderness, a possessiveness, that touched something inside him and took his breath. Was he hearing what he wanted to hear or did she have feelings for him that she was not yet ready to put into words, just as he had for her?

  He stood up, took off his breeches and advanced on the lake. ‘Come on, off with that shift.’

  ‘Shouldn’t I keep it on?’ Madelyn stood hesitating on the bank. ‘I’ve seen pictures of ladies using bathing machines at the seaside and they are wearing shifts.’

  ‘It will cling and feel uncomfortable and there is only me here to see.’ He waded in knee-deep. ‘It is surprisingly warm.’

  ‘But it is broad daylight.’ Her fingers were tugging at the shift, though.

  ‘Off with it!’

  Madelyn dragged it over her head, blushed and ran down the bank, splashing past him until she tripped and fell into the water.

  Jack hauled her up, coughing and spluttering. ‘You see? Lovely and warm. We need to go deeper, though.’ This was going to be fun.

  * * *

  She wouldn’t exactly describe the water as warm, but it was lovely, slipping over her skin. And Jack was patient and funny, tickling her ribs when she wouldn’t relax lying across his arms, so she flailed and flapped and suddenly his arms had gone and she was floating. It only lasted a few seconds until she sank and stood up, rubbing the water out of her eyes, but when she tried it again she managed to float for longer and then watched as Jack swam up and down, showing her how to move her
arms and legs.

  ‘It feels so gorgeous and it is such fun. I can’t remember enjoying myself so much doing something physical, except for riding. And making love, of course,’ she said, laughing and splashing him when he threatened her with water weed. ‘How long will it be before I can swim properly?’

  ‘Not long. But no more today or you will get chilled. Come and sit on the grass and let the sun dry you.’

  They had brought towels and a flask of lemonade and a napkin with buttered rolls stuffed with ham and Jack spread one towel in lieu of a rug. They sat, side by side, wet and bare and covered in goose bumps, and demolished the food.

  ‘This is so wicked,’ Madelyn said with a happy sigh.

  ‘And you are covered in crumbs,’ Jack said, brushing at a trail of them down over her breasts.

  ‘Behave!’ Madelyn snatched up a towel and wrapped herself in it. ‘Tell me why you left here as a child.’

  ‘Do you want to spoil the mood?’ Jack said.

  ‘I want to understand.’

  ‘My grandmother insisted. It took her a little while, I think, to realise and accept just what a wastrel her son had become or I think she would have sent for me earlier. My grandfather was the same—Father was the only child, they kept telling themselves at first he would grow out of it, or that it was simply high spirits and that marriage would steady him.

  ‘Then it only got worse. There was a terrible argument, a falling-out, and by that time my grandfather was beginning to be unwell. Grandmother insisted they live in London because being near my father agitated him so.’

  ‘But they left you and your brother here with him. I do not understand that,’ she confessed, watching not his face, but his restless movement as he got up and tied a towel around his waist, threw another around his shoulders and sat down again.

  ‘My mother was alive then and my father was always a good father towards my brother. At least, where you call teaching him to gamble and fight and whore is concerned. But he saw that he had a suitable education, he showed him some affection, he never punished him, whatever he did.’

  ‘But you—’

  ‘I was an expense and, I suppose, an awkward little devil. He did not like me and the feeling was mutual. He’d make promises and then forget and then lie about it. That was almost worse than everything else. Somehow I could cope with him being drunk or angry if only he was consistent, but every so often there would be hope that he had forgiven me for whatever it was he thought was so bad. Hope that perhaps he loved me after all. But I learned eventually not to trust because broken trust is worse than broken bones. He was a lout to my mother and sometimes I think she simply wasted away out of misery.’

  ‘What happened in the end? You got free eventually.’

  ‘I had the awkward habit of reminding him about things he wanted to forget, so he’d knock me around when I annoyed him. One day he broke my arm.’ Jack held out his left hand and flexed the fingers as though to reassure himself that the old wound had healed.

  ‘I wrote to my grandparents asking if I could live with them, stole money from my father’s desk, bribed one of the grooms to deliver the letter.’ He shrugged. ‘I never thought they would send for me and they didn’t. My grandmother arrived instead, took one look at me and had me in the carriage within the hour. I never came back.’

  ‘I hate raised voices, shouting, people losing their temper,’ Madelyn said, huddling close. ‘You can never relax, never forget that something might make them angry, never quite be unconditionally happy in a moment.’

  ‘Your father struck you?’ Jack sat back, his expression appalled.

  ‘Rarely. But he would go white with anger if he was displeased and his voice would become quieter and quieter until you were straining to hear, to understand what it was that you had done that was so dreadful. And then he would shout.’

  ‘You are trembling. Are the memories so bad—or do you think that I might be like my father? I used to worry about that, work at controlling myself.’

  ‘No, I am not afraid of you. That was one reason why I spoke to you as I did when we first met. I wanted to see how easily you became angry, what happened when you did.’

  ‘Have I reassured you?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ The sun was directly on him, making the water droplets in his spiky wet hair glint, making him seem younger, less hard and experienced.

  I love you. Dare I tell you?

  ‘Make love to me, Jack. Here, now.’

  She lay back, and he parted the damp folds of cloth until she was bare to him again and, without speaking, he began to kiss her, everywhere except her mouth. His lips moved over her from temple to toes. His tongue laved trails of heat then his teeth nipped, tiny sparks of desire laved immediately by the pressure of his mouth. Madelyn closed her eyes and the sunlight was red through her lids as Jack’s mouth and hands spun magic out of the lightest touches, the heat of his breath.

  Pleas and gasps did not divert him until, at last, he parted her thighs and kissed into the water-wet folds.

  Jack had never done that before, kissed her there, his hands firm on her hips, holding her when she would have hidden from him, shielded herself from the intimate onslaught. He was ruthless until she came apart, crying his name, and he came up over her and entered her in one smooth stroke.

  ‘Did you call? I am here,’ he said. ‘I will always be here.’ He took her up again, aching and desperate and waited, waited, until it was all too much and his shout mingled with her sobbing, whispered, ecstasy.

  ‘I love you, I love you.’

  * * *

  When Madelyn was conscious again Jack was still sprawled across her, relaxed into sleep. Had he heard her? Surely he would have said something, would have reacted, whether he was pleased or appalled. No, she must have whispered and he was too caught up in his own climax to hear her words. Perhaps it was for the best. They would make love again tonight and if she had the courage she would say it then when he was calm and she could watch his face for his reaction. That was best—they had all the time in the world to get this right.

  * * *

  They walked back to the house hand in hand, still slightly damp, very tousled, sleepy with heat and exercise and passion, and halted at the edge of the outer bailey, looking at the house, sullen in the sunlight.

  ‘That is never going to be handsome,’ Jack said.

  ‘The first thing is to have all the windows cleaned, inside and out. They are the eyes of the house and that will make them sparkle. Cut those creepers back on the west side, too, and let the light in. Have the grass scythed.’ Madelyn tipped her head to one side and squinted her eyes to blur the imperfections. ‘It may not be handsome, but it will be characterful.’

  ‘Like me?’ Jack said, chuckling as he led the way around to the front door.

  ‘Stop fishing for compliments. You know perfectly well that you are very handsome.’

  ‘Just for that I am going to take you upstairs and make love to you all over again.’ He picked her up and strode over the threshold as she laughed and pretended to struggle.

  The study door opened as they were halfway to the foot of the stairs. Jack stopped and set her on her feet, for which she was grateful. It was embarrassing enough to be caught looking as though she had been tumbled on the lake shore without actually being in Jack’s arms.

  ‘Excuse me, my lord.’ Mr Lyminge saw her and blushed. ‘My lady.’

  She could see Mr Paulson behind him looking uncharacteristically serious.

  ‘Did you want to speak to me?’ Jack asked. He was smiling, but she could hear the impatience he was trying to conceal and his hand still held hers.

  ‘If it is not inconvenient. There is something... You might be aware of it, of course—’ Douglas Lyminge was clearly uncomfortable.

  ‘But I very much doubt it,’ Paulson said. ‘I do feel that you should look at what w
e have found, my lord.’

  ‘I will probably drip pond weed on you,’ Jack said. ‘But very well, if it is urgent, we will come now.’

  ‘It is nothing we need concern her ladyship about,’ Paulson said hastily.

  She should insist, of course, but the magic of the afternoon lingered and accounts were like a black cloud on the horizon. Jack would tell her about it later and they could decide how to deal with whatever the problem was. ‘In that case, I will leave you to the ledgers,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘I will see you at dinner, my dear,’ Jack said quietly and squeezed her hand.

  Madelyn rang for Harper and bathed, washed her hair, sat on the window seat in the sunshine brushing it dry and studied the garden. She listened for Jack coming up to his room to bathe and change, but the two men must be keeping him over the accounts. She did hope they had not found bad news about the state of the other estates. It was beginning to dawn on her that her father had neglected all of them, not taking trouble to find the best tenants, not investing as he should.

  It would mean a great deal of work, worry for Jack, considerable investment. But they could do it—she would discover how she could best help. It might take several years, but they would restore all the Dersington lands, repair the damage their fathers had wrought.

  And there, at last, was the sound of his footsteps in the room next door. She knew his tread, knew it was not Tanfield. The connecting door opened, banged back against the wall.

  Madelyn turned, swung her feet down off the window seat. Goodness, but he is in haste! It was rather flattering. Then she saw his face.

  ‘Get out,’ he said to Harper, who had put down her mending and stood up to bob a curtsy.

  The maid looked to Madelyn and she nodded. Harper went to the connecting door and closed it behind her, leaving them alone.