Courting His Countess (A Historical Romance Novella) (7 page)

Rose knew precisely how that felt. An
unexpected sympathy for Lady Mossdale welled inside her as they
walked through room after room lit by torches. At the door to
Rose's rooms, Thomas paused and brushed her cheek with the back of
his hand.

"May I come in?" he asked, his voice deeply
melodious. "I've missed you."

She'd missed him too. They had not made love
since Christmas Eve four days ago. The Christmas day quarrel had
ended their intimacy and Rose had avoided being alone with him,
even though he'd tried to speak to her many times. She knew he
wanted to apologize again, but she couldn't bear to hear another.
They were heartfelt, yet made no difference.

Perhaps her father was right and she was a
stupid fool. She had a handsome husband who claimed to love no
other, a fortune at her disposal, and a home she adored.

Yet Thomas had not claimed to love
her
either. He had not come home to England to be with Rose
but to simply get her with child. That was the difference. No
amount of apologies or sweet words would change that or make her
believe there was anything between them except obligation and duty.
As to love, it was only in one direction—from her to him. Anything
else was merely Thomas attempting to get into her good graces and
her bed.

"Not tonight," she said. "I don't feel at
ease here, not enough to receive you."

"Very well." His hand dropped away and he
opened the door. "But court is the perfect place for assignations.
Every lady will be receiving a gentleman during her stay, just not
usually her own husband." He leaned against the doorframe and
smiled wickedly. "Get some rest. I will return for you later when
the revelries begin again tonight. If you're feeling well enough,
the queen will expect us to join in."

He left and she closed the door. Annie, her
maid, had unpacked but must have joined the other servants
elsewhere in the vast palace, thinking her mistress occupied. The
bedchamber was large but not extravagant. A canopied bed took up
most of the space, and a small table and dresser completed the
simple arrangement. Annie had pushed the traveling chests under the
bed since they wouldn't be required again until their departure on
New Year's Day. Another door led into a private parlor barely big
enough for the table, desk and chair that occupying it. Both rooms
looked out onto a busy courtyard below. Grooms received guests in
the large square while courtiers chatted and servants rushed about,
muddying the snow.

Rose lay on the bed and stared up at the
canopy. Court unsettled her, made her skin itch and her limbs
restless. She wanted to be away from there, away from all the
bright, false smiles, the color and pomp and richness. It was like
eating marchpane, sweet and tasty at first but it quickly became
sickly. Next to the other ladies, Rose felt positively dreary. Her
gowns, while practical for winter, were outdated and had never been
on the same extravagant scale. Ah well, she would just have to shut
her ears to the sniggers and thinly veiled remarks about her
"unusual" attire.

Oh, how pretty you look in that, Lady
Avondale. I haven't seen such an interesting style in an age.

Perhaps it would be different with Thomas at
her side. Perhaps they wouldn't call her the Ice Maiden behind her
back or arch disdainful eyebrows when she joined their
conversation. He seemed quite popular at court. Several of the
gentlemen had tried to engage him in talk, and there'd been no
mistaking the flirtatious smiles of the ladies.

Had he returned to speak to them? To Lady
Mossdale?

Rose drifted into sleep despite her troubled
thoughts and was woken some time later by Annie moving about the
room, lighting candles.

"Sorry to wake you, my lady," the maid said,
blowing out the taper. "I've brought supper. You must be
starving."

"I am a little hungry." Rose sat up and
received the tray. That's when she noticed the clothes laid across
the foot of the bed. "What's that?"

"Underskirts, bodice and overskirt. Oh, and
sleeves to match. Lord Avondale said they should fit." Annie lifted
one of the sleeves for Rose to see. It was white and embroidered
with green leaves. It matched the underskirt which would be seen as
a triangular forepart at her front. The overskirt and bodice were
of a deep green velvet of the same shade as the leaves. "Isn't it
beautiful?"

It was. "Where did he get it?"

Annie shrugged. "His lordship didn't say. He
just said it's yours and you should wear it tonight. Oh, and that
there'll be more to come, a new gown for each night we are
here."

"But that's three nights! Where is he
finding these gowns at such short notice? And how does he know
they'll fit?"

"I expect he knows your size, my lady."
Annie's sweet oval face crinkled into a decidedly mischievous
smirk.

Rose ate her supper of cold beef and
contemplated how her husband could have found such a beautiful gown
so soon after arriving. By the time she'd finished, she'd come to
the conclusion he must have bought it off another lady of similar
size.

Annie inspected the overskirt as Rose
washed, then helped her dress. The bodice was a little large but
with a few pins, it was tight across her bust and waist. The skirts
and sleeves were pinned into place and teamed with a pair of Rose's
own velvet shoes.

"Oh, my lady, you look like a princess,"
Annie said, stepping back to admire Rose. "Now, for your hair."

Annie spent a long time on Rose's hair,
pinning it up and sliding combs into place so that she felt like a
pin-cushion.

"There now, my lady, you're ready. Will you
wait for Lord Avondale?"

"No. I'll go find him." And see what court
was like for Lady Avondale without her husband at her side.

She found her way back to the great hall by
following the hum of the voices. At the arched entrance, she paused
to get her bearings. The hall's decorations hadn't changed but the
makeshift hill from the afternoon's performance had been removed
for dancing. Long tables at the hall's perimeter were laden with
trenchers and jugs, and decorated with large silver candelabras and
garlands of bay leaves.

Clusters of courtiers mingled at the tables,
or chatted in warm corners, and Rose spotted her father talking to
Lord Burghley. He would be pleased to have trapped the chief
adviser and Lord Burghley himself looked very interested in what
her father had to say. She thought about making her way over to
them until she saw Thomas on the far side of the great hall. He had
his back to her but she knew it was him. No one else had a back
like that, broad at the top and lean at the base, and no one else
held themselves with such self-assuredness. Then he moved and she
saw who he was talking to and her heart sank to her toes.

Lady Mossdale, and she was looking very
pleased with herself.

CHAPTER 10

Temperance wasn't as beautiful as Thomas
remembered. She still had the dark hair and creamy skin but her
features were sharper, her eyes harder, and he felt no temptation
to kiss her lips like he used to. Particularly when those lips
uttered such foolish comments as: "How fortunate that you became
rich while you were away."

It had taken him all of three beats to
recover from that one. "One of the benefits of serving Her
Majesty," he said, extricating his arm from her claws.

Sometime during the previous six years,
Temperance had turned into a viper. She used her tongue as a
weapon, and a deadly one at that. Had she always been this way and
hidden it from him, or had something changed her? Was he to
blame?

Fie. Another thing to add to his conscience.
The list was growing, but Rose still held onto first place.

Temperance's tongue licked her top lip in
what he supposed was meant to be a seductive move but only made her
look desperate. "What a shame you weren't showered with accolades
earlier and saved yourself the hardship of Ireland
and
marriage." She flicked her fan over his left shoulder. He turned
and saw Rose watching. She quickly looked away, but not before he
saw the vulnerability in her eyes. As if she were lost.

He stiffened. "I'm sorry you find marriage a
hardship, Temper. I, fortunately, do not." He moved off but she
caught his arm again.

"If that is the case, you would not have
asked to go to Ireland in the first place," she hissed.

He pulled free and wound his way through the
glittering courtiers, his wife firmly in his sights and one thought
repeating itself over and over in his head. Temperance was right.
Six years ago he'd wanted to get away from Rose. He'd liked her
enough to want to save her from the further cruelties he knew he'd
inflict upon her if he stayed. Hatred for her father had consumed
him and she was the unintended victim of his ill-thought-out
revenge.

Thomas had wanted to make Wallan pay.
Unfortunately, he'd chosen the wrong way to do it. He'd betrayed
Rose on their wedding night and humiliated her by sleeping with his
mistress and ensuring everyone knew about it so it would reach her
father's ears. But Wallan never cared for his daughter's feelings
or her honor.

Nobody had, and that made Thomas's actions
so much worse.

It tore his heart to think she'd gone six
years not knowing how much he regretted that night. It would have
been longer if his father hadn't died. The queen had agreed to end
his assignment because he needed an heir, but he'd come home to
find he needed his wife more. If he had stayed in England all those
years ago, he might have realized much earlier how lucky he was to
have married Rose.

He might have realized much earlier that he
loved her.

His heart rolled and lurched like an
out-of-control cart. His step faltered. Someone caught his elbow to
steady him and up ahead, Rose took a step in his direction. So she
had been watching his progress out of the corner of her eye after
all. He had wondered. Hoped.

He thanked the person who'd aided him and
forged on. To his wife, to the woman he loved.

"My dear Rose," he said when he reached her
side. He caught her hand and kissed the back of it. She smelled
like lavender. "You are a vision and I am completely and utterly
smitten."

She blushed and he kissed one pink cheek to
see if she felt warm there. She did. Warm and soft and
delicious.

"Thank you for the gown," she said with a
small curtsey that took her cheek away from his lips. "Where did
you get it?"

"Lady Harbrooke is about your size and has
more clothes than sense. She was in dire need of some quick coin. I
hope you don't mind wearing them but there wasn't time to have
something made."

"I don't mind. And thank you. It's a
beautiful gown."

"It is far more beautiful on you than on
Lady Harbrooke."

She arched an eyebrow. "You've seen her wear
it in the few hours that we've been here?"

He laughed. "You've caught me out."

Her smile was small and humorless and his
laughter died. Something was wrong. "Temperance is a leech," he
said, leaning in closely. "You have nothing to fear from her."

Her breath hitched. "Are you sure?" she
asked, looking away. "She's talking to my father now and I trust
neither of them."

He followed her gaze to see Temperance and
Wallan in deep conversation, their heads bent. Six years ago,
Temper had hated Wallan with as much vehemence as Thomas had. So
why was she talking to him in earnest now?

"Forget them," he said. "Forget everyone.
Rose." He took her hands. "I want to talk to you in private. Come
with me."

But before she could say anything, an old
friend interrupted and they fell into conversation. Then another
joined, and another, and Thomas couldn't get away. Everyone wanted
to hear about Ireland and they all suddenly wanted to meet his
"lovely wife". How could he say no when she seemed to be enjoying
their company? Her eyes shone and she smiled more than he'd ever
seen her smile since his return. His words could wait. They weren't
going to alter. Seeing her so happy was all the balm he needed for
now.

Finally, as the evening drew to a close and
the musicians packed away their instruments and the dancing couples
drifted apart, Thomas was able to get Rose alone in her rooms.

He shut the door and caught her around her
waist. "They all adore you."

"When I am with you," she said, leaning away
from him.

"Nonsense." He leaned forward and kissed the
skin below her ear. Her body sighed against him. "They will grow to
like you more when they get to know you better."

"They'll never forget," she whispered.

"Of course they will. Anyway, they're not
important." He licked her throat and pressed his lips to the small
hollow at its base. "You are the only one who matters."

She tilted her head back and he focused his
attention on the swell of her breasts. Irresistible. He hooked the
front of her bodice and shift with his finger and pulled them both
down to uncover her cherry-ripe nipples.

"Thomas!"

He kissed the gently undulating mounds then
took a nipple into his mouth. She cried out but caught his face
between her hands and pulled him away.

"Stop, Thomas. I don't want to."

"You don't? But...the sighing and heavy
breathing and..." Hell. How could he have misread his wife so
badly? And here he thought he knew her well now. He stepped away
and watched as she righted her clothing, covering up all that
deliciousness. Damn. "Is this because you saw me speaking to
Temperance earlier?"

She smoothed down the skirt even though it
looked unruffled. "No."

"I assure you, I didn't want to converse
with her. I can't stand the woman."

Her quick hands stilled. "How you've changed
then," she said, stiffly. "Six years ago, it was me you could not
stand to be near."