Courting the Countess (16 page)

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Authors: Barbara Pierce

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance

BOOK: Courting the Countess
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The countess did not react to his sister’s earnest apology. Still focused on Mallory, she tipped up her chin. “I would rather not.”
Her response could have applied to either Claeg sibling. Amara glanced between them, clearly distressed and confused by the charged intimacy. As far as his sister knew, years had passed since he had last seen the countess. Only Bedegrayne was beginning to comprehend the complexity of the exchange.
“A clever lady,” Mallory’s handsome brother-in-law smoothly interjected. “Claeg is a womanizer. I would not trust my married sisters alone with him.”
“Brock!” Amara objected, indignant that her husband was being so provoking to her brother. “You are not helping.”
“I agree, Bedegrayne,” Mallory retorted. “Do go away.”
The countess appeared to be regretting the debacle her
tetchy outbursts had created. “Stay with your wife, Mr. Bedegrayne. I have intruded long enough. I will leave.”
“Good. Let us depart,” Mallory quipped, pleased she had circled back to what he had longed for the minute he glimpsed her in the theater’s lobby. When he reached for her arm, she backed up against Bedegrayne.
“Amara, I do have a helpful suggestion, that is, if you can resist boxing Claeg’s ears,” her husband said, finding the escalating predicament vastly amusing.
Three pairs of eyes focused on him with various degrees of irritation and curiosity.
He puffed up his chest, clearly delighted with his self-importance. “We will all escort her back to her family.”
Mallory’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits of rebellion. “No.”
“By damn, Bedegrayne, you let her get away!” Mallory spat, his mood a simmering cauldron of frustration and vitriol. “Give me one reason why I should not meet you at the nearest common and put a lead ball in you?”
The Bedegrayne in question was unmoved by the threat on his life.
“I will offer you one,” Amara said, her hand resting on her abdomen. “Putting a lead ball into the father of my child would displease me.”
“Why, thank you, dove,” Bedegrayne said, taking up his wife’s hand and kissing it. “Nice to know I would be missed.”
“A lead ball can be dangerous,” Viscount Tipton interjected, seriously contemplating the machination. He and his wife had missed the antics responsible for Mallory’s foul mood, but the man was enjoying the aftermath. “Distance between the duelists, condition of the weapon, location of the impact, not to mention depth of the wound, could make the difference between whether a gentleman lived or died. Unless killing Bedegrayne was your intention all along,” the surgeon conceded.
“I was just expressing my thoughts aloud,” Mallory said, earning another glower from his sister. “Puss, your daughter will be born cross-eyed if you do not cease frowning at me.”
Tipton and his viscountess had been awaiting their return
from escorting Lady A’Court to her companions. It had been an unsettling revelation to see just who was waiting for the widow. Lord A’Court greeted his cousin by marriage as if she were a slow-witted child who had wandered away from her elders. The realization that the countess was equally unhappy with the earl was a soothing balm on the raw edges of Mallory’s temper.
“I will hear no more talk in regards to shooting my brother, Mr. Claeg,” Lady Tipton cautioned.
“Heed her warning, Claeg. Our Devona is very protective of those she loves,” Bedegrayne said, his fondness for his sibling evident.
Mallory had heard rumors connecting the youngest Bedegrayne girl and his brother. His mother had on several occasions accused the lady of seducing Doran. They were easily discounted when one observed how smitten she was with the gentleman most of the
ton
feared. Although slight in stature, she possessed her sire’s spirit and her brother’s inclination for adventure. Letting his gaze drift from her white dress up to her unusual copper tresses, he could well imagine what those curling flames might look like unbound. Contemplating the possible historical themes in which he might paint her, Mallory wondered if Tipton would grant his wife permission to visit his house.
Noticing his frank admiration, the viscount stirred and leaned forward. “You have enough trouble in your life to think of inviting more.” He rested his arm across the back of his wife’s chair and idly toyed with the appliqué flower on her sleeve.
Mallory flashed him a grin at the bold display of affection and possession. Flaunting polite society’s rules was one thing he and Tipton had in common. “I was considering painting the lady, nothing more.”
“If I had thought you were proposing more, Claeg, I
would not have bothered with threats,” the man replied with lazy menace.
“I can attest to that,” Bedegrayne muttered, his expression reflective of his own dealings with the surgeon.
Tipton’s pewter eyes switched to his brother-in-law. “Your presence attests to my bountiful patience.”
Bedegrayne replied with a rude gesture. Amara slapped his wrist with her fan, aware that their actions were most likely being observed by the occupants of the nearby boxes.
Mallory listened to the taunting repartee between the two gentlemen while his gaze sought out the countess. He had despised leaving her in A’Court’s capable hands, knowing the man was viewing her as his future bride. Distance and the dimness of the theater prevented Mallory from distinctly viewing her expression, but he recognized the pale green dress she wore. She sat between Miss Hamblin and the earl. Brook’s prominent position beside the new earl was a public declaration that whatever conflicts had existed between the Ludlows and the A’Courts had now ended. This alliance and the countess’s animosity toward Mallory had him questioning the motives that had brought her to town. Any reason not involving him was likely to displease him.
“Claeg,” Tipton said, noticing they had lost Mallory’s attention. It was no strain on the surgeon’s intellect to guess which lady had caught his eye. “Lady A’Court knew her appearance this evening would stir up the old speculation again. She will not thank you for linking her name to yours.”
“No,” Mallory agreed, sliding the surgeon a wry grin. “Nevertheless, she will just have to learn to accept it.”
 
Brook never understood there were degrees to madness, and she felt like she was experiencing them all as she sat silently beside Ham and watched the opera ballet. A man on the stage gestured broadly to the audience and lamented about
his misfortunes in song. Even with the libretto, she was barely following along with the tale.
Seeing Mallory here in London had flustered her more than she could have predicted. She had vowed not to seek him out. Brook had still not forgiven him for his boorish threats. Seeing her again, the arrogant man was probably congratulating himself for bullying her or, worse yet, seducing her to gain her compliance. Had he thought his masterful skills as a lover had enthralled her so that she was lost without his touch? Pish, how mortifying! She stirred uncomfortably in her seat, wishing she could think of a reasonable excuse to leave. Ham would never consent. Learning that she had spent her time apart from them in the company of Mallory Claeg had not improved Ham’s disposition. Nor had he forgiven her for losing her temper with the elder countess.
The older woman had been pleased that Lord A’Court had readily come to her defense. Though she quickly learned that his support was finite when she refused to sit next to Brook. The dowager’s snide suggestion that Brook sit behind them was promptly rejected. Ham had insisted that she was to sit beside him. It was part of his grand plan to introduce her back into polite society. If he had thought to silence the gossips, he was as misguided as her deceased husband.
She blinked as everyone around her applauded. The voluminous crimson drapery descended with the help of squeaking ropes and pulleys. Intermission. She had been so lost in her own musings that she had missed one of the acts. Staring down into the auditorium, she noticed the patrons below were moving about
“Would you care for a refreshment?” Ham asked the dowager.
Still sulking from her encounter with Brook, she remained seated while the others stood and discreetly stretched. Under the gloomy light given off by the wax candles, her eyes gleamed like glass beads. “You may send someone to fetch
me some lemonade. I prefer to watch the activities from here.”
“Very well, madam.” His stern expression did not soften when he glanced at Brook. “Coming?”
She did not relish mingling with the other patrons in one of the salons. However, her mother-in-law’s decision altered her own. “Yes, my lord. My limbs grow weary from sitting.”
Excited, her mother approached them. “Did you notice who joined Mr. Claeg and the Bedegraynes in their box?”
“No, Mama.” She had not sought out their box. While her parting with Brock and Amara Bedegrayne had been strained, it was nothing in comparison to the undercurrents she had felt when Mallory had said farewell to her. “I was enjoying the opera ballet,” she lied.
“How provincial of you,” May Hamblin commented; her eyes twinkled in appreciation of her accurate gibe.
“Oh, Daughter, no one but the cits heed what goes on down below. Everything worth talking about occurs in the boxes and salons. Mr. Claeg was sitting near
Le Cadavre Raffine
!” Brook’s mother confessed, breathless at the shocking news.
“Mrs. Ludlow, I highly doubt Viscount Tipton introduces himself by that ridiculous name,” her husband interjected, exasperated that his wife was awed by the very subject they had hoped to extinguish for their daughter: gossip. The lines in his face deepened as he shook his head at the irony. “Nor, Wife, do I believe he would appreciate the notion of you discussing him in such a manner.”
Mrs. Ludlow’s hands fluttered nervously. “Pooh. I am not afraid of him.”
Brook wondered if her mother would be impressed or scandalized to learn her daughter had recently gone to the surgeon’s house and spent time with him alone in his drawing room. “Papa is correct. The gentleman you speak of is a respected surgeon and connected to the Bedegraynes by marriage. You gain no friends maligning him.”
May opened her fan made of peacock feathers and gently
stirred the air around her face. “The man married into a respectable family, but his notorious past has been tasty scandal broth for years. How odd of you to fiercely defend a gentleman I wager you scarcely know.”
“May,” Ham growled.
“Every word you speak only confirms your ignorance, Miss Hamblin,” Brook said with mock sadness. “How fortunate most gentlemen prefer a comely face over intelligence. I predict you will secure a husband this season.”
The earl stared at her as if truly seeing her for the first time. “Brook!”
“Ladies, please,” Mrs. Ludlow said, astonished by her daughter’s provoking behavior.
Not finished, May was eager to have her say. “Then again, maybe not so odd. After all, the
ton
calls you Lyon’s prey. You and
Le Cadavre Raffine
both share the taint of notoriety.”
“You have gone too far, Miss Hamblin!” Mr. Ludlow exclaimed.
Seated several chairs away but possessing excellent hearing, Elthia, Lady A’Court, cackled, earning frowns from the Ludlows.
Brook touched his arm to stop him from stepping in front of her. “No. May is entitled to her opinion. A view I assume is shared by many of those same people who impress Mama so much.” Her mother glanced away in shame. Brook stepped closer to May, speaking so softly the woman had to lean closer to hear her. “I once lived the paragon existence you highly prize. Beware, Cousin, that lofty perch is precarious.”
 
“There she is,” Bedegrayne observed, calling attention to the widow’s entrance. The once-empty room was now overflowing with people. “She is not alone.”
Mallory discreetly watched the countess enter with her entourage. They were a solemn group. Lord A’Court stood at her side as he surveyed the room. His disdain was not feigned.
Brook appeared equally unenthused. Her pallor concerned Mallory. She kept her lips tightly compressed, and the strain of what troubled her was evident on her face. Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow flanked their daughter. The solicitor was stiffly reserved, while his wife valiantly fought the urge to cry. Only Miss Hamblin, who clutched her brother’s other arm, seemed immune to the friction.
“Who is the young lady?” Tipton asked.
“Miss Hamblin. She is Lord A’Court’s sister.” The young woman noticed Mallory’s scrutiny and brazenly smiled in invitation. He did not return her smile.
Ah, foolish little girl,
he mused when she waved. Did she not realize that reputations had been ruined for less provocation?
“This one wants you,” the viscount said.
Bedegrayne coughed. “I do not comprehend how he does it, Tipton, but they
all
seem to want him.” He was clearly mystified by their interest.
“A tad obvious, do you not think?” Lady Tipton said to Amara. Their agreement was conveyed by expressions of mutual distaste. Miss Hamblin’s attempts to gain his notice were viewed as pitiable, if not vulgar. “Lord A’Court will be issuing challenges weekly if his sister does not learn some discretion.”
The countess had yet to glance Mallory’s way. He was beginning to suspect her avoidance was deliberate. The notion that she might consider him beneath her to associate with in public left a sour taste on his tongue.
Tipton, who had been watching him closely, asked, “Why is it, I wonder, that we always want the unattainable?”
Hearing her husband’s question, the viscountess said, “Oh, it is not complicated to figure out. There is no value in something so easily won.”
Mallory privately agreed. He switched his gaze back to the countess. Her mother was introducing her to a matron and her male companion. Brook’s curtsey lacked the grace of
ease, and her nerves showed in her eyes as her gaze moved from one face to the other. Although Mallory had touched her body, had given her pleasure, he did not delude himself into believing he had won her.
“I cannot fathom how you convinced the countess into this meeting,” he murmured to the surgeon. “Anyone watching her for any length of time can tell that she is terrified.”
“In capable hands, fear can be a rather useful tool,” Tipton countered.
The countess smiled at something the gentleman was saying. The sadness Mallory glimpsed in its soft curves broke his heart. He doubted there was anyone present in the room who was more acquainted with fear than Lady A’Court.

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