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Authors: Barbara Pierce

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance

BOOK: Courting the Countess
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“I do not understand. You have never cared about gossip or anyone’s opinion. It was one of the things I have always admired about you,
mon coeur
.”
“It is complicated,” he said tersely.
“Ah,” she replied; sadness chased away her initial amusement. “It is not anyone who concerns you, but someone. A particular someone.”
Mallory remained silent.
“Some of the rumors I have heard are true then, no? You and the A’Court widow. I am surprised the little mouse had the courage to take on a big nasty wolf after being mauled by a lion.”
“Your beauty fades when it takes on that greenish cast, Carissa.”
“What do you see in such a woman? Her looks are passable, but what of her spirit? It was crippled by her husband’s heavy fists. Is it her weakness that lures you? Do you find her vulnerability a challenge to your jaded nature?”
“Enough, Carissa. I have no need to explain myself to you or anyone.” Mallory was unsure of his own feelings. He refused to allow his former mistress to twist his feelings for the countess into some kind of sick game.
“Love, forget A’Court’s widow.” Sensing she had his interest, she moved closer. “Forget the virgin. The seduction is sweet. However, the bedding is
pénible
.” She tentatively stroked his chest. “Invite me back into your bed. I can become any kind of woman you desire. You do not have to hold back for me.”
It was a tempting offer. His former mistress was known for her creativity and her fortitude. He believed her offer to be genuine.
It also left him indifferent.
“Carissa, my dear, a man is never so foolish as to offer up everything to a mistress. They tend to be greedy, irksome creatures.”
She was the one who stepped away from him.
“There is no need to act like the woman betrayed,” he said, annoyed that she was forcing him to be cruel. “No promises were spoken between us. You moved on to a new protector
days after we broke. Do not blame me for his failings or yours.”
“No, Mallory, I only blame you for
yours
.”
He had the decency to wince at the accuracy of that stinging remark. “Was there a point to your visit?”
“Curiosity, I suppose,” she said after a momentary pause. “You have changed, I think. I do not know if I like this new man.”
“Once you are finished hating me and think on it, you will realize you never really liked the old one, either.”
“Maybe you are right. For now, I will relish the hating, since you have left me nothing else.” She opened the door. Messing stood nearby, holding her spencer and bonnet. Grimacing at the lack of privacy a competent servant afforded, she said, “I also came to offer you a warning.”
“Carissa.”
“Not me,
mon ami,
” she said bitingly. “We are finished. I speak of another who despises you. Lord De Lanoy. He is in town this season and is asking questions about you. I thought you might be interested.”
“Carissa!” Mallory called out to her. “Thank you.”
The courtesan arched her brow. “Do not thank me. I hope he castrates you.” She glided out of the room with Messing chasing her.
De Lanoy. Mallory had not seen the man in years. The gentleman could not be holding a grudge after all of these years for his stealing Mirabella away from him.
Dismissing the marquis from his thoughts, Mallory preferred to focus on more pertinent matters. How the hell was he going to keep Miss Hamblin from revealing what she had seen to Brook?
Madam Courroux’s creation was spectacular. Tucked away in a private room, Brook stared at her reflection in the full-length looking glass. She had paid little attention to the cerulean fabric her mother had waved under her nose several weeks past. The dressmaker had transformed the bundle of fabric into an enchanting ball gown. Reverently Brook touched a floral swirl of seed pearls and sequins on the skirt. The seamstress must have been blind by the time she had finished. The bodice was daring and cut lower than Brook would have chosen for herself. The sleeves were short and puffy, with matching bows on each cuff. A bright yellow ribbon was tied under her bosom, the only relief from a sea of blue. It was the sort of gown that made every woman feel like a goddess.
“When I saw her at the theater, I could not believe my eyes.”
“Did she truly believe everyone would forget what happened? What audacity! If she was sensible, she would slink out of town and burrow into whatever hole she has been hiding in.”
The ongoing conversation between the two unidentified women froze Brook in place. The joy she had felt when viewing her gown had withered into numbness. It was rude
to eavesdrop. The ladies could have been talking about another woman. Alas, Brook did not believe it.
“They say the new earl is offering for her once he has secured the dowager’s blessing,” one of the women confided.
“It will never happen. The old biddy disliked her then, and I doubt her precious son’s demise has improved on her first opinion. She never approved of their marriage but indulged him for the prospect of having grandchildren.”
“Some say she was too indulgent. The stories you hear.”
“I disagree. You have to have affection for indulgence and there was always something cold about that family. The earl had many appetites and most of them were unsavory. Of course, did the little wife ever thank me for slaking his dark needs before he could stomach crawling into her virginal bed? No, the lady was too preoccupied playing his countess to realize her husband had secretly brought his mistress along on their wedding trip to Italy.”
Brook doubled over at the woman’s confession and gagged. Old wounds she had thought were healed reopened and bled freely. Suddenly the need to escape the shop rose within her until she thought she might scream for her release. Reaching behind, she tugged on the loosely tied laces and shook her shoulders free. She let the gown drop to the floor. Stepping out of it, she began working herself into her carriage dress.
“She ruined everything by getting pregnant. Do you think the foolish chit thought a child would soften his unpleasant disposition? I, too, had caught several of His Lordship’s babes in my womb and I had the good sense to rid myself of the tiny complications before he learned of it.”
“Do you like this color?” her companion asked, changing the subject.
Dressed, Brook leaned heavily against the door. She shoved her knuckles into her mouth. The action did not
prevent the tears from flowing down her cheeks and into her mouth.
“Not for you, my dear. It makes your face sallow.”
Brook’s breathing was ragged as she fought not to break down into hysterics. Lyon’s duplicity seared her heart. While he had offered Wynne Bedegrayne his ardent devotion for her being the perfect woman, he had kept a mistress to pleasure his body. What had Brook been to him? An indulgence, the other woman had said. A fragile butterfly he could plunge a pin into the heart of and tear her wings off one by one?
The door smacked her in the face, snapping her out of her stupor, as someone tried to open it. Wiping her eyes, Brook moved to the side. The two ladies poised at the threshold were startled to discover her in the room. She did not know the short dark-haired woman. However, Brook did recognize the tall, slender blonde. It appeared when Lyon chose a woman, certain characteristics appealed to him.
“A thousand pardons, my lady,” the shorter woman said after a brief recovery. “We did not realize this room was occupied.” She sent her friend a meaningful glance. “Come, Letty. We will seek out another room.”
They closed the door. As they walked away, Brook heard the woman say, “Do you think she overheard us?”
“Do not fret about it, dear friend. The lady has all of London agog by her return. She could have spared herself this notoriety if she had stayed away. Do you know which certain gentleman has his name linked with hers?”
“Tell me!” the woman pleaded, with eagerness to hear the latest calumny.
They were too far from the door for Brook to hear the man’s name.
“No!” The exclamation was followed by distant laughter.
The door swung open again.
“Daughter! Why, you are not dressed!” her mother said, moving past Brook. Mrs. Ludlow cried out when she saw the
discarded ball gown on the floor. “I have raised you better than this.” She scooped up the blue gown, handling it as if it were a foundling. “If the gown displeases you, just say so. There is not much time. Nevertheless, Madam Courroux will strive to accommodate your dictates.” Draping the gown over her front, she critically studied it for flaws. “I do not understand your rashness, Brook. From all accounts, this gown suits your tastes and your coloring.”
Brook was barely listening to her mother’s prattle. It was taking all of her concentration to hold her composure. “The gown is fine, Mama,” she assured her mother.
Mrs. Ludlow frowned at her image. “You do not think it requires lace at the bodice and hem?”
“No lace. I yield to Madam Courroux’s refined opinion.” Brook touched her head. The women’s laughter still resounded in her head.
“I suppose you are correct,” her mother said, pouting at her daughter’s terseness.
The control she was exerting was causing her body to tremble. “Mama, I trust you to conclude our transaction with the dressmaker. I must leave you.”
“What is this? Where are you going? You cannot just go wandering where you please, young lady!”
“The stale air in this room has made me ill. Whether I sit in the carriage or walk the street, I do not care, as long as I am not in this shop a second more.” She could not abide having those women staring at her and whispering their secrets.
Finally, when Mrs. Ludlow had recognized that what she had perceived as temper was in fact illness, her brow furrowed with concern. “Of course I can handle Madam Courroux by myself. If you prefer, the coachman can take you directly home and return for me later.”
She hugged her mother. “I do not deserve you, Mama.”
Flattered by the display of affection, Mrs. Ludlow patted Brook’s cheek and said, “What a nonsensical observation.
You deserve a great many things, Daughter, least of all a mother’s love.”
The lump in Brook’s throat swelled, doubling in proportion. With a quick nod, she walked away from her mother. Grateful that she was blinded by the gleam of her tears, Brook briskly walked out of the shop. She did not have the heart to confess to her sweet mother that perhaps her daughter had gotten everything she had deserved, after all.
 
Mallory had gotten rid of one uninvited female. He hoped his luck held and the other would depart with less dramatics.
“Ah, the fair Miss Hamblin,” he said, entering the drawing room. She set down her teacup and saucer and rose to greet him. He had taken the time to comb his hair and put on a clean coat. When he worked, he cared little about his appearance. After what Miss Hamblin had witnessed, Mallory was determined to win her approval. Bowing over her hand, he said, “Are you pleased with the portrait?”
“Your technique is flattering, Mr. Claeg,” she said, returning to her position on the plump sofa.
“My model was inspiring.”
Miss Hamblin visibly fought not to be charmed. Forcing a frown, she cleared her throat. “I do have some minor quibbles about your work.”
The artist in him flared in indignation. “Do you?”
She seemed oblivious to the edge in his voice. “Almost too minor to mention, really. However, as I am so intimate with this particular work, it is difficult to set aside my criticism.”
“Pray continue.” If she had known him better, she would have recognized the danger and changed the subject.
Miss Hamblin rose and approached the picture. “For example, my eyes. The color is slightly off in hue. And the space between them too close.”
He silently fumed. There was nothing wrong with the color or the distance. Mallory was seriously wondering if
the vain Miss Hamblin was in need of a decent pair of spectacles. “Your face is perfection, my lady. Mayhap beyond my humble talents as an artist.” He nearly choked on the false flattery.
“Oh,” she said, covering her mouth with her gloved fingers. Some of his annoyance must have shown. “I meant no offense, sir. Honestly. I blame our too few meetings for these minor flaws. The strength of your work lies in your ability to paint from life. Recollections can be faulty.”
So was her eyesight, but Mallory held his tongue. He wanted to endear himself, not make an enemy. “I hate displeasing a lady. After you leave I will prime the canvas with white lead and wipe out all trace of the imperfections.”
Destroying her portrait had not been her goal. She had been searching for a way for them to spend time alone. “Oh no, that would hardly be fair. You put so much of yourself into your work. It would be criminal to deny the world your talent.”
“It is flawed,” he said flatly. He was willing to play her game.
“Minor. Very minor. So minor I doubt anyone will notice,” she said, gazing at him earnestly. “Unless you think we should begin again?”
Mallory crossed his arms. “I regret I cannot take advantage of your generous offer, Miss Hamblin. My father’s illness and other commitments prevent me from taking on new commissions.”
“Is Mrs. Le Maye one of those commitments?” she slyly guessed.
“No. I have already painted Mrs. Le Maye’s portrait. I seldom repeat a subject.” Since the vindictive Carissa was hoping De Lanoy was planning to castrate him, he was keeping his distance from her.
“Is she your mistress?”
He gaped at her impertinence. “You are too young and sheltered to be asking such shameless questions. I think it
is time for you to leave.” It would not hurt suggesting to A’Court that he take a leather strap to his sister’s backside.
“According to my sources, you and Mrs. Le Maye flaunted your connection.”
“Even if we did, I am not prepared to discuss the details with you.” Where were the chaperones, he wondered, when young misses were free to discuss the gentlemen of the
ton
and their mistresses? He did feel compelled for the sake of clarity to add, “Though it is none of your concern, Mrs. Le Maye and I no longer share an intimate friendship. If I hear any tale to the contrary, then I will know who is to blame.”
He supposed he looked downright intimidating to her, but he was beyond caring. The infuriating chit had worn out his patience.
“I am good at keeping secrets, Mr. Claeg,” she said; the manner in which she said it was a pealing bell in his head.
“There is no secret, Miss Hamblin,” he insisted, feeling the claws of desperation. “Whatever you think you glimpsed when you walked into my painting room is riddled with mis-assumptions.”
“She wants you back.”
So she had a better understanding than he had initially assumed. Tugging on a sleeve, he said, “She left disappointed.”
With an expression too experienced for her tender years, Miss Hamblin said, “I assumed as much. Mrs. Le Maye was muttering French expletives when she left you.”
He gained a new appreciation for the young woman’s deviousness. “Eavesdropping is vulgar.”
“Just viewing the departure of the vanquished,” she said blithely. “I truly do not know what you saw in a woman like her. She was too obvious, in my opinion.”
Mallory neither agreed nor disagreed. Sometimes that was the only sensible option a man had when dealing with a woman. He eyed her warily, like he would a snake that was about to strike in his direction.
“I wanted to speak with you without Lady A’Court hovering around. Her presence prevented us from speaking freely.”
He made a noncommittal noise in his throat. Mallory raised his brows quizzically when she daringly touched his wrist.
“I immediately saw through your machinations at Loughwydde.”
“How clever of you,” he mused.
“The way you stared at me, your touch, and the cunning way you deceived my brother into giving his blessing for us to respectfully meet each other.”
“How clever of me.”
“I just wanted you to understand that I do not need to be seduced.” She demurely lowered her head. “I may not have the experience of your former mistress. Still, I am yours for the taking.”
Christ! He would genuinely be the bounder everyone purported him to be if he accepted Miss Hamblin’s offer. “You do not know what you are offering,” he said, feeling the weight of his years.

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