The Reluctant Countess (15 page)

Sophie writhed as he stroked her with his tongue; oh dear lord, it felt delicious against her sensitive skin. She tugged his hair in desperation as he moved closer to his target, closer to the aching nipple.

Placing one hand on her thigh, Patrick used his long fingers to slowly hitch up her skirts; his mouth, however, kept tormenting her breasts. Slipping his hand beneath, he moved between her legs and touched her, stroked her curls, then lower to run his finger down the dewy folds beneath.

“Patrick!” Sophie shrieked.

Pushing his fingers inside her damp sheath, he captured her nipple at the same time and was rewarded with a delicious full body shudder from his countess.

“Please, Patrick,” Sophie begged, “I-I can take no more.”

“Yes, you can.”

Sophie watched in a sensual daze as he stood to unbutton his trousers and then he was there, moving over her. She stiffened as she remembered the pain of their last encounter.

Patrick felt her body tense, and cupping her cheeks, he looked deep into her eyes. “I promise there will be no more pain, sweetheart; trust me.” She nodded and reached for him. Her hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer. Patrick tried to hold back and be as gentle as he could, but he was shaking with the force of his need. Never had he wanted anything more than to sink into her welcoming heat. Gritting his teeth, he eased inside her, inch by exquisite inch until he was buried to the hilt.

“There is no pain, Patrick,” Sophie whispered, brushing tiny kisses over his jaw. She shuddered as he withdrew and drove into her again. The pressure built with each thrust, each one felt deeper and harder than the last until she was mindless with pleasure.

“Come with me, Sophie,” Patrick urged, as he felt her sweet body shuddering for release beneath him.

“Yesssss,” Sophie cried, sobbing his name.

Lifting her hips higher, Patrick drove into her again and again until they were both caught as wave upon wave of pleasure crashed over them, leaving them breathless and panting.

He slumped on top of her, crushing her with his weight, yet he had no energy to move. Patrick thought about what he and Sophie had just shared—the most intoxicating bout of lovemaking he had ever experienced. Lifting himself onto one arm, he looked at her. Her eyes were closed, long lashes
resting on her flushed cheeks, lips parted as she drew in deep gulps of air. One of her slender hands had moved with him, the palm braced against his chest, the other lay above her head. To Patrick she looked sated and thoroughly ravished and far too luscious for his suddenly disturbed peace of mind. Patrick only just caught himself as he lifted one hand to push a tangle of curls from her cheek. Lord, what had just happened to him? How had this small, inexperienced woman made him feel so much? Was this what all the poems were about, the odes written by lovesick swains? Love! Dear God, where the hell had that hideous word come from? Unsettled by his thoughts and the fact that he felt so out of control, he, the man who prided himself on his iron will, Patrick abruptly rose to his feet and crossed the room away from her.

Surprised when his weight was suddenly lifted from her, Sophie’s eyes flew open. She noted Patrick’s frown before he turned away from her.
Oh lord!
Sophie thought as a wave of humiliating heat flushed her cheeks. He was regretting it already. She had been so inept at the art of lovemaking that he was trying to find a way to tell her goodbye. Or was he always like this after a liaison? Was she just another liaison and was he now ready to go back to the other guests? Perhaps he would then select another woman to couple with? Quietly, Sophie also regained her feet as she struggled to hide the horror her last thoughts had provoked.

Hoisting up her bodice, Sophie frantically searched for her hat and gloves. She wondered if she would ever make love unclothed; surely that was the normal course of events? An uncontrollable giggle welled up inside her; she was getting hysterical, he would hate that, most men hated a hysterical woman. How would she know the normal course of events and indeed why should she care? After today she would never again take a lover, never, she vowed silently, especially as she was obviously no good at it … the act. Sophie turned the key, pulled the door open, and ran without looking back.

Patrick reached for her as he heard the key turn in the lock. “Sophie!” he bellowed, turning in time to watch her go through the door and swing it shut behind her. Wrenching it open seconds later, he followed. Delivering several curses into the dark air, Patrick berated himself for his preoccupation. Again, he had treated her shabbily. First making love to her and then ignoring her when she had
probably needed him most. “Sophie!” he yelled again, running along the path she had fled. He stopped briefly to listen for her footsteps, but heard nothing. He ran then, down every path he could find, but she had disappeared.

“You are an idiot, Coulter,” he berated himself as he tidied his appearance and walked back to the garden party, hoping to find her there. After checking every group of people, he was forced to accept that she had gone. His countess had flown and he still knew nothing about her, except that his feelings for her went deeper than for any other woman of his acquaintance.

* * *

Sophie had hidden in the bushes waiting for the earl to leave the gardens. Heart in her throat, she had watched him look for her, call her name, and eventually make his way past her and back to the garden party. How had it happened again? He had only kissed her and she had fallen like a brazen hussy into his arms, eager and willing for him to take her. Pressing the backs of her hands to her hot cheeks, she was glad no one could see her, she would be doomed, for surely never had a person looked more ravished than she. Her skirts were creased, she had lost her gloves, and although she had tried to stuff her hair into her bonnet, without pins, it was a fruitless task. Dear lord, how did people carry on liaisons undetected; they must have their maids nearby.

Peeking out from her hiding place, Sophie could see no other guests so she stepped onto the path. Locating Letty, while avoiding the earl, was her only objective. She would plead a headache and return to the house at once.

“Countess, how delightful to see you. I said to my daughters just the other day that we must have you over for tea one morning,” Lady Sumner said as she approached Sophie.

She was ruined; nothing would save her now. A woman walking alone in the gardens looking like a … a … harlot who had just been thoroughly tumbled; she was indeed doomed.

“Lady Sumner, h-how wonderful to meet you again.” Sophie sank into a curtsy.

“And this is Baron Gimmley, Countess,” she said as she gestured to the tall man beside her.

Curtsying once again, Sophie acknowledged the man in front of her.

“I will take a turn about the gardens with the countess. Baron, we will escort each other back.”

Sophie watched Lady Sumner flick her wrist, dismissing the Baron, and in seconds she was alone with the formidable woman.

“Take my arm, child.”

She did, because really there was no other option. The two began to walk slowly down a colorful path bordered with bright blooms.

“I love pansies; they have small happy faces and come in outrageous colors, and if there is one thing I adore, it is to be outrageous,” Lady Sumner stated.

Sophie giggled—she couldn’t help it, the sound just emerged.

“Now here’s what we shall do, dear. I will take you through the gardens and around the house and then I will settle you in my carriage. I shall then tell Letty that you have taken ill from the sun and that she is not to worry as you are safely on your way home.”

“I-I thank you, my lady. I have no rights to your kindness, but I thank you for it all the same.”

Sophie felt a large warm hand settle on top of hers.

“Nonsense, child, I have daughters of my own and was once young myself. There are times when we merely need a little assistance. The baron will keep his counsel, as he knows that if he doesn’t, he will answer to
me
. Therefore, this little interlude will be our secret.”

Looking up into the twinkling blue eyes, Sophie saw the humor and kindness that was so obvious in her son.

“I like you, Sophie. I hope you don’t mind me calling you that?” Lady Sumner asked.

“I would be honored.”

“Excellent. Well as I was saying, I like you, Sophie, and more importantly, I like that you have managed to get under Patrick’s skin.”

“Oh I-I …”

“Had things his own way for far too long, dear. Not good for a man, all that cowering and simpering, needs to be stood on his head occasionally, and it’s my belief you’re just the girl for the job.”

“Oh n-no you have that wr …”

“Say no more, my dear, and let us get you away from prying eyes.”

Stunned by Lady Sumner’s words, Sophie allowed the woman to lead her to her carriage. Her head was spinning over the one-sided conversation they had just shared. Lady Shubert had singled her out earlier to distract Lord Coulter and now Lady Sumner was suggesting that they shared a connection. Sophie would have to put a stop to any further gossip linking her name to Lord Coulter’s, and to do that she must keep her distance from him.

“We will take tea soon, Countess,” Lady Sumner said, pushing Sophie gently into the waiting carriage.

“Oh yes, my lady, I would be honored,” Sophie called as the door shut behind her.

* * *

“I have just met with a mutual acquaintance of ours, Patrick, and was alarmed to see her in such a distressed state.”

Patrick, who had just swallowed a large mouthful of hideously sweet wine, choked. Never a woman of delicate gestures, Lady Sumner took the opportunity to smack him soundly between the shoulder blades. Eyes watering, throat dry, Patrick finally managed to rasp out, “Thank you.”

“Hair in disarray, skirts crumpled. Really, Patrick, I thought better of you. Surely you know how to treat a lady of consequence, or are you so used to those mistresses that you are in need of a lesson in manners?”

Sophie was still here? Patrick instinctively started looking around amongst the guests.

“I put her in my carriage and sent her home, so you can stop looking for her.”

The best defense with Lady Sumner was silence. If you gave her nothing to argue with, she would soon run out of steam. However, Patrick knew he had to say something, so he opted for a show of ignorance.

“I’m sorry, of whom are you speaking?”

Damn, she was giving him the look she gave Stephen. He had only been the recipient of that look once before, but once was enough. She took a step closer to him, holding his gaze with her own.

“Do not play games with me, Patrick; I knew you when you were in short pants, and I am not afraid of your reputation either.”

God she’d done it, just like she did to Stephen; he couldn’t hold her gaze, so he dropped his eyes. He, a man who cowered to no one.

“I shall offer nothing more on the subject, Patrick.…”

“Excellent,” he muttered, which earned him a prod in the chest with a surprisingly pointy finger.

“Just that I like her, Patrick. She is a lady, a gentle lady who deserves your respect.”

“Yes, my lady.” Jesus! He was mumbling like a chastened schoolboy.

“And for what it is worth, Patrick, I think she will suit you nicely.”

She walked away before he could challenge that last comment; Patrick was tempted to stomp after her, but something stopped him and he wasn’t sure what.

* * *

Several days later, Sophie woke with a pounding heart. Weak moonlight from the crack in the curtains told her it was still dark outside. The sound of raised voices in the street had her throwing back the covers and walking to the window. Drawing the curtains, she pressed her forehead to the chilled glass and looked below. A carriage was pulled up outside Letty’s house, swaying wildly from side to side. Sophie blushed at the memory of what she and Patrick had been doing in his carriage; had it swayed like that? Using both hands to pull the sash hard, she lifted the window high enough to push her head outside. Gasping as a blast of cold night air hit her in the face, Sophie studied the carriage. It was not from this street; she knew the markings from Letty’s neighbors’ carriages, and the faint light from the gas lamp told her this was not one of them. She heard a child cry then and a woman’s raised voice. Suddenly the driver lifted his whip and the horses started down the road at a furious pace.

Sophie felt a shiver of unease as she closed the window; something felt very wrong. Wrenching open her door, she ran barefoot down the hall to Timmy’s room, pushed his door open, and slipped inside. His bed was against the far wall and her heart eased as she saw the small mound
beneath the blankets. Her brother slept on his stomach with his bottom in the air. She would just tuck him in and go back to her own bed.

Her hand reached to stroke his soft hair and found nothing. Frantically pulling the covers aside, she found a mound of blankets but no Timmy—touching the small indentation where he had lain, she felt the warmth from his body.

Sophie stuffed her fist in her mouth to stop the cry she desperately wanted to release. It had been him in that carriage, she was sure of it. Turning toward the door, she saw a note propped against a book upon the small table. Ripping it open she took it to her room and lit a candle, which took her several attempts as her fingers were shaking so badly. “Pleeeease,” she prayed and finally was rewarded with a flame. Sophie lifted the note closer to the light, fear clawing at her throat as she recognized the blackmailer’s writing.

See how easy it is for me to take what is yours, Sophie Beams. Your brother and his maid are now in my care
.

Dropping the note, Sophie wrapped her arms around her waist, rocking back and forth as she thought of her little brother and how he must be suffering. Terror gripped her as horrifying thoughts chased through her head. Would she see Timmy again? Was he warm? Would they feed him? She felt helpless and alone.

Think, Sophie. There must be something you can do
. Should she wake Letty? No, there was nothing she could do. Amelia was the only other person she called “friend,” yet again what could she do?
Think harder, Sophie, there must be something or someone who can help you
. It did not take her long to come up with the answer. Even though she had not seen him for several days, she knew that only he could help her now. Finding her warmest cloak, she pulled it over her nightgown, then laced on her sturdiest walking boots. Finally, she found her thick winter gloves and was ready to leave.