The Reluctant Countess (29 page)

* * *

“So what the hell are you doing in my house while I’m still on my honeymoon?” Patrick said, sitting back in his chair to look at his friend over the breakfast table. There was of course no anger in his voice, because three days ago Stephen had helped him save Sophie’s life. Taking a deep gulp of coffee, Patrick tried to push the memory of Sophie’s screams out of his head.

“I decided to come home for a few days, and just dropped in to borrow your new plow so Fulton can try it in the back pasture,” Stephen said around a mouthful of ham.

“Why leave during the season?” Patrick watched his friend closely. Stephen always dropped his eyes when he was uneasy.

“Is Doctor Fickle still with Sophie?” Stephen picked up his coffee cup and looked into its depths as if it held the secret to eternal life.

“Yes, the old reprobate. He demanded that I leave the room so he could check Sophie over.”

“How is she, Colt?” Stephen said, relieved to have thrown his friend off the scent, although he was genuinely interested in Sophie’s health.

Expelling a loud breath, Patrick said, “She is sore and tired but refusing to admit any of it. She told me she wanted to get out of bed and have a bath and I told her that if she tried I would tie her to the bedposts.”

“If that was any of the women in my family, they would be bedridden and issuing orders for weeks,” Stephen said in disgust.

“I will speak to Fickle before he leaves,” Patrick added. “I need to know how she really is.

“So why did you leave halfway through the season?” Patrick said, leveling his friend a look that told him he was keen to all of Stephen’s evasive strategies.

Stephen growled something under his breath about people who were too smart for their own good, then rolled his eyes for good measure. Patrick, however, was not intimidated in the least and just sat quietly staring at him.

“I just wanted a break, away from all of the goings-on!” Stephen said a little too loudly, then added, “So when does Sophie’s brother arrive?”

Patrick did not speak. He just looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow.

“It is a woman and that is the end of it!” Stephen hissed, then clamped his mouth shut.

“Which woman?” Patrick asked. To the best of his knowledge, no woman had ever forced Stephen from town, and especially not during the season. He was also fairly sure the woman under discussion was one Miss Pette.

“Shut up, Colt.” Stephen climbed swiftly to his feet, which pushed his chair sideways onto the floor. “I am going to visit Sophie before I return home.”

“I shall escort you,” Patrick said, moving to lift the fallen chair and following Stephen from the room. He made several clucking noises. Stephen, of course, ignored him, which made Patrick laugh loudly. Together, they walked toward the stairs just as the doctor was coming down.

“My lords,” Doctor Fickle said. He had served both the Sumner and Coulter families for many years. In that time he had seen many things, but he still found it hard to reconcile the two elegant lords before him with the two snot-nosed children he had spent many hours patching up during their youth.

“How is she, Doctor?” Patrick said.

“Very well, my lord; she is sleeping soundly now.” Doctor Fickle rocked back on his heels, a gesture both Stephen and Patrick were very familiar with. “I gather both of you tended to her, and may I add that you did a fine job of staving off infection.”

“How much longer should she stay in bed?”

“At least a week, Lord Coulter, it would not do for the wound to reopen,” Doctor Fickle said, taking his hat from Ribble. “I will check her progress again in two days,” he added, bowing before he headed to the door.

“I shall come and see Sophie later on, Colt. It is important she gets plenty of rest,” Stephen said, following the doctor out the door.

* * *

“Just keep an eye out for the earl,” Sophie whispered to Jenny as she lowered herself into the bath. Lord, the water felt blissful on her aching body. The doctor had just left and she dared not ask his permission, because he would have said no. “I pretended that I was sleeping, so hopefully the doctor will pass that information on to my husband.” Sophie sighed as some of the stiffness eased from her limbs.

“I will just wash your hair then and go stand guard,” Jenny said as she moved to bend over Sophie. “Keep your arm high, my lady,” she instructed as she rinsed and lathered Sophie’s hair.

Sophie wanted to purr. Finally, she felt clean after three days in bed. She just hoped her hair would dry before Patrick realized she had disobeyed him and gotten out of bed to have a bath. Perhaps she could wear a turban?

“I will leave you for a few minutes now, my lady, while I have your bedsheets changed and prepare a clean nightdress,” Jenny said as she wrung the water out of Sophie’s long hair, then left the room.

“If Lord Coulter comes into my room, Jenny, please tell him that I am having a private moment in my dressing room,” Sophie called after her maid.

“I will remember, my lady.”

Closing her eyes, she ignored the slight twinge in her arm as she sank lower into the warm water. Lord, the water felt good on her sore body. She had lain in bed for so long she was one big ache. Patrick had watched her every move for three days, and nights. She had been force-fed laudanum and broth until he was satisfied. He had refused to let her leave her bed unless absolutely necessary and Sophie was sure she now had bedsores on her bedsores. She had come to realize that he really was an immovable object when he set his mind to something. At night, if she so much as winced he was instantly awake. Sophie knew much of his attention came from the guilt he retained. She had tried to tell him that he was not to blame, but he would not listen.

Until now, she had tried not to think about Jack Spode, but tomorrow Timmy would arrive and with him would come more concerns for his safety. She trusted Patrick implicitly and knew he would do everything he could to protect them, but …

“She better not be in that bloody bath!”

Startled, Sophie only just saved herself from slipping under the water as Patrick’s voice reached her.

“What the hell are you doing out of bed and in that water, woman?”

While lying very still in her bath, she studied her husband. Sighing silently, Sophie thought he looked more handsome every time she saw him. His jacket had been discarded as he stormed through her dressing room; his shirt had come free of its waistband and was billowing around his body as he waved his arms around. Black curls stood off his head in a halo that was no doubt the result of his fingers ruffling them. One big hand was braced on his waist and Sophie could see the muscles of his thighs defined beneath the fabric of his riding breeches. Overall, it was a menacing gesture, but Sophie was not scared, quite the opposite; she felt her pulse race at the picture of masculine beauty he presented.

“Well?” Patrick bellowed, trying not to think about the lush naked woman before him. Her skin was pink and glistened with moisture; long wet curls fell around her shoulders. Don’t look lower, Patrick reminded himself.

“I am bathing,” Sophie said, with a soft inviting smile. Wriggling slightly, she allowed the water to slip lower on her breasts until she was sure Patrick could see her nipples just below the waterline.

“You … you are not strong enough … Sophie, g-get out at …” Patrick forgot what he was going to say as Sophie lifted her good arm and picked up the soap. “Dear God,” he groaned as she sat up and rubbed the bar over her breasts. He watched mesmerized as she caressed the full slopes, then circled her nipples. Where the hell had she learned to do that?

It was the look in Patrick’s eyes that had made Sophie do it, that and the slow burn in her body that wanted assuaging. “Come to me, Patrick,” she begged.

“Soph, your arm …,” Patrick said, removing his shirt.

“ ’Tis not my arm that needs tending, my lord,” Sophie said, with another sultry smile. She giggled as he nearly toppled headfirst into the water when he tried to pull his trousers off before his boots.

“Laugh at your peril, darling.” Patrick threw his boots across the room and stripped off the rest of his clothing.

Sophie stopped laughing as his first foot hit the water; water sloshed over the side of the tub as he moved toward her. His muscles clenched and unclenched as he made his way to where she lay.

“I now understand why my father had this bathtub made big enough for two.”

“Patrick,” Sophie sighed as he lifted her into his arms and settled her on the rim of the bath, then kneeled before her so their eyes were on the same level. He kissed her then, a deep, soul-stirring kiss that heated her blood and made her head spin.

“Do not move, Countess, keep your arm still at your side or I will stop,” Patrick growled into her ear as he began to soap his hands.

“I … I can lift my arm,” Sophie said, then swallowed because Patrick was massaging her breasts, his big hands tracing whisper soft circles round and round the full slopes.

“Move and I stop,” Patrick said, dropping his hands as Sophie reached for his neck.

“You’re mean,” Sophie said, pouting.

“We have been married a few days and already you are a wanton,” he said as he captured her lower lip and tugged it gently between his teeth.

Sophie smiled beneath her lashes and dropped her arm.

Patrick’s laughter held little humor as he started to caress her breasts again. He had to go slow and make sure he did not cause her any pain, he thought, restraining himself from plunging his aching shaft deep inside her. Christ! What was he thinking? A few days ago she had been shot and here he was making love to her.

“Sophie, I don’t think …”

“Don’t you dare stop!”

She gasped as he scraped his nails over the tight rosy peaks of her breasts. Moving lower, he traced the contours of her waist and stomach.

“Patrick,” Sophie sighed, as he ran his fingers slowly over her body, “I want you now,” she urged him.

“Soon, love,” Patrick said, then he kissed her, his tongue mimicking his fingers as he pushed them deep inside her tight wet sheath. He teased her, his thumb stroking the small nubbin between her thighs while his fingers continued their rhythm.

“Oooooh!” Sophie cried.

Patrick moved his head lower as he felt her tightening around his fingers. With perfect timing, he then took an aching nipple into his mouth and suckled. She screamed for him, falling apart beneath his hands. Picking her up, he lay back in the water and brought her down on top of him.

Sophie, who was still shuddering from the sensations Patrick’s fingers had created, was thrust straight back into a tumult of feeling. Lifting her good arm she gripped his shoulder, holding him as he drove up into her. She felt the tension building as he gripped her hips and pulled out nearly all the way, then thrust back into her. Shuddering, Sophie begged him to do it again and he did, lifting her up and down until she could bear it no further.

“Let go, love,” Patrick breathed into her ear and then suddenly Sophie was flying, her body was gripped with an emotion so intense it robbed her of every thought and breath.

Patrick felt her inner muscles clench around him as he pushed into her, the pressure bringing about his own exquisite climax. Breathless, he collapsed into the warm water, then lifted Sophie so she lay along his legs. They sat for long minutes unmoving and silent, just holding each other.

Patrick was first to move, brushing aside her hair he looked down into the face of his wife. She lay nestled against his chest, her injured arm on top of his, her eyes closed and her long lashes forming crescents on her cheeks. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly and her lips were open as she struggled to get her breath back. Lifting his hand, he traced the line of her brow.

“Did I hurt you, love?”

“No,” Sophie said softly, keeping her eyes closed, because opening them seemed an insurmountable task at that moment. “You could never hurt me.”

“Do you plan to win every argument in such a fashion, wife?” Patrick tweaked a long dark curl with his fingers.

“I love you, Patrick,” Sophie whispered, then promptly fell asleep.

She had done it again, told him she loved him and fallen asleep. Patrick felt the same as he had the last time she had declared her love for him, as if someone had smacked him over the head with a large piece of wood. He was humbled, confused, but mostly he couldn’t stop the foolish grin that spread across his face.

* * *

Letty arrived with Timmy and a surprising guest the following day, as Patrick was arguing hotly with Sophie over the luncheon table.

“I will not go back to bed, Patrick,” Sophie said calmly from her seat opposite him, where she was endeavoring to cut her meat—not an easy feat with one hand—into chewable pieces.

“Well, at least rest for a while,” Patrick demanded as he climbed to his feet and took the two strides necessary to bring him around to her side of the table. With vigor, he began to cut her lunch into bite-sized pieces.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly as he once again stalked to his chair and threw himself onto the seat.

“I know there is no fever, Sophie, and I realize that you think you feel well,” Patrick said, trying to be reasonable. He was after all a reasonable man, he thought; well, he had been until he married the vixen across from him, who was now completely destroying his previously stellar reputation.

“But I do feel well, Patrick.”

“Yes, but …”

“No buts, please.” Sophie raised her good hand to stop him. “I will rest if I need to rest. I have never been idle, nor am I one to take to my bed, and I do not intend to start now.”

Why had he never noticed the defiant thrust of her jaw until now? Patrick wondered. He remembered Stephen saying, “She will keep you on your toes.”

“What has amused you, my lord?” Sophie said, as her own lips twitched in response to Patrick’s bark of laughter. The dimple in his cheek peeked out briefly, then was gone. It was rare to see it, but the effect was stunning, transforming his face, making him seem younger and more carefree.

“Stephen told me you would not be as biddable once we were married.”