Read My Favorite Countess Online
Authors: Vanessa Kelly
My Favorite Countess (31 page)
Bathsheba froze as Bess reached deep into the slit of her gown and extracted a bunch of limp violets.
“Here, miss. Ma and Amy would be some upset if they knew you lost them.”
John's arm turned as stiff as a board around her waist. He looked down at her but she refused to meet his eye. A painful flush crept up her neck, heating her face as shame crawled over her skin. Never had Bathsheba felt so small, so worthless. And now John knew just how worthless she was, too.
But Bess, at least, didn't need to know how cruel she had been.
Bathsheba gave the girl as bright a smile as she could muster. “It was very kind of you to bring me the flowers. I never even realized that I had dropped them.”
She took the violets from the girl's grubby, outstretched hand and tucked them into the bodice of her gown. They hung there, looking as bedraggled as Bathsheba's clothing, but Bess didn't seem to mind. She beamed back at her, joy making her thin face almost pretty.
Bathsheba's heart turned over in her chest. She stepped out of John's embrace, leaned down, and gave the girl an impulsive hug.
“Thank you,” she whispered into the child's ear. “I don't know what we would have done without you.”
She straightened, repressing a smile at Bess's wide-eyed stare. The little girl looked as stunned as if manna had just dropped from the heavens.
John extracted a few coins from his pocket and gave them to Bess, who found her tongue enough to register a weak protest.
“No, Bess,” he insisted in a gruff voice. “You led us to safety. I'm sure your mother would be happy if you spent the money on fruit from the market. She has to keep her strength up, and so does Amy. Why don't you run off and do that? The lady and I can find our way back to the carriage from here.”
Bess gave them that sweet, gap-toothed grin again and took off in the direction of Covent Garden.
“Be careful,” Bathsheba called after her, strangely unsettled to see the child racing off by herself.
Bess gave a cheery wave and disappeared around a corner.
It hurt to watch her go. Bess was so small and vulnerable. Despite her courage and fortitude, her life of grinding poverty must be a misery. Bathsheba hated even knowing about itâhated having to think about what the girl's future would be like. How in God's name did John tolerate coming here, day after day? How did he live with the pain and frustration?
His deep voice broke into her thoughts.
“Don't worry. She knows her way around St. Giles better than men three times her age.”
“I'd like to help her,” she replied, forcing herself to speak past the lump in her throat. “I don't know how, but I've got to do something.”
He was silent for a long moment, as if she had surprised him.
“Why?” he finally replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Because she saved your life? Was she not worthy of your notice before then?”
Her melancholy evaporated in a blaze of anger and self-loathing. She knew her own failings well enough. But she didn't think he would be heartless enough to mock her with themâespecially after what they had just gone through.
“Of course she was,” she snapped, glaring up into his face. His expression was cold, even judgmental. “I'm the one who isn't worthy, as is now perfectly clear to both of us.”
They stood in the middle of the street, staring at each other like two wary combatants. His smoky gray eyes probed hers, as if he would pull aside a veil separating them and read her soul. Anger and latent violence swirled about his tall, lean body, as if he were expecting another fight to break out at any moment.
But, suddenly, all that boiling emotion seemed to drain away. He sighed, and the angry warrior transformed once more into the compassionate doctor. If Bathsheba hadn't been so weary and depressed, she would have smiled. She had come out much worse from this afternoon's adventure, physically and mentally, she suspected. But he looked as he always didâthe calm physician who knew exactly what must be done. Unlike her, he hadn't even lost his hat.
“I'm sorry, Bathsheba,” he said with a rueful shake of the head. “This is my fault. I should never have allowed you to step foot in St. Giles in the first place.”
She raised her eyes heavenward, praying for strength. Would the blasted man always forgive her, no matter what sins she committed?
“Of course, John,” she retorted, not bothering to hide her irritation. “Everything must always be your faultâyour responsibilityâmustn't it? God forbid the lady of privilege should ever admit a mistake.”
“Bathshebaâ”
“Not now, John. Please. All I want is a little peace and quiet, and a very large brandy.”
He nodded, clearly unhappy as he took her arm and guided her out toward Drury Lane.
“The carriage is just ahead,” he said. “I'll take you straight home.”
Good Lord. The man could be amazingly dense. “No, we will not go straight to Curzon Street. We will go to your house first, where I can clean up before going home.”
He frowned. “It's not a very good idea to call at my house without even a maid to accompany you.”
She yanked on his arm, pulling him to a stop.
“Look at me.” She gestured at the front of her gown. “I'm a wreck. My hat is gone and I'm sure my hair is a tangled mess. My servants are better than most, but some of them are bound to gossip if they see me like this, especially after returning home with you.”
His eyes drifted over her dirt-stained bodiceâthe lout who mauled her obviously had filthy handsâthen lifted to her hair. A wry smile touched the corners of his mouth, confirming her suspicion that her coiffure was a disaster.
“I see your point,” he said in a dry voice. “We'll return to my house immediately. My servants are used to all manner of visitors, day and night. They won't think twice about your appearance.”
She gave a terse nod and began striding toward Drury Lane. He caught up with her and took her hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm. She wanted to lean into him, savoring his warmth and the security of his strong body. But she stopped herself. What she had seen today had shocked her to the core, and she couldn't remember the last time that had happened. But the people down in the stews were a part of John's life, and a very important part if the risks he took to help them were any indication. Everything she knew about him, everything she had already learned about his character, told her that he wouldn't give it up. Not if he felt it was a necessary part of his work.
But if that were the case, she didn't think she could stand it. She had been married to one man with an obsession, and it had almost destroyed her. That John's obsession was for good, not for ill, didn't matter.
She couldn't sit by and wait for disaster to strike again.
Chapter 23
As John handed Bathsheba down from the landau, he caught her staring at his small but elegant town house in Market Lane. Her eyebrows arched in surprise, making it all too obvious she had underestimated him once again. In spite of all the evidence to the contrary, some part of her had insisted on believing he was little better than a simple country gentleman, barely able to make ends meet.
He took her hand to escort her up the steps of the house, feeling more than ever the emotional and social barriers she had thrown up to keep him at bay. Yesterday he had felt closer to her than any person he had ever knownâincluding Becky. Today it felt like a chasm yawned between them.
As he extracted the key to the front door from his pocket, she gave the street an anxious scan. She needn't have worried. Businesses comprised most of the buildings on Market Lane, the main reason John had chosen this particular house. The neighborhood was genteel, but the street held few private residences, giving him and his patients freedom from the prying eyes of local gossips.
He ushered her into the quiet of the tidy entrance hall. The door leading down to the kitchen opened and Jordan hurried forward to relieve him of his hat and medical bag. His manservant took in Bathsheba's disheveled appearance in one comprehensive glance, but retained his customary bland expression.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Blackmore,” he said. “Will you and your guest be taking tea in the drawing room?”
John shook his head. “This lady has met with an accident. Please bring a bowl of hot water and some towels to my study.”
He eyed Bathsheba, trying to decide what else she might need to restore her appearance to the required degree of respectability. She gave a slight, exasperated shake of her head.
“A comb would be helpful,” she said in a dry voice.
“Right away, madam.” Jordan gave a respectful bow and retreated to the lower regions of the house.
John took her by the shoulders and guided her to his study. The small but comfortable room was situated at the back of the house, well removed from the bustle of the street. Bathsheba needed a period of quiet to regain her equilibrium. Whatever they might have to say to each other could wait.
Except, of course, for his apology for thrusting her into danger. Given her uncharacteristically silent demeanor since he had bundled her into the carriage a short while ago, that obviously couldn't wait.
He escorted her to the comfortably padded leather club chair in front of his desk. She sank down with a grateful sigh. Crossing to a trolley, he selected one of the crystal decanters and poured her a brandy. A large one. She still looked a good deal too pale for his comfort.
“Here,” he said. “I want you to drink all of it.”
Her emerald eyes glittered with a flash of amusement as she took the glass. “You won't have to persuade me, I assure you.”
She took a generous swallow, and softly murmured her satisfaction. The muscles in her slim, white throat rippled as she drank, and he was struck once again by her delicacy. For all her determined bravado, there was so much about her that was achingly vulnerable.
His stomach clenched with a volatile combination of anger, frustration, and worry. What had he been thinking to bring her into St. Giles? She had insisted, but he had known better and he had allowed his feelings for herâhis desire for her approvalâto override his judgment. It was a mistake he wouldn't make again.
If only it wasn't already too late. What happened today might have ruined any chance they had for a future as man and wife.
“Bathshebaâ”
A discreet tap on the door interrupted him, winding his frustration even tighter.
“Enter,” he commanded. Bathsheba lifted both eyebrows at his irritated tone of voice.
Jordan glided serenely into the room and placed a tray holding a bowl of water, towels, and a comb on a low table in front of the club chair.
“Will there by anything else, sir?”
“No. Thank you, Jordan. See to it we're not disturbed.”
The manservant exited the room. After the door closed, a heavy tension filled the study. Bathsheba still refused to meet his eyes, which John began to find very annoying.
“Bathsheba, I realize you're angry and unsettled by the day's events. More than I can say, I regret placing you in that position. I assure you that what happened today was not typical.”
She gave him an unreadable glance, finished her drink in one swallow, and reached for the comb. With quick, jerky movements, she began to drag it through her bedraggled coiffure. He watched, barely tamping down his frustration.
“Here,” he finally said, wrestling the comb from her fingers. “Give me that before you tear your hair out.”
She scowled at him and tried to stand up, but he pushed her back down into the chair.
“Don't be a goose,” he growled.
She subsided with a mutter and he stepped behind the chair to untangle her hair. He worked carefully, trying not to pull, teasing the comb through the knots as gently as he could. Gradually, she relaxed, letting her head fall forward as he smoothed a soft path through her silky locks.
“Bathsheba,” he said. “I know you're angry with me for what happened today, but it would be better if you talked about it.”
She swatted his hand away from her head, then jumped up from the chair to face him. Her face was pale, her features pinched with tension.
“That's not why I'm angry,” she cried. “Yes, I hated it, but that's not it.”
He stared, baffled by her words.
Her delicate brows snapped together in a fierce scowl. “I'm angry because you expose
yourself
to such danger. On a daily basis. It's beyond foolish, and I won't tolerate it.”
yourself
to such danger. On a daily basis. It's beyond foolish, and I won't tolerate it.”
She glared at him, her emerald gaze sparking with fury, but he didn't fail to notice that her full mouth trembled and tears clung to the ends of her long lashes. The tightness in his chest began to ease. She was worried about him, not herself. That was something he could remedy.
“What happened today was unusual, to say the least. As for what other dangers I might encounter, a doctor always runs the risk of contracting an illness through his work. Surely you understand that, Bathsheba.” He smiled, trying to take the sting out of his words.
She gave her head a violent shake, and the auburn curtain of hair swung around her shoulders. “I'm not an idiot, John. Of course I understand that. I'm talking about the danger you face every time you go into those horrible stews. The violenceâ”
She broke off, swallowing so hard he could hear it. He reached for her, but she waved him away. He waited patiently, even though he wanted to snatch her into his arms and soothe away the shock of the day's events.
“It's not safe,” she insisted after regaining her voice. “You could be hurt, or worse. And then where would I be?” She finished on a plaintive note, sounding more like a sad and worried child than the sophisticated widow he knew her to be.
This time he did move, folding her in his arms and ignoring her weak efforts to hold him off. He gave her trembling lips a lingering kiss, then guided her back to the club chair. After she sat, he knelt down and took her hands between his.
“I assure you, love,” he said as he carefully pulled her gloves off. “What happened today was an aberration. I've never encountered anything like that before. More often than not I'm treated with great courtesy and respect.”
“But not always,” she challenged.
He hesitated. “Where there's poverty, there's always despair and the risk of violence. Generally, though, it's not a worry. Besides,” he said with a reassuring smile, “I do have my defenders, as you may have noticed this afternoon.”
She chewed her lower lip for a moment before responding. He was sorely tempted to plunder her soft pink mouth with a ravenous kiss.
“What about O'Neill?” she asked. “The man is a lunatic who wants to kill you. Do you think it was simply a coincidence he found you today?”
John sat back on his heels. That question had been troubling him for the last hour, and he was no closer to an answer. “I don't know. He doesn't live near Coal Yard, but that doesn't mean he had no business in that part of St. Giles. Many of the Irish live there.”
She began to absently chew on her thumbnail. He took her hand and gently pressed it into her lap. A blush rose into her cheeks, but then she frowned at him.
“He didn't seem surprised to see you there, John. I think he was following you, and what's to say he won't do it again? He's dangerous.”
Damn.
He didn't blame her for being upset, but there was no point in turning O'Neill into a bogeyman who would haunt her dreams.
He didn't blame her for being upset, but there was no point in turning O'Neill into a bogeyman who would haunt her dreams.
“You're not to worry about him,” he said, determined to calm her fears. “I'll see to it that he doesn't bother you again. I promise he won't come near you.”
Her eyes blazed with a sudden, surprising fury. She grabbed the lapels of his coat and yanked him forward until they were nose to nose.
“Listen to me, you stupid man! I'm not worried about myself. It's you I'm afraid for. O'Neill will come for you again. I know it. And every time you go down into the stews, you make yourself vulnerable to him and a thousand other dangers. You're reckless and foolhardy. Don't you understand you could be killed down there?”
Her passionate outburst stunned him into silence. Then tenderness filled his chest with a sweet bloom. He stroked the perfect skin of her cheek, letting the arousal he could no longer hold back spiral through his body.
“I won't let that happen, my sweet. I promise you.”
Tears welled in her eyes, turning them into brilliant shards of green crystal. “You can't be sure of that, John. Iâ”
“Hush, now,” he murmured, bending close. “Don't think about it.”
When his lips covered hers, she moaned as if in pain. She clamped her hands on his face and kissed him with a startling desperation. A thoughtâunbidden and unwelcomeâcrossed his mind. Her frantic embrace felt like good-bye, and she was putting all the loneliness and sorrow of that severing into one last kiss.
His mind struck back at the horrifying image. Swiftly, before she had the chance to pull awayâor even thinkâhe lashed his arms around her waist and jerked her forward to the edge of the leather seat. With a frenzied sense of urgency that threatened to boil out of control, he mashed her slender body against his chest and devoured her soft, yielding mouth. She gave a muffled squeak but spread her legs wide to accommodate him, the material of her skirts bunching up around her knees.
John dropped a hand to her thighs and pushed her dress up to her hips. With the other hand, he threaded his fingers through her hair, angling her head to seek the sweetness of her open mouth. Then he gently pulled her hands from his face and placed them around his neck, not breaking contact as he kissed her. Their tongues stroked and tangled, tasting each other as the heat between them spun out of control.
Bathsheba moaned. That vulnerable, feminine sound dug spurs into his growing need. As he pulled her closer she wound her arms around his neck, rubbing her full breasts against his body. If she was hoping to incite him, it worked. He had to feel her hot, cinching flesh around his cock. If he didn't come into her soonâslake himself in her lush bodyâhe would go mad with lust.
He retreated, holding her shoulders in a fierce grip. Her eyes popped open. They were soft and heavy-lidded with a dazed passion.
“Why . . . why are you stopping?” she stuttered.
His laugh sounded more like a groan. “God, Bathsheba. I couldn't stop if someone held a pistol to my head.”
The muzzy look in her eyes vanished. “That's not funny, considering what could have happened to you today,” she snapped.
God, she was adorable. He couldn't wait a moment longer to take her.
“Believe me, sweet. I'm not joking.”
He swiftly rose to his feet, bringing her up with him. In one motion he pivoted and dropped down into the club chair. He curled his hands around her hips, holding her steady before him.
“Well,” she asked in a grumpy voice. “What now?”
“I want you on top of me,” he murmured, dragging her gown and chemise up around her hips. He caught his breath, captured by the smooth purity of her skin, the soft rounded curves, and the nest of auburn curls at the apex of her thighs.
Her mouth twitched. “You're a wicked man, Dr. Blackmore.”
“As are you, my lady wicked. Now stop complaining and climb up here. Tuck your knees on either side of my legs.”
She settled on top of him with a voluptuous sigh, letting her head fall back as he gripped the firm globes of her luscious bottom, kneading them between his hands. Never had he seen anything as beautiful as she was in this moment, as she gave herself over to sensuality. As she gave herself to him. In a strange way it made his heart contract with lonelinessâthe knowledge that without her in his arms, in his life, he would remain forever solitary. In some elemental way, he would be set apart at a careful distance from the rest of the world.
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