Read My Favorite Countess Online
Authors: Vanessa Kelly
My Favorite Countess (32 page)
With that thought came fearâthe fear he might still lose her. He moved his hands in a rough glide over her body, determined to possess her, to love her so completely she would never for a moment think of seeking another man's protection or bed.
Bathsheba whimpered, rocking against him as he stroked his fingers between the soft folds of her sex. She was so hot and wet, he had to clench his teeth to keep from ripping open his breeches and plunging into her. But first he needed to convince her that only he could give her the satisfactionâemotional and physicalâshe so obviously craved.
He slid one, then two fingers inside her tender sheath. She undulated her hips, trying to increase the pressure on the peak of her sex. But he wouldn't give her what she wanted until he received what he needed from her.
“Open your eyes,” he murmured. “I want you to look at me.”
She gave another throaty sigh and dragged open her eyelids. Her gaze was hot and primal. It latched onto his, possessing his soul as surely as his hands possessed her body. He stilled, and for a long moment they stared deep into each other's eyes, the connection flaring between them. Then she gave a smug little smile, draping her arms around his shoulders as she began to rock leisurely against his hand.
Vixen.
As always, she sought to control the game. He wouldn't allow thatânot today.
As always, she sought to control the game. He wouldn't allow thatânot today.
“Open your bodice,” he commanded in a low voice.
Her eyes widened, and she hesitated. He pulled his fingers from her damp flesh, drawing them out in a lingering caress as he left her body. She cast him a disgruntled look, but released him and began to undo the tight buttons that marched up over her chest.
Slowly she pulled back the tailored fabric, exposing her full curves, barely covered by light stays and a thin chemise. He rewarded her by rubbing his palm across her swollen bud. She gasped, and he could feel the tremble in her thighs.
“I've got you,” he murmured, keeping one hand fastened on her bottom. “Pull your chemise down. I want to see all of you.”
Her small white teeth appeared, pulling on her lower lip as she untied her undergarments. With a quick yank, she pulled them down and her plump breasts spilled out, riding high over the top of her stays. Her nipples, already stiff and rosy, were ready for the tasting.
An insatiable greed raced through his blood. With a groan, he fastened his mouth over the taut point of one breast, sucking the tender flesh deep into his mouth. She gave a muffled shriek and arched back, forcing him to follow.
He did, sucking and nibbling as she writhed under his mouth, against his questing hand. He slid his fingers through the moist flesh, playing with the erect little bud before slipping into her soft, cinching channel. Every nerve ending in his body was on fire, as he filled his hands and his mouthâall his senses reveling in the texture and scent of her aroused body.
As he tongued her nipple, he could feel tiny spasms contracting her sheath. She moaned frantically, pressing his head to her breast as she sought her climax. But he couldn'tâwouldn't let her reach those heights without him. The hunger he felt, the urgent compulsion to be joined with her, could no longer be denied. Never had he desired, no, needed a woman as much as Bathshebaâbody, soul, everything she had to give would be his alone.
He pulled away from her breast, ignoring her soft wail of protest. Steadying her with one hand, he ripped at the fall of his breeches. She gave a hot, eager pant, gazing at him with slumberous eyes as she helped him push the fabric out of the way. Bracing one hand on his shoulder, she reached down and curled her slim fingers around his erection. He clenched his teeth, feeling like he was coming out of his skin as she gave him a short, pumping stroke. Just as he was about to pull her hand away, she positioned the tip of his erection against her soft cleft.
Their eyes caught and held. He shifted both hands to her hips. Pressing down, she sank slowly around his aching length. They both gasped as she settled around him, pelvis pressing against pelvis.
For several moments, they held that position. Her mouth sought his, their tongues mating in a sensual, moist kiss. Then she moaned and began to move. Her hips undulated, up and down, in a rhythm so languid and delicious it stole the breath from his body and stretched his control to the breaking point. He grabbed her bottom and surged underneath her, holding the firm globes in an unyielding grip as he took her with short, sharp lunges. Her breath came and went in sobbing moans as the tremors began deep in her sheath, rippling around his erection.
He gave another hard lunge, unleashing his need, finally allowing the power of their loving to pour through him. She cried out, curling her body around him as her climax broke. Contractions rippled in her soft channel, pulling on him, forcing him to completion. He poured himself into her in a hot wave, the intensity of it a heady rush that wrenched his body with a racking spasm.
After an endless, rapturous moment, she collapsed onto his chest. He pulled her tight against him, cradling her in his arms as she trembled uncontrollably. His heart throbbed with tenderness as she sobbed quietly against him.
“Hush, love,” he finally murmured after his heart had found its normal beat. “All will be well. There's nothing to be afraid of.”
Her breath caught on a hiccup and her slim body flexed with tension. She pushed herself up to meet his gaze. Her bewitching face was flushed from the aftermath of their love and her tears. Her eyes glittered wetly but, as he watched, they cleared and the emotion from their lovemaking was replaced with a cool determination. He recognized that look, and it usually boded no good.
“You're not still worried about O'Neill, are you?” he asked, mystified by her swift emotional retreat. “I told you I'd take care of him.”
She braced her hands on his shoulders and met his gaze head-on, even as the tremors lingered in the place where they were still joined.
“And what about me, John?” Her voice was low and somber. “How will you take care of me?”
Chapter 24
Bathsheba struggled to catch her breath as she stared into John's eyes, all gray smoke and smoldering from their lovemaking. But that desperate blaze of passion had only been a respite, not a resolution. The obstacles standing between them still loomed as high as a Swiss Alp.
Suppressing a ridiculous urge to burst into tears, she slumped wearily against his chest. Making love had been a mistakeâan almost fatal mistake. His touch weakened her, and her yearning for him wove an insidious, dangerous spell. It urged her to capitulate, whispering that all would be well. She knew from bitter experience that nothing could be farther from the truth.
She rested against him, putting off the confrontation for as long as she could. He'd wrapped his arms around her, rocking her gently as if she were a child needing comfort. His loving touch tore a hole in her heart as she thrust away the pretty illusion that safety and security lay within his embrace.
John tipped her chin, forcing her to meet his somber stare.
“I thought we answered that question, my love,” he said. His voice held a lingering husky note that sent a shiver down her spine. “I'll always take care of youâand Rachel. You won't be a countess, but neither will you want for anything. Within reason, of course,” he finished with a sardonic quirk of his lips.
Impatiently, she pushed his hand away. “That's not what I'm talking about.”
His eyes narrowed. “Then what?”
Bathsheba took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “You must promise not to risk your life anymore on these foolhardy expeditions into the stews. It's too dangerous. You could get hurt, or worse.”
All traces of the lover disappeared from his face. Now he simply looked exasperated. “I'll try my best. I assure you, I take no foolhardy risks. But certain hazards can't be avoided. As a doctor's wife, you must learn to trust that I know what I'm about.”
She forced herself to move, sliding from his lap before she did something unforgiveableâlike box his ears for being so pigheaded. She had always understood that John was a man who would not be managed, but his stubborn refusal to see reason would drive her mad with frustration.
Awkwardly, she scrambled to her feet. His hands shot out, steadying her at the waist.
“Well, I can't trust you,” she snapped, yanking her skirts down. “Not unless you stop going into the stews.”
He too started to rearrange his clothing, but he paused, jerking his head up to give her a hard stare.
“Bathsheba, you worry too much. I'm sorry it troubles you, but I have no intention of giving up that kind of important work. I'm sure you'll get used to it sooner than you realize.”
He sounded so bloody arrogant she wanted to scream. God, she was sick of men forcing her to give in, always having to change her lifeâher needsâto accommodate.
“Why can't you give it up?” she demanded as she wrestled her bodice back into place. “You have your growing practice and your duties at the hospital. Ample work for any man, I would think.”
“True, but women like Mrs. Butler need me, Bathsheba.”
“Well, I need you, too,” she snapped.
John's eyebrows rose in subtle disapproval. Bathsheba inwardly winced, then clamped down tight on her frustration. Losing her temper wouldn't make him listen to reason.
“And so does Rachel,” she said, grasping at the fraying strands of her composure. “John, I cannot spend the rest of my life imagining the worst every time you go haring off into that rat's nest. If anything should happen to you . . .”
She swayed, feeling light-headed, as a sudden image of John sprawled bloody and lifeless in a filthy laneway sprang into her head.
“For God's sake,” he muttered, rising to his feet, “sit down before you fall down.”
Distracted by her terrifying vision, Bathsheba allowed him to push her into the club chair.
While she attempted to marshal her wits, John gave her a grim, assessing perusal. Tension radiated from his tall frame, charging the air between them with the menace of a gathering storm. Gradually, a hard control settled over him, casting his features into stonelike relief. Even his eyes seemed to grow pale, as if some harrowing process had stripped away their silvery sheen.
As she gazed up into his face, Bathsheba's throat tightened. Something ugly had slouched into the study with themâsomething that made her want to bolt from the room.
“I had a sister once,” he said in a flat voice. “Her name was Becky, and she knew me better than I knew myself.”
Bathsheba's heart collided painfully with her ribs. In all their weeks together, John had never mentioned a sister. Whatever he had to tell her, it was going to be bad.
“Go on,” she managed to say in a thin voice.
He turned away, moving over to lean against his bookshelves. She sensed that he had retreated to a place far away from his austerely appointed study.
“I was the youngest of three children,” he began. “Two boys and a girl. My brother was considerably older, but Becky and I were only a few years apart. As children, we were inseparable. We roamed the countryside for hours on end. To my mother's everlasting dismay, Becky was something of a hellionâas brave and reckless as any boy. We got into more trouble than you can possibly imagine.”
Bathsheba swallowed around the lump in her throat. Rachel had been much the same as a childâa veritable whirlwindâbefore the fever struck her down.
John's lips curled into a rueful smile. “My mother used to say we were little better than heathens, but Becky had such a sweetness about her. She grew up into a beautiful woman and fell in love with the local squire's son. My parents wanted her to look higher, but Becky refused. She loathed the idea of going to London and having a Season. Everything she wanted, everything she loved, was right at home. Eventually, my parents capitulated, and Becky married her sweetheart. She was more than content with her lot in life.”
John paused and his expression grew dark, his mouth twisting into a disdainful sneer.
“I, on the other hand, couldn't wait to escape that boring country life. After finishing my studies, I moved to London to establish my practice. Becky wanted me to return home, but I couldn't bear the thought of it. The life of a country doctor, doing the same thing, day after day . . .”
He lapsed into silence, gazing at the floor with an almost baffled look.
Bathsheba let him brood for a minute before prompting him to continue. “Then what happened?”
He lifted his head, his gaze clouded with dark and bitter memories.
“Six months after I moved to London, Becky became pregnant. From the beginning, she had a difficult pregnancy. More than once I intended to go north to see her, but the demands of establishing my practice kept me too busy.” He hesitated, casting a hooded glance her way before continuing, “And other things distracted me, as well.”
A dull red glazed his cheekbones. Suddenly, she understood. There had been a woman involved, one who had enthralled himâso much that he had neglected his own sister. With a stab of jealousy, Bathsheba wondered if John had loved that woman more than he loved her. She found herself hating that shadowy rival for making him forget the people who loved and needed him most.
A jolt of dismay took her breath and cramped her stomach. Was she not doing much the same thing? Trying to convince him to give up what he wanted to doâfor her?
Hot tears welled in her eyes but she blinked them back and focused on John. He studied her with a narrowed, intent gaze. She flushed, certain he could read every guilt-ridden thought spinning through her brain.
“Do you want to hear the rest?” he asked softly.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
“Becky wrote to me several times, asking me to visit,” he continued in a flat voice. “Finally my mother wrote, all but ordering me to return home. This time I did go, but the weather and the roads were against me. By the time I got there, Becky was near death. She had gone into labor and struggled for two agonizing days to deliver twins. Neither of the infants survived, and my sister died a few hours after I arrived home.”
Bathsheba pressed a hand to her heart. Sweat prickled along her brow.
“I'm so sorry,” she whispered.
John gave her an absent nod, then began to prowl the confines of the small room. His fingers brushed the leatherspined books on neatly arranged shelves.
“My mother blamed me, although she never said a word to that effect. Father didn'tâhe always thought the best of me. But Becky's husband . . .”
He came to a halt in front of her. His shoulders hunched under the weight of a guilt he couldn't, or wouldn't, relinquish. Bathsheba understood because she lived with the same kind of useless emotion every day. But that kind of guilt never fixed or changed anything. John didn't deserve to be punished any longer for his sister's tragic death, and Bathsheba would be damned if she let him throw everything awayâincluding their only chance for happinessâon a well-meaning but dangerous and ultimately foolish quest for redemption.
She took a deep, calming breath. Now she understood how much she needed him in her life, more than anything that had ever come before. She needed him to love her, and to care for her and Rachel. It had taken her days to acknowledge what should have been clear long agoâhe belonged to her as surely as she belonged to him. And she wouldn't give him up without a fight.
“John, you can't know that you would have been able to save your sister,” she said in a quiet voice. “Even if you had arrived in time, the outcome might well have been the same.”
He shrugged, almost as if he didn't care. Tendrils of icy panic wrapped around her throat. He was already slipping away from her.
“I know you think you failed her,” she continued, fighting to keep the desperation from her voice, “but you've made up for it a thousand times over. The work you do at Bart's, your plans for a new wing at the hospital. You already do so much. No one could ask more of you.”
He met her gaze, and despair hollowed out her chest. His clear eyes, hard as flint, were full of a determination so obsessive that she knew she had little hope of winning him to her side.
“No, Bathsheba,” he said. “All that is still not enough. I made a promise on my sister's grave that I would help those who most needed it. I intend to keep that promise.”
She gaped at him. “A promise to a dead woman is more important to you than I am? I can't believe your sister would want you to ruin your life like this.”
He jerked back as if she had slapped him, and then anger flared in his eyes. She felt sick that she could utter such cruel words, but if he didn't come to his senses they were lost. His work would always come between them, eventually destroying everything, including him.
“I made the promise to myself,” he ground out in a harsh voice. “But if Becky were alive she would never forgive me for turning my back on those who needed me.”
“You mean you could never forgive yourself for not being able to save her,” she retorted.
His eyes burned, but his face grew as cold as a stranger's. After a searching glance that swept her from head to toe, he turned away. Bathsheba sprang up, grabbing his arm with frantic haste.
“John, how can you know what your sister truly wanted? Do you really think she would be happy knowing you risked your life every day going into the rookeries? Would she want you to endanger your practice, your position at the hospital?”
He grimaced, but some of the anger drained from his face. Gently, he pried her hand from the fabric of his sleeve, holding her cold fingers in a comforting grip.
“Bathsheba,” he said patiently, “you must understandâ”
“I can't,” she choked out. “But I do understand that your sister must have loved you very much. She would have wanted you to be happy, and not throw your life away because of guilt and some self-destructive promise you made to yourself.”
He grasped her shoulders, gazing into her eyes. Tension and determination etched sharp angles into the contours of his face. Still, he kept his voice low and patient, and his hands drifted across her collarbone in a soothing stroke.
“Becky would want me to do what was right. After you recover from the fright you had today, you will, too. Bathsheba, you're stronger than you think you are. You can do this. For me, and for all those women who have no one else.”
Shame twisted in her gut, giving her the strength to wrench away from his loose grasp.
“No, I'm not. You're a fool to think I am. And, in case you've forgotten, I have a sister, too. One you promised to support and care for, if we were to marry. What would I doâwhat would Rachel doâif anything were to happen to you? We would be penniless, with no one to support us.”
John swore under his breath, shaking his head with frustration.
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