The Reluctant Countess (12 page)

“I wonder if I may take your companion for a few minutes, Countess. I fear I have a weighty horse issue that Lord Hanley and I must have clarified immediately.”

Lord Tilton preened, obviously pleased that he alone had been chosen as the authority on horse matters. Patting her hand he said, “I will be but a few minutes, my dear.”

Sophie stiffened at his endearment, then nodded, eager for him to leave her side if only for a moment. Looking around, she wondered where the lemonade was; perhaps it would be better if she just returned to Letty …

“This way.”

Sophie had no time to pull free when Lord Coulter took her arm as he moved past. His grip, though not painful, was unrelenting when she tried to tug free. Almost running to keep pace with him, she tried to smile at the few guests who caught her eye.

“My lord, release me at once!”

Ignoring Sophie’s words, Patrick kept walking until he noted a small alcove ahead. Looking behind, he saw that no other guests seemed to have moved this way, so he dragged her inside, then releasing her, he reached up and drew the thick curtains shut behind them.

Sophie kept walking backward until she felt the solidness of a wall. The curtains had darkened the small space and only a faint strip of light allowed her to see. She watched Lord Coulter move closer, dark eyes intent. Like a large predatory beast, he looked menacing and dangerous. He might appear an elegantly dressed gentleman, but the look in his eyes told her he was angry, very angry she realized as something twitched in his jaw, but there was something else in the depths, something she could not define.

Sophie’s pulse began to gallop. Why did he not speak? She could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing and it seemed so loud in the small space.

“I … I must go back before L-Letty misses me.” Why could she not find the countess when he was near? Draw on all that haughty indifference she used on others?

Lifting one hand he cupped her cheek, forcing her to look at him.

“I never intended to hurt you, Sophie. You are a lady and deserve my respect, I showed you none of that today and for that I will be eternally sorry.”

She had not expected those words, yet she heard the sincerity behind them.

“Whose child is Timothy?”

“Mine!”

She flashed him a ferocious glare and he had no doubt she would protect Timmy with her life if need be. Patrick admired that; not many men of his acquaintance expressed such loyalty.

Her beauty was undeniable, yet there was more to this attraction they shared than mere beauty. She touched him, deep inside his soul. Something about this woman made him feel, made him crave, and Patrick had long since given up hope of experiencing either of these emotions.

The ivory satin dress was a confection that floated over her body, caressing her breasts and falling in soft waves to the floor. Her hair, which Patrick knew was a long mass of silken curls, was bundled high, with several sparkling clips and ribbons holding it in place. She looked soft, beguiling, and Patrick wanted to taste her again, pull her close and drink from her lips, but he would not. His anger at himself and her lies still boiled in his stomach.

“No, Sophie, he cannot be yours.” Patrick moved closer so his body brushed hers.

“Please, I beg of you, my lord, question me no further,” Sophie whispered.

“You ask the impossible, Sophie. You were a virgin and I took you ruthlessly because I believed you to be a widow.”

“I-I have no wish to d-discuss what took place earlier t-today.” Sophie struggled to draw in a breath with him so close. She tried to break free, tried to leave, but he had her trapped. “Pl-please let me go.”

Patrick’s eyes raked her pale features, unrelenting as he forced himself to ignore her pleas.

“What secrets lie beneath that beautiful exterior, Countess? I will unearth each and every one,” he vowed, then he lowered his head. Patrick pushed his anger aside and lost himself in the feel of her lips and body against his. Sliding his arms down the satin length of her back, he pulled her closer.

Sophie resisted, tried to break free, but he just held her tighter.

Patrick had visions of her pale satin skin and how she had felt as he plunged into her slick heat, and his body was soon aroused to the point of pain.

Sophie began to feel the sensual pull she had experienced earlier in his carriage. It suffused her body as his lips and hands began to stroke her. She had to fight it, fight him. Breaking the kiss, she turned her head to one side.

“Let me go, Patrick.”

“Never,” he vowed, kissing her neck.

Panic that they would be discovered had Sophie struggling for release. She could not give in to the feelings his lips and hands were creating within her.

“Sophie,” Patrick groaned as her attempts to break free pushed their bodies closer together.

Desperate now, Sophie used a trick she had learned many years ago. Lifting her knee she jammed it straight into his groin. The earl released her and stumbled backward. Now free, she pushed past him..

“P-please, Lord Coulter, do not come near me again. I implore you for your safety as much as my own.” Pushing the curtains aside, Sophie slipped away.

* * *

Stephen glared at Patrick as he sat down twenty minutes later.

“You owe both Joseph and me your first firstborn child, Colt. Tilton is a crashing windbag who now believes we are in his confidences.”

Patrick just grunted, as both his body and his pride were still severely wounded.

Joseph nodded, looking morose. “He even asked us to hunt with him.” He shuddered.

“I hope she was worth it,” Stephen spat and then glared at his mother as she shushed him from her box.

Patrick looked to where Sophie sat. Once again, Tilton appeared to be leaning all over her. He wanted to shake her till her teeth rattled. The little vixen; what did she mean by kneeing him in the groin? At least he knew she could protect herself. Now that the blinding pain was easing, he almost felt a small measure of pride for the way she had stopped him. Certainly he would not have ceased for anything less than a threat to his manhood, and that thought worried him most of all. Only with her could he completely lose control of himself.

“Please, Lord Coulter, do not come near me again. I implore you for your safety as much as my own.”

Patrick replayed her words in his head, now that he could once again think clearly. Safety? Was she in some sort of danger? It was about time he did some investigating into his countess. Thinking of Sophie as
his
countess did not frighten him as much as it should have; in fact, it filled him with warmth.

* * *

The blackmailer’s next package arrived the following day. It came while Sophie walked in the park with Timmy; a small scruffy boy ran up and thrust it at her, then raced away before she could question him. Oblivious to the looks from her maid and Timmy, Sophie’s knees went weak and she collapsed onto the grass at her feet.

“Are you well, my lady?”

Sophie nodded to Jenny, then waved her hand about. “Just a little light-headed all of a sudden, Jenny. Please take Timmy to see the ducks and I will join you shortly.”

“We will walk to the flowers, my lady, just a few feet away,” Jenny said, looking uncertain. Her mistress’s face had gone the color of milk. At least from there she could watch over the countess. Taking Timmy’s small pudgy hand in one of hers, she threw the countess one last concerned look and walked away.

Sophie lowered her eyes to the package that now rested in her lap. She knew it was from the blackmailer; the writing was the same. With fingers that shook, she opened it and then had to bite her lip to stop from crying out as she pulled Timmy’s little baby bonnet from the paper. The note said,
“I thought you might like this as a memento, Miss Beams.”

“I know it’s you Jack Spode,” Sophie whispered, burying her face in the soft gray wool. She had made this for Timmy and could still see his little face smiling up at her in it. Why did he not ask for money? Why was he waiting? Sophie felt trapped. She wanted desperately to run to Monmouth and hide, but could come up with no reason to get Letty to let her leave London. If she told her about the letter, Letty would do everything she could to find the blackmailer and Sophie was terrified of getting her involved. If it was Jack Spode, he would not hesitate to harm Letty or Timmy. No, her only course of action was to wait until the blackmailer declared his hand, and then she would decide what steps to take.

She wished for someone to share this burden with and a pair of dark, all-seeing eyes slipped into her head, but she pushed them aside. After how shamefully she had behaved when last they met, Sophie doubted Lord Coulter would speak to her again. She winced as she remembered his groan when she had lifted her knee into his groin. No, confiding in the earl was something she would never do.

* * *

Patrick watched as the grooms led the matching blacks out of their stall. He had one shoulder propped on a wall and appeared relaxed. To anyone looking, he was merely enjoying the male environment of equine smells mingled with the scent of excitement that was always on offer at
Tattersalls. His eyes, however, were another story entirely—they were alive with the fire that always heated his blood before he made an acquisition. After inspecting the pair upon his arrival, he had known they would be an excellent investment.

“Do you know what that bloody Timpkins just said?” growled Stephen as he joined Patrick on his wall.

“Any chance you can hold your tongue for five minutes?” Patrick said as he felt his heartbeat increase when the first bid was called. The tougher the haggling, the more he liked it.

“He inferred that she had thrown herself at his feet, and that she was …”

Ignoring Stephen, Patrick nodded his head to indicate his interest; out of the corner of his eye, he could see two other men bidding..

“A woman of loose morals, and he, the pious little bastard …”

Patrick nodded again. “Shut up!” he said softly to Stephen, who was rabbiting on about Timpkins and some woman.

“Anyone can see she is hardly that.” Stephen ignored the warning and continued on with his story. “ ’Tis my belief she tweaked his pride and rebuffed him, but of course the others will believe his word and the story will be bigger than Lady Toon’s knickers before sunset.”

Patrick always fixed a purchase price in his head and never advanced beyond that.

“Poor countess, the woman is faced with enough …”

“What!”

Stephen hid his smile as Patrick roared in his ear.

“Speak, man.” Patrick said, this time in the soft voice that was far more threatening.

“I say,” Stephen said, looking at the horses that were being led around the pen before him. “Aren’t those the ones you wanted?”

“Sold! Congratulations your grace.”

Patrick ground his teeth as he watched the Duke of St. Brides wave at him with a huge smile on his face. Spitting out a chorus of oaths, he then pinned Stephen with a stare that would have felled a lesser man. “What about the countess?” he gritted out.

“Timpkins was surrounded by his usual pack of mealymouthed cronies,” Stephen said, looking suddenly very serious, which instantly put Patrick on alert. Stephen never looked serious about anything.

“He said that your countess had made several very suggestive remarks to him about entertaining him in her rooms, and then commented on your closeness to her over the last few weeks. However a reliable source told me that it was he who approached her and that she turned him down, and that is why he is blackening her name with this foul story.”

“Is he still here?” Patrick asked, looking over the groups of men still attending the horse sales.

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

To Stephen’s mind, Patrick was most dangerous when he was still. When he hissed or growled out foul language, then he was mildly angry, but when he was quiet it was a very bad sign.

“Perhaps it would be prudent to wait before seeing him.”

“You know me better than that,” Patrick said as he started striding away from Stephen.

Stephen followed, beginning to wonder if he should have kept his large mouth shut and hoping like hell that Timpkins had left the sales.

* * *

Lord Timpkins, Timpy to his intimates, was happiest when he was surrounded by his cronies and boasting about his latest feats. He was not a handsome man; passable, but not handsome. Perhaps he was a trifle short in the leg and round in the shoulders, and one of his past mistresses said he had a weak chin—after he had given her a very nice parting gift of a ruby necklace—yet on this beautiful sunny day he could find no fault in his world. He was wearing his favorite jacket of pale salmon, which worked well with his complexion. His friends were still humming over his tidbits about the countess and soon they would retire to their club for a long luncheon.

“I say, is that Coulter coming this way?”

Timpkins looked up and straight into the expressionless features of one of the most handsome and powerful members of the ton. He felt a momentary qualm at the thought that both Coulter and Lord
Sumner were coming his way. Of course that was not likely, he thought bitterly; they never spoke with him.

“Timpkins!” Patrick growled.

“I say, Coulter, steady old man, anyone would think you were angry with old Timpy,” said Mr. Tweetie, one of Timpkins’s friends. Then he brayed loudly and fluttered his hands in a nervous gesture that the earl completely ignored.

“N-not purchasing today, my lord?” Timpkins said and was dismayed to notice his voice had risen a couple of octaves.

Stephen muffled his laughter at the look of panic that Timpkins now wore on his chubby face. Patrick, however, was far from laughing; in fact, he had the look of someone who wanted to have a good milling.

“Your gossip to date, Timpkins, has never bothered me. It is something done by bored men who have little or nothing to recommend them to either their peers or women.”

Stephen groaned as a round of horrified gasps greeted Patrick’s words. By sunset everyone would be gossiping about the altercation between Timpkins and Patrick.