The Reluctant Countess (22 page)

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

They drove in silence for a short time, and then Sophie said what had been plaguing her since the beginning of the journey.

“I am sorry for my behavior at the Shelton ball. I was wrong to speak to you in that way, my lord, and in such a public place. I have no excuse for my actions, so please forgive me.”

“I am as much to blame, I had no right to tease you, Sophie. I would ask you to also accept my apology.”

She nodded but said nothing further. Something hung in the air between them, but it remained unsaid … for now.

“Has there been any further contact from Spode?”

“Not as yet.” Sophie silently prayed it would stay that way, yet doubted it would.

“You will tell me instantly if he contacts you, in any form, Sophie. I will have your word on this,” Patrick said in the voice that meant he was deadly serious.

“I promise.”

Patrick laughed at Sophie’s grudging acceptance, but remained otherwise silent, content to drive with his beautiful companion at his side.

“I can never thank you enough for what you did that night, my lord. My brother is very special to me and I love him very much.”

“We will keep him safe, sweetheart, I promise.”

One of Sophie’s hands was briefly covered by his and she felt the contact as though it were a caress. Placing his hand back on the reins, he once again concentrated on driving his horses, which left her time to study him.

His dress was never flamboyant like some, but it was right for him. The deep blue jacket stretched across his shoulders, the buff of his breeches molded his muscular thighs, and dark curls ruffled in the wind under the brim of his hat.
I love him! Dear lord I love him
, she thought, clutching her chest as a lump formed. It hit her like a physical pain, and Sophie tried to ease a breath past the sudden restriction blocking her throat.

“What’s wrong?” Patrick noticed her hands were suddenly clenched against her body.

“A small discomfort, my lord, perhaps the toast I had for breakfast.” Sophie turned away to watch the passing scenery. How was it possible to feel this fierce uncontrollable emotion in such a short time?

She was lying. Patrick had watched her enough to know that particular expression, but he kept quiet and concentrated on driving.

They had been traveling for some time now and as Sophie had been deep in thought, she did not instantly realize they were not entering any of the usual parks.

“Where are we going, my lord?”

“You’ll see, Sophie,” he said, then smiled at her. “Relax, my sweet,” he added as she gripped her hands together.

“I should not have left Timmy again so soon.” She turned to face him and Patrick could see the worry in her eyes.

“He is safe, Sophie. I still have men stationed outside your house keeping watch.”

Sophie relaxed at his words; Timmy would be safe with so many people watching him. Looking around with interest as Patrick pulled the horses to a walk some thirty minutes later, she noticed they were outside a small neat cottage, behind which stood several large outbuildings.

Maneuvering the carriage to a halt out front, Patrick handed the reins to a young man who came to meet them. Jumping down, he came around to lift Sophie down. Her eyes were filled with questions, but he remained silent as he led her down the side of the house.

“My lord?” Sophie said in a questioning tone as they followed a tiny path between neat rows of flowers and a well-tended vegetable garden.

“Soon, Sophie.” Patrick took one of her gloved hands and led her into the first of the outbuildings.

A small elderly man with hunched shoulders and tufts of soft gray hair behind each ear came to greet them.

“Mr. Eroll,” Patrick said, shaking the man’s hand.

“Lord Coulter,” Mr. Eroll returned, bobbing his head several times in acknowledgment.

“This is the Countess of Monmouth,” Patrick said, introducing Sophie.

“My lady, it is a pleasure to have you here.” Mr. Eroll’s deep bow had Sophie worrying that he might topple over.

“It is a pleasure to be here, Mr. Eroll,” Sophie said quickly, so he would straighten up. She looked at Patrick for clarification of just where
here
was. He, however, just smiled that wicked smile and winked at her but remained silent.

“Please take the countess through, Lord Coulter, and if you need any assistance do not hesitate to call for me.” Mr. Eroll indicated a door at the end of the room.

Bemused, Sophie allowed Patrick to lead her to the door and then through it. Once inside she started to question him further, but the words fell from her lips as she looked around the room.

“Dear lord!” Doll’s houses were everywhere—rows and rows of them. And dolls—blond, brunette, and red-haired, boys and girls. It was a wonderland, and Sophie could not take it all in.

“I … why are we here?”

She was trying to look at him, but her eyes kept straying to the collection before her. Sophie made a valiant attempt to hide her excitement, but Patrick could see it in her eyes.

“Sophie, go and look at the dolls.”

She looked at him and then the dolls. Immediately, she hurried to the first table.

Patrick leaned against the wall and watched Sophie as she walked and touched and smiled her way around the room. She picked up each doll and studied every detail before moving to the next. It was a glimpse into the child Sophie could have been, and the woman she would become when she was free to laugh and enjoy life. Patrick wanted to be the one to give her that joy. He wanted her for his wife, wanted to take her to bed each night and hold her till dawn broke, then brush all those glorious curls aside and kiss her awake. He wanted to sit with her and have conversations and enjoy her teasing and humor. Christ, he just wanted her. When he lost sight of her, Patrick moved away from the wall to walk down one of the aisles. She was headfirst in a box, her bonnet and gloves lying beside her, and he was presented with a lovely view of her sweet little bottom.

“Found something interesting, Countess?”

Startled, Sophie banged her head standing up, then fell backward into a pair of strong familiar arms. A deep chuckle rumbled in her ear as the arms righted and then turned her.

She could not help her response, it was honest and impulsive. Rising to her toes, Sophie threw her arms around Patrick’s neck and kissed him.

“Patrick, this is the most wonderful place I have ever seen!”

“It has its merits,” Patrick said, pulling her close again and taking control of the kiss. He kissed her thoroughly, like a marauder he possessed her mouth, stroking the inside with his tongue, ravishing her lips until she was limp against his chest. Only then did he soften the kiss.

“Oh my,” Sophie sighed as she slumped against him.

“Marry me, Sophie,” Patrick said into her hair as he ran his hands slowly down her back. “Come live with me and be my wife,” he added. “So I can kiss your delectable body whenever I want, swallow your little cries, and hold you while you sleep.”

Sophie stiffened as his words finally penetrated the sensual fog he had wrapped her in. Pulling from his arms, she held his gaze.

“How can you want to marry me, a servant who has lied to everyone?” Sophie whispered, taking a step back as Patrick reached for her again.

“I care nothing for your birth and your past is just that, Sophie, history,” Patrick said, mirroring her movements with his own.

“B-but what if they find out?” Sophie said as she backed into a table.

“By they, I assume you mean society?”

Sophie nodded.

“You are a countess, I am an earl. I think it would take a brave person to come up against us, sweetheart.”

“Why?” Sophie questioned as Patrick pinned her to the table with his thighs.

He lifted one hand and cupped her cheek; then he looked into her eyes for several seconds, holding the soft green depths, willing her to see what he had not said.

“I want you, Sophie, Countess of Monmouth, more than any who came before you.” He lowered his head until their eyes were level. “There will be no other for me, love, just you,” he said, closing the gap to brush her lips in a brief kiss.

“Say yes, Sophie,” Patrick said, with another brush of his lips.

“T-Timmy?”

“He lives with us,” Patrick stated as he kissed her again.

“I … I …”

Lifting her onto the bench, he stepped between her thighs.

“Patrick! Mr. Errol?”

“Will not step foot inside that door until I call him,” Patrick said with his lips pressed to her neck.

“We … dear lord.”

He smiled against her neck as she sighed. Opening her jacket, he lavished hot openmouthed kisses on the tops of her breasts.

“We will have this, my sweet siren, whenever we want it.”

“Yes,” Sophie said, running her fingers through his hair.

“Yes, Patrick, I will marry you,” he said returning to her lips. “Say it Sophie.”

“Yes, Patrick, I will marry you.”

* * *

Sophie sat in the carriage with her new doll on her lap and a smart blue doll’s house with white trim sitting at her feet. Her head reeled as she acknowledged what she had just done. She had agreed to marry the Earl of Coulter.

“Don’t think, Sophie.” Patrick could see the small crease between her eyes as she frowned.

“How did you know about my … ah …,” Sophie said, wanting to ask but feeling silly.

“Love of dolls and their lodgings?” Patrick gave her a wide smile that made Sophie’s toes curl inside their shoes.

“At Lord and Lady Shubert’s garden party, I overhead you discussing Lillia and Rory,” Patrick supplied.

“Oh dear; you must find my fondness for dolls rather childish,” Sophie said, feeling self-conscious.

“Actually no, I find it very sweet and completely understandable, considering your upbringing.”

“It is not that I wish to play dolls precisely, it is that I love to look at them. The craftsmanship is superb and they make me smile.” Sophie seemed to be always blushing in his company. “I admire them as others would fine works of art,” she added, then bit her lip to stop herself from babbling.

“I had a conversation with Miss Pette several nights ago that I found very enlightening.”

“Since when have you taken to talking with the wallflowers?” Sophie said, now looking skeptical and by no means intending it as an insult to her friend.

“She is hardly that now, Sophie, and I’ll have you know, my sweet, that I have often danced with Miss Pette,” Patrick said, looking smug. “She is a very intelligent young lady.”

“That is a gross untruth, Lord Coulter,” Sophie scoffed. “Not that Amelia is anything but intelligent, but I doubt your sincerity, sir.”

Patrick looked offended, which Sophie didn’t buy for one second.

“All right, I started speaking to her when I realized you had struck up a friendship with her.” Patrick looked like a small boy who had been caught doing something wicked as he reluctantly admitted the truth.

Sophie laughed and Patrick’s lips tilted as he listened to the sweet sound.

“It will be all right, Sophie, just trust me,” Patrick said quietly, as he watched the smile fall from her lips once she started thinking again.

“I … I think you should marry someone else,” Sophie blurted out as the carriage wound its way back through the streets of London. She needed to say the words, give him a chance to pull back from her.

“I do not want to marry anyone else,” Patrick said politely, as he directed his curricle around a truck loaded with furniture. “And as you have already agreed to marry me I won’t let you go back on your word now.”

“But …”

“Enough, Sophie, I will marry you. We will raise our children together, then you will grow old gracefully and I will turn mean and crotchety,” Patrick added, but all Sophie heard was
“raise our children.”

“Children,” she breathed, turning to look at him in wonder.

“Timmy will soon be surrounded by annoying siblings,” Patrick said, realizing that he actually wanted children. They were not something he had given much thought to until now. Of course, he had known he would need to have one as an heir, but was uncertain what sort of father he would be. Now however, with Sophie, he was looking forward to the prospect, especially the act of begetting one.

“We will go to Lady Carstairs now and inform her of our decision,” Patrick said, pulling up before her town house. Jumping down, he came to Sophie’s side and lifted her to the ground and then taking her hand he led her into the house.

Clutching her doll Sophie followed unresisting, her mind still on the vision of children, Patrick’s children.

“Where is Lady Carstairs?” Patrick questioned the butler who had materialized before them.

“In the parlor, my lord.”

“Oh … I do not think that we should bother Letty at this moment,” Sophie said, suddenly aware of her surroundings and just how caught up in the daydream she had become.

“Yes,” Patrick said softly, still looking at the butler, “we will bother her now.”

“If you will follow me, my lord,” Phelps said, shooting the countess a concerned look. Surely she knew where the parlor was?

“And would you please have the doll’s house in my carriage taken up to the countess’s room,” Patrick added.

“At once, my lord.”

“Ah … Patrick, I do …”

“Trust me, Sophie,” Patrick said as he followed the very upright form of Lady Carstairs’s butler.

“I do not think you have thought this through, my lord,” Sophie persisted. She had to speak, had to try to make him see reason. Surely Letty would understand? She would explain to the earl why a match between them was not beneficial to him. The problem was, Sophie realized, that she wanted to marry him quite desperately. She loved everything he made her feel—protected, beautiful, safe, and so much more. Oh good lord, Sophie thought, tripping over her feet, she loved him way too much. Surely it was not good to give someone that much power over you?

Patrick did not bother answering Sophie; he simply steadied her and walked into the parlor still towing her behind him.

“Excuse our rude interruption, Lady Carstairs.” Patrick gently pushed Sophie into a chair, then bowed before Letty.