Captain and Countess Page 2

  Miss Ellsford glanced in that direction, and her face lit up. “Oh, I do.”

  “I’m sure Captain Northcross will excuse you.”

  He’d rather excuse himself, and he would the moment the young lady left them. But when she scampered off after her friends, Lady Sarah touched his hand. She used only her index finger, but the command was clear. He was not to budge from the spot.

  “Home from India permanently?” she asked.

  “With the grace of God, I’m done with all that.”

  He wasn’t, of course, and likely he’d never be done with India completely. The place had enchanted him—drawn him in until he’d nearly become a native himself, turning brown from the sun and learning the native language. His spice company had made him rich and continued to do so. None of that would help him fit in with polite society, so he’d made sure no one would find out about it.

  “You’ll be looking for a wife,” Sarah said. “You and Harriett would suit quite well, I think.”

  Despite his brother’s reputation, most people would consider him son-in-law material because of his wealth. Sarah had something else in mind.

  “I wouldn’t want my child to live with the viscount,” she said. “He’s a dear, but it isn’t strictly safe around him, is it?”

  “Not strictly.”

  “You and Harriett could stay at Deauville Hall until you had your own house built.”

  “Why, yes. Think of the economy,” he said. “I could deflower your daughter and cuckold your husband without leaving the house.”

  She glared at him, her eyes narrowing. “I ought to slap you.”

  “You should have slapped me the first time I kissed you behind your family’s chapel,” he said. “But you didn’t.”

  “You’ll keep that to yourself.”

  “I don’t gossip about my friends.” He put a little extra emphasis on the last word so that she knew what kind of friends he meant. After ending his relationship with the mistress he’d left behind in India, he didn’t have any such friends, and he’d limit himself to his fiancée and wife as soon as he had one. But she needed to know she had no claim on his affections.

  Having made that clear, he lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  She turned, giving him her shoulder as he made his retreat. Confrontations always made him thirsty, so he headed off to look for something stronger than the punch. Peter had gotten there ahead of him and poured him a generous tumbler of Irish whiskey. Excellent stuff, it warmed his throat going down, but he stopped at little more than a sip.

  “Close call with Lady Deauville, eh?” Peter said.

  “I shouldn’t have told you about that.”

  “Soldiers tell each other everything.”

  He’d lied to her just now about keeping their affair strictly secret, but then, her own behavior could hardly be called honest. He, at least, hadn’t been cheating on a spouse.

  “Tried to marry you off to her daughter, did she?” Peter asked.

  “I declined.”

  “How many other mothers will you have to disappoint for the same reason?”

  Jason took a rather larger drink of spirits. “A few.”

  Peter laughed, a bit too loudly. “Six? Ten?”

  “Keep your voice down.”

  Peter leaned toward him. “Twenty?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I had no idea, old man.”

  “I can’t very well dash around the countryside ruining young girls, can I?”

  “And yet, we all have needs, don’t we?” Peter lifted his glass in a toast. “Here’s to widows and adventurous wives.”

  “Speaking of widows, do you know a Lady Rushford?” Jason asked.

  “Haven’t met her personally, but I’ve learned a great deal about her tonight.” Instead of sharing whatever information he had, Peter took a drink of his whiskey and stared out over the dancers. He had an unfortunate tendency to shut up tighter than a miser’s purse when he knew something interesting, enjoying all the attention he got when others begged him to share. Jason had done much of that begging over the years before he decided not to humor the fellow any longer. So he followed suit, sipping his own liquor and gazing blankly in front of him.

  “Most of the people I’ve spoken to this evening are hungry for someone who hasn’t heard the latest stories,” Peter said after a bit. “They made sure I heard every detail.”

  “Very well, man. Out with it.”

  Peter chuckled softly. “Lady Rushford’s an odd little creature, and quite notorious.”

  “She ought to attract a good deal of attention, then,” Jason answered.

  His friend arched an eyebrow. “Not yours?”

  “I’m going to find myself a fiancée and reform my rakish ways.”

  Peter laughed outright. “By Jove, I’d like to see that.”

  “I will.” Other people’s marriages were their own business, but he had no desire to make some poor woman miserable by marrying her and then wandering into bedrooms where he didn’t belong. Of course, he’d have to find the right wife, and all the young ladies were no doubt like Harriett Ellsford—innocent to the point of insipid. He’d have to train whomever he chose to the joys of the flesh. A marriage like that was a damned inconvenience, but he’d do it to make his sister happy.

  “You wouldn’t get very far with her anyway,” Peter said. “She never strayed from her husband when he was alive and hasn’t taken a lover since he died.”

  “Really?”

  “Several have tried,” Peter said. “Including that old sot she just helped out of here.”

  “Whitby.”

  “The man’s been after her for years, or so everyone told me.”

  That shouldn’t have made him angry. He didn’t know either of them. But suddenly, the man’s slouching all over her took on more meaning besides merely being drunk. The bastard might have been pawing her. Despite her small stature, one had to notice her figure. Plush in all the right places, she invited admiration, not lechery.

  “We could make a bet, you and I,” Peter said. “Which one of us can win her first.”

  “I won’t. And you stay away from her, too.”

  “Touched a nerve, did I?” Peter smiled and finished his whiskey.

  “I told you I’m not interested.”

  “Then you won’t want to know why the lady is notorious.”

  “You’re being exceptionally tedious tonight.”

  “Right.” Peter handed his glass to a passing footman. “I think I’ll go find a dancing partner.”

  Jason caught his arm, holding his friend much as Sarah had restrained him a few minutes earlier.

  “Lady Rushford does exactly as she pleases,” Peter said. “And she’s pleased to ride and shoot. She’s also fond of strong drink on occasion and her language . . . well, she says whatever she pleases, too.”

  She did have a quick wit and a direct manner of speech. He’d enjoyed both enough to suggest to her that he’d be pursuing her. She hadn’t taken that seriously and, unfortunately, neither could he now that he’d decided to become a paragon of virtue.

  “In short, she’s a man’s man,” Peter concluded. “Except that she’s a woman.”

  “And very much in a woman’s body.” One that had certainly gotten his attention.

  “I thought you’d notice,” Peter said.

  Jason sighed. “Another time I might have been free to.”

  “You’re that set on getting a wife?”

  “Not just a wife, but the right one.”

  “In God’s name, why?” Peter asked.

  “I’m doing it for Lily.”

  “Your sister?” Peter’s brow went up.

  “Exactly. I’m going to get her a duke.”

  Chapter Two

  When Bess arrived home, she found Upton asleep in a chair in the entryway of her town house. At his age, his bones would complain of both the cold and his postur
e for most of the next day. She roused him with a hand on his shoulder.

  He jumped awake and rose. “Welcome home, my lady.”

  “I told you to go to bed at a decent hour,” he said. “I’m capable of letting myself in.”

  “I do worry when you’re out late alone,” the butler answered. “His lordship would never have approved.”

  “His lordship was as fond of fun as I am. He wouldn’t have wanted me to crawl into the casket with him.”

  Upton’s eyes widened in horror at the suggestion. “Certainly not.”

  “Please don’t feel chastised. I appreciate your concern. I only wish you had more for yourself.”

  “His lordship instructed me to take care of you, and so I shall.”

  Dear Bert. He’d left Upton a large gift of money along with those instructions. He’d also bequeathed her a handsome sum as well as all the assets she’d brought to the marriage. His heir—a nephew and now the current earl—was good enough not to contest the will and granted her anything she wanted. He did, after all, win the estate in the bargain. Still, others wouldn’t have been so generous.

  As a result, she had more money than any one person could possibly use and a devoted family retainer to cluck over her. All these dear men. If only she had a man who excited her.

  Which brought her right back to a certain pair of green eyes. But enough of that.

  “I’m home now, safely. Please do go to bed,” she said.

  “I’ll only check the locks once more and be off,” Upton said.

  She climbed the stairs, yawning a bit herself. She never kept such ungodly hours in the country but found her bed early so that she could ride at dawn, long before the rest of the house began their day. Parties were fun from time to time—a chance to play cards and scandalize people with her behavior. London would have something to talk about for weeks after she finished her business and went back to Carlton House.

  As she walked the corridor toward her room, she caught a beam of light from under Anna’s door. She went to it and rapped against the wood. “I hope you’re alone in there.”

  Laughter greeted her. “Come in.”

  By rights, Anna ought to have a man with her, preferably a husband. Tall where Bess was short, slender where Bess was plump, Anna was a true beauty and would have turned many a head if she’d come from the right sort of family. She made quite a picture by the light of a candelabra as she sat at a table with her blonde hair loose down her back. An open book lay in front of her.

  “You should read by daylight and not ruin your eyesight,” Bess said.

  “I started one of my new novels and became engrossed.”

  “What’s this one?”

  Anna closed the book and studied the spine. “The Terror of Gottburg Pass.”

  Bess went to the bed and sat down. “Have you discovered what the terror is yet?”

  “Some horrid creature that lures young girls to a dark castle where doors creak and things go bump in the night.”

  “It sounds delicious.”

  Anna tapped her lips with a graceful finger. “I’m wondering. Should we make our next villain a vampyre?”

  “Jack Sterling doesn’t write vampyres,” Bess answered.

  “I know, but I’m getting tired of peg-legged pirates and highwaymen.”

  “But you do pirates so well.”

  “Arrr, me hearties. Tie the lass to the bulkhead until she submits,” Anna said. She did do pirates remarkably well.

  Bess brought the back of her hand to her forehead and pretended a swoon. “Nay, you foul creature. I will never submit.”

  Anna rose and loomed over Bess. “Now, my pretty, I have ways to break your spirit.”

  Bess stared up at her friend, who was now squinting in an attempt to appear evil, and burst out laughing. Anna joined her and sat down next to her.

  “Do you suppose any of the young ladies who read our novels have any idea what Foul Walter’s demanding Nell submit to?”

  “Not a one, I’m sure. Nor could any guess what his methods for breaking her spirit might be.”

  “I’d say he tickles her,” Anna said.

  “A pirate tickling her?”

  “Absolutely. Until she begs for mercy.”

  “Good Lord,” Bess said. “I’ll let you write that part.”

  “I’d rather do a vampyre.”

  “We’ll have to consult with Rose when we get back to Carlton House,” Bess said. “As partner, she’ll have the final vote.”

  “Will we be leaving soon?”

  “Another day or two. I’d like to hear the opera while we’re here.”

  “So, your business is finished?” Anna gave her a stern look. “The business you won’t tell me about.”

  “It would bore you.” It would do anything but bore her, but Bess had no plans to tell Anna that Bess’s share of the proceeds of their books was now in an account in Anna’s name. A dowry, and a hefty one. She’d make sure both of her friends were happily and safely married in case anything happened to her. Bert’s family had been kind to her, but who knew how they’d treat strangers? And though she’d written a will of her own, who knew what some male of her family might try to do with that? Cursed male-inheritance laws.

  Anna took her hands. “Did you have fun tonight?”

  “It was amusing. I’m not sure I’d call it fun.”

  “I want to know every detail.”

  “Violet Grimsby played badly at cards. Lord Whitby drank more than his capacity and had to be carted to his carriage. I spent an hour or more trying to console his wife.”

  “Because he’d drunk too much?”

  “Because he went on and on about his current mistress’s fickleness,” Bess said.

  “In public?” Anna said. “And he dared to complain about someone else?”

  “He’s an ass.”

  “That’s all that happened? You were gone most of the night,” Anna said.

  Not all. There was also the matter of a young captain in his magnificent uniform. He and Anna would make a striking pair—something out of a storybook, and not the kind they wrote. If he wanted to make her acquaintance, she could have him up to Carlton House. As a widow, she could provide an introduction and act as chaperone. Somehow, that plan didn’t sit right in the pit of her stomach. She could create a rather different story for him and keep it in her imagination, instead.

  “You’re quiet all of a sudden,” Anna said.

  “Just thinking.”

  “Of your husband?” Anna asked.

  Curse her, she ought to be. She’d learned to love Bert eventually. He was the only man who’d touched her, and that ought to mean something. More and more, he faded in her memory, appearing only briefly to make her feel guilty that she didn’t miss him as much as she should.

  “I hope you never understand,” she said.

  Anna cocked her head and studied her. “What an odd thing to say.”

  “Hm? Yes. I hardly know what I meant myself.” Anna’s marriage would be better than hers, and so would Rose’s second, although she’d loved her husband to distraction before he’d died in the pointless fighting with the natives in India. Both of them would find just the right men, damn it, if Bess had to scour all of England and maybe Scotland, too.

  “Well, now that I’ve told you everything of import that happened, I suppose I’ll leave you to your novel,” Bess said.

  “You mean now that you’ve told me as much as you’re going to,” Anna corrected. “You’re keeping something interesting to yourself. I can tell by the look in your eyes.”

  “What an imagination. That’s why you’re such a fine writer.”

  “Both traits we share. If you’re going to keep the story to yourself, you must have a reason.”

  “There’s no story.” That was no lie. Jason Northcross was no novel, but more like a dream. A tiny fantasy she’d keep tucked away at the back of her mind. She’d lost the opportunity for breathless young love at age eighteen. Now, she could only
wonder how her life might have passed differently if she’d encountered the splendid uniform and green eyes when a man had come asking for her hand.

  Anna covered her mouth to hide a yawn. This late at night, they had only a few hours until dawn. The images of the evening . . . that young man standing with his hand outstretched as if to touch her, would fade. Perhaps she’d meet him in a dream tonight. That would evaporate in the light of day as well.

  Bess rose from the bed. “I’ll leave you. Get some sleep. Without vampyres.”

  “You do the same.”

  *

  Lily greeted Jason like a conquering hero who’d beaten back all the heathens in India on his own. Wrapping both her arms around one of his, she gazed up at him out of the most beautiful eyes in all of England—green, like many in his family, but pure emerald and large in her face. His precious little sister. She’d always adored him far more than he deserved. He’d get her her duke or die trying.

  “How have you managed while I was away, pet?” he asked as she tugged him into the darkened drawing room. Even in the scant light of a few candles and the dying fire, the blush of excitement showed on her cheeks.

  “I missed you terribly,” she said.

  “You had my letters.”

  “Not good enough. I want all the details, what you saw, how many savages you killed, that sort of thing.”

  “They’re not savages, pet. They’re people, only somewhat darker than us.” And with a remarkable capacity to enjoy the sensual that more Englishmen really ought to learn. He’d turned native in that regard, too. Lily didn’t need to know any of that, of course.

  “Still, it must all have been terribly heroic.”

  “I was more merchant than hero.”

  She pursed her lips in a pretty pout. “Well, surely you were very brave.”

  “The other officers seemed satisfied with me,” he said. “The men tolerated me well enough.”

  “You’re much too modest.”

  “Not at all.” He tapped the end of her nose. “I want to hear about your exploits. Have you broken every heart in London yet?”

  “We’ve only just arrived from Hadleigh.”

  “I hardly saw you at the party tonight. You danced every set.”