Captain and Countess Page 8

  Rose sagged against Bess and didn’t say a word.

  “I think we’d best go home,” Bess said.

  “I’ll take Rose. You follow on your horse.” Anna put an arm around Rose and helped her back into the cart. In a moment, she had the conveyance turned around and headed back toward Carlton house.

  “I’m sorry,” the lieutenant said. “We had no way of knowing.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” she said. “Would you please get my horse?”

  “Certainly.” He disappeared, leaving her alone with the captain and a lavish picnic in the distance.

  “Is there something I can do?” he asked.

  “I can’t imagine what, but thank you.”

  “I’ll see you home.”

  “Not necessary,” she said. “I ride back and forth from here to there all the time.”

  “Still—”

  “Captain Northcross, I can get myself home. Just tell the others that I . . .” Tell them what? Who in hell cared what they thought? “The devil may take the others.”

  With that, she went off on her own to find her horse.

  *

  Bess had never seen so much as a tear in Rose’s eyes, but when the woman allowed herself to cry, she seemed unable to stop. She and Anna sat beside their friend on her bed, stroking her hair out of her eyes and rubbing her back.

  Rose managed words sporadically between sobs. India. Ambush. Lives lost. Hideous savagery. Bodies unidentifiable.

  “He was lucky, they told me.” Rose hiccupped, pressing a handkerchief to her nose. “He went instantly.”

  Anna’s eyes had misted over as she stroked Rose’s cheek. “He didn’t suffer.”

  “It was a mercy.” Rose managed to sit up and leaned against Bess, bending to put her head on Bess’s shoulder.

  “You could have told us this before,” Bess said. “We could have helped.”

  “I couldn’t.” Rose took a shaky breath. “I would have fallen apart. I have fallen apart.”

  “We’re your friends,” Anna said. “You don’t have to hide from us.”

  “I don’t know how I would have survived without you two,” Rose said. “And Foul Walter.”

  “Walter’s the cure for everything,” Bess said. “Maybe we’ll have him behead someone after all.”

  A soft tap came at the door. Anna got up to answer it, and Upton’s voice sounded on the other side. “Captain Northcross is here. He’d like to speak to Mrs. Thornton.”

  “Like hell he will,” Bess said.

  “I’ll send him away,” Anna said and stepped out and closed the door behind her.

  “I suppose I should see him,” Rose said.

  “You don’t have to. You don’t owe him anything.”

  “He fought beside Edward. He can tell me about him.”

  Bess squeezed Rose’s shoulders. “Later. When you feel better.”

  Rose straightened. “It’s time I started facing things.”

  Another rap came at the door. Bess got up and opened it and found Captain Northcross on the other side.

  “I thought you’d left,” she said.

  “I’d like to speak to Mrs. Thornton.” He stared down at her. “Please.”

  “Let him come in,” Rose said.

  Bess stepped aside to let him enter and then closed the door. She stayed where she was so she could intervene if he said something to upset Rose again.

  He seemed perfectly huge, surrounded by feminine trappings. For a moment, he stood in awkward silence before he carefully picked up the chair at Rose’s dressing table, set it next to the bed, and sat down.

  “Mrs. Thornton, I . . .” He paused for a moment. “I wasn’t close to your husband, but I knew him by reputation.”

  “He never mentioned you in his letters.”

  “I wasn’t his commander. We did meet a few times. Mostly off duty.” For a long moment, he searched Rose’s face. “He was a good man and a brave soldier. He saved several lives.”

  “The trap,” Rose said quietly.

  “It turned out to be a cache of explosives. Your husband ordered the others off while he explored it.”

  “They told me,” she said. “There wasn’t much of him to bury.”

  Oh, dear God. Bess bit her lip as her vision blurred.

  “We spoke at length once—we’d had a bit to drink—he told me that no matter what happened to him, you’d already given him more happiness than most people had in a lifetime,” the captain said.

  Rose took that well. Although a tear ran down her cheek, she smiled.

  “I didn’t understand at the time,” he went on. “Now that I’ve seen you, I do.”

  “Thank you,” Rose whispered.

  “If there’s anything I can do, you have only to ask,” he said.

  Rose reached over and squeezed his hand. “You already have done a great deal.”

  He cleared his throat and rose. When he turned toward the doorway, his gaze caught Bess’s and held. For a moment, she could have fallen upward into his green eyes and disappeared. He was so very handsome. And tall and solid.

  Sense returned, finally, and she opened the door. “I’ll see you out.”

  He made no argument but followed her into the corridor and then downstairs toward the front of the house. They passed Anna and the lieutenant in the sitting room, lost in conversation. For a moment, she paused. They really ought to join the other two. Instead, she looked up at the captain. “Walk with me a bit.”

  “Of course.”

  She led him outside and down the staircase into the early evening. They walked along the gravel path around the side of the house toward the rose garden. The gathering stillness held little sound aside from the crunch of their footsteps. The perfect gentleman, he held his hands behind his back as they went. Though he didn’t touch her, she couldn’t help but sense his presence in a very physical way. He was so much larger than she, and he had a strength about him.

  “She refused to talk to us,” Bess said as they walked along. “All she’d say was that her husband served in the army in India and he was killed.”

  “It must be hard to lose a husband at such a young age.” He stopped abruptly. “But then, you experienced the same thing.”

  “I was older.”

  “You couldn’t have been by much.”

  “Almost ten years.” But then, Bert had died a while ago, and she’d been on her own for some time before she met Anna and Rose and conjured up Jack Sterling to make some money for them. She’d mourned for Bert, of course, in her own way. She’d loved him. Damn it, she had, even if not as passionately as Rose had loved her Edward.

  “Did Thornton really say that about how much happiness Rose had given him?” she asked.

  “I wouldn’t lie about something so important,” he answered.

  “No, you wouldn’t,” she said. “I suspect you’re a better man than I thought.”

  He laughed softly. “I certainly hope so.”

  He gestured ahead of them, and they continued along the path and entered the rose garden. The flowers gave off their perfume, and evening’s shadows merged to create a world poised between night and day, where any kind of magic might happen.

  He stopped her again, taking her hands in his. “That apology.”

  She only groaned in response.

  “I’ve never written anything like that before,” he said.

  “I should hope not.”

  “I have to make an advantageous marriage,” he said. “For reasons that wouldn’t interest you.”

  “Any young man in your position does.”

  “I didn’t want you to think . . . that night after the opera . . .”

  She pulled her hands back. “You were afraid that I might think you were going to propose marriage?”

  “I hope you didn’t suspect that I was going to try to make you my mistress,” he answered.

  “Why should I be either?” she said, throwing her hands up into the air. “I’m a good ten years older than
you.”

  “What difference does that make?” he said, his voice rising.

  “What difference?” She sputtered a bit at the absurdity of the question. What on earth would a handsome—and wealthy—young man want with a woman past her prime? Even when in her prime, she’d never had any particular beauty. Make her his mistress, indeed. She’d done well enough as a wife, but she’d certainly never been mistress material.

  “You underestimate yourself,” he said.

  She only laughed at that. What other answer was there?

  “I didn’t kiss you because I thought it would cure your headache, and I didn’t kiss you just because you were there and female,” he said.

  “Then why did you do it?” As much as she’d tried to understand the whole incident, she still had no answer to that. Nothing that came into her head made any sense.

  “Because I desire you,” he said. “Very much, in fact.”

  “You what?”

  “I’m sorry to be so blunt, but there you are,” he said. “You’ve been married. You know what I’m talking about.”

  “But, that doesn’t make sense. I’m not young or pretty. You could have any woman you want. For heaven’s sake, I’m—”

  The word “short” never left her mouth because before she could get it out, he’d pulled her against him and placed his lips over hers to silence her. And to rob her of any coherent thought.

  The man was a drug. A wine so sweet, so potent that no more than a sip had the world spinning around her. He kissed her thoroughly, methodically, leaving no part of her mouth unexplored—each corner, then the center and the fullness below. As heat rose between them, she answered, sliding her own lips under his in a dance that matched his movements step for step. Without shame, she reached up behind him to clutch his shoulders and hang on.

  The world disappeared except for a faint scent of roses as their bodies came together. Her breasts crushed against his chest, making the tips hard and sensitive, and still she couldn’t get close enough.

  When his mouth left hers, she pulled air into her lungs as if she’d been drowning, but the assault on her senses continued as he bent to kiss her jaw and then moved below to caress the length of her throat.

  “Soft,” he murmured between kisses and even gentle nips of his teeth. “Beautiful. Bess.”

  At the sound of her name, her knees almost buckled, and if they hadn’t been holding each other, she might have fallen. No one had ever called out to her in passion. No one had ever declared his lust for her so clearly. Suddenly, she was beautiful. Desired. Not a hunting partner, but a woman. Something blossomed inside her. Joy, perhaps, and hunger of her own, So when his lips trailed up to her ear and he blew warm breath into it, she whimpered with wanting him. And when he claimed her mouth again, his lips hot and parted against hers, reality hit her like a blow. This was no kiss. It was a prelude to lovemaking.

  “Jason,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice deep and soft. “Anything.”

  “Jason, stop.” She put her hands on his face and eased it away from hers. “You don’t mean to do this.”

  He clenched his eyes shut and breathed raggedly through his mouth. When he opened his eyes, they held a dazed look, as if he didn’t know where he was. “You’re right. I’m—”

  She laid her fingers on his mouth. “Please, don’t say you’re sorry.”

  “You’re right. I’m not sorry.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and stepped away from her. “I so easily lose my head around you.”

  What a preposterous idea, that a man so young and strong couldn’t control himself with her. It was actually funny, when you thought about it. The brave soldier, so tall and straight in his bearing. Firm muscle everywhere. That such a prime male should forget himself over a woman not only older than he but short of limb and without any social graces. She giggled like a girl, and when she couldn’t seem to stop, she put her hand over her mouth.

  “I’m glad you think it funny that I just behaved like a boor,” he said.

  “I’m not laughing at you.”

  “Then what?”

  “Me, of course, you silly man,” she said. “Imagine. At my age.”

  “Stop it.” He grabbed her arm. “Don’t demean yourself.”

  She could only stare at him, at the fierce gleam in his eyes. He was serious. In fact, he looked for all the world as if he’d kiss her again.

  “All right,” she said softly, pulling her arm back.

  “If things were different, I’d show you how you make me feel,” he said. “Right here on the grass. Your friends could watch from the upstairs window, for all I’d care.”

  A number of retorts came to mind, including the words “spectacle” and “insane.” She bit her tongue, though. She’d said enough foolishness for one evening.

  “Things aren’t different, though. I’m going to choose a wife soon, and I won’t trifle with her,” he said. “I’m not a cheat.”

  “No, I imagine you’re not.”

  “I won’t trifle with you by making you my mistress, either.”

  How noble of him. Just as well. If his lovemaking was as good as that prelude, one taste of it wouldn’t satisfy her. She’d end up wanting more and more. And then, she might discover what she’d missed all these years.

  “I hope we can be friends,” he said. “My brother and sister have taken a liking to you.”

  “Friends,” she repeated. “After all this?”

  “I wish I could offer more.”

  “Well, we were acquaintances. I suppose we can become friends.”

  He took her hand again, squeezed it briefly, and then dropped his arms to his side. “Thank you.”

  “Well, friend, why don’t you come to dinner next week?” she asked. “Your family with my little group.”

  “Splendid idea. We’ll do that.”

  Jolly idea. Too jolly for words.

  *

  “And then, she actually claimed that a woman could be as good as a man at everything but brute strength.”

  Jason jolted out of his mind’s meanderings to the reality at hand. “Who did?”

  “Why, Miss Pembroke,” Peter said. “The woman we’ve been discussing for the last five minutes.”

  “Do I know a Miss Pembroke?”

  “You do, old man. Lady Rushford’s friend. The blonde.”

  “Ah, yes, the blonde with the long limbs and luscious hips.”

  Peter stared out at the dance floor at Hollyfield where couples had just finished a quadrille. “I never said that about her.”

  “You did. More than once.”

  “I might have,” Peter said. “It’s a wonder you remember with the fog you’ve been in these past days.”

  The days since he’d walked with Lady Rushford—Bess—in her garden. And kissed her. And fallen so deeply under her spell that he’d almost forgotten himself and taken her outdoors where Peter or anyone could have seen them.

  “Will she be here tonight?” Peter asked.

  “I doubt it. Lady Rushford doesn’t dance that I know of.”

  “Not her. Miss Pembroke.”

  “I don’t think she’d come without her friend.”

  Peter huffed.

  “Don’t worry. We have an invitation to dinner next week at Carlton House. Just family,” Jason said.

  Peter’s eyebrow went up. “Does that include me?”

  “We’ll need men to round out the party.

  “I’ll leave my uniform at home,” Peter said.

  “Good man,” Jason said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve reserved the next dance.”

  “Miss Swan again?”

  “Miss Swan.” He clapped his friend on the back and went off in search of his partner. Although her father didn’t hold a title of his own, he was the nephew of a duke, which gave him—and by extension Miss Swan—an elevated rank, indeed. If he arranged to marry into that family, he’d go a long way toward making his sister duke-worthy. Her father had indica
ted interest, no doubt because of his reputation of wealth. The reputation had a solid basis in fact, but how he came by so much more money than even his brother had would remain his secret. Service to His Majesty often provided unexpected opportunities.

  He found the young lady after a short search. She stood with her parents, her face still flushed from the quadrille. She was a lovely thing, certainly, with ringlets of dark hair framing her face and chocolate-brown eyes. As he approached, she lowered her gaze and then raised it to him again. A modest display but also rather an invitation. He bowed to her parents first and then to her, and she responded with a perfect curtsey. When he extended his arm, she placed her hand on it so lightly the pressure of her fingers hardly registered. Then she matched her step to his as they took their place among the other dancers.

  The music started, and she moved through the steps, her feet hardly appearing to touch the ground and her arm extended in a graceful arc. She could scarcely have made a greater picture of perfection if she’d practiced hours before a mirror. But then, perhaps she had. Such elegance of breeding. He ought to want her more. He really ought.

  “Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Swan?” he asked when they came together.

  She couldn’t answer for a moment as the dance separated them. As she neared him on the next steps, she smiled at him. Perfectly again, as though she’d practiced that, too.

  “I am enjoying myself, Captain Northcross,” she said. “How could I not?”

  They turned, hand in hand, and walked side by side as the lines progressed across the floor.

  “A host never knows if he’s truly pleased his guests or if they’re hiding some slight of his behind a mask of courtesy,” he said.

  “Are you wearing a mask?” she asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

  “I hope not. What about you?”

  That won him a more sincere smile, but still no answer as the dance separated them again. This time, he watched her as they went toward the end of their lines. Her eyes sparkled, and a lovely blush colored her cheeks. An accomplished flirt, and one clearly interested in him.

  So why did his gaze roam the hall? Why did he search for a woman of shorter stature and small fingers when he’d soon meet a paragon of English beauty in the dance? What the devil did that other woman hold over him to make him act like a lovesick schoolboy?