The Countess Confessions (14 page)

T
he Earl of Shalcross called on Miss Emily Rowland every morning, afternoon, and evening for four days straight. When he was not visiting her house, he was escorting her to a small supper party hosted in his honor by a member of Hatherwood’s gentry, who seemed smitten to have a genuine nobleman in their midst.

In the eyes of the enthralled villagers, Damien’s desire for Emily’s company reinforced the image of a man desperately in love. An intense courtship was not only a means of keeping watch over Emily, but of passing the hours until Winthrop returned with the special license. Lord Ardbury had taken leave of the village a few days prior. Presumably he had set in motion the cogs of his conspiracy.

Damien wondered how much longer he could curb his impatience to resume his own duty. He had an assassination to thwart. He’d been given only a few details about Viscount Deptford. Three years ago Deptford had been a staunch supporter of the conspiracy. But apparently in the interim he had become disillusioned with the group’s leaders, Lord Ardbury among them. Deptford knew the names and connections of secret radicals all over England, some in government positions.

Damien assumed this was why the anarchists wanted the viscount dead and why the Crown had offered to protect him. But instead of rushing to Deptford’s castle to persuade him to go to London, Damien was discussing thoroughbreds at dinner with a country squire or imagining what Emily would look like when he undressed her.

In his estimation, her hair, unbound, would reach several inches below her shoulder blades. He pictured the ends curling around her breasts. He tortured himself wondering what sounds she would make when he made her his. He knew that his kisses gave her pleasure. He knew that he desired her. But he was surprised that she seemed so receptive in the moments when he simply had to touch her when nobody was looking.

After all, he was a man who had willingly assumed other identities for his country. It was no burden to feign attraction to her. But, on the contrary, he had to restrain his sensual impulses in her presence. This courtship had begun to feel so natural that it worried him. No matter that he would be her first lover and that taking her virginity was a matter that deserved consideration.

But it wasn’t until the fifth afternoon of that week, as he and Emily watched a cricket game on the village green, that he was reminded
he
was definitely not her first love. He would have to be obtuse to miss the quick looks she darted at one of the cricket players, a tall, rather gangly young man who seemed oblivious to everything except the game.

The party guest Damien had replaced in the queue. So this was his competition—the man Emily had dreamt about, schemed to attract.

Did Emily still have feelings for the man? Damien shook his head. This was what happened when a person forgot his manners—life would have been far less complicated if Damien had not insisted on taking someone else’s place in line. Or if the cricketer had refused to let Damien have his way. It was shocking how one small act could alter a person’s life.

“Someone you know?” he asked her quietly, noticing that she had let her bonnet slide to her nape, the blue silk ribbons at her throat fluttering in the breeze. An unconscious or openly inviting gesture? And was it directed at him . . . or at the cricketer? “Yes,” she said with a blush that gave Damien pause. Was he supposed to pretend that it didn’t matter?
Did
it matter?

“He is the man whose place I took inside the tent?”

She reached back to pull on her bonnet. “Don’t keep staring at him that way.”

“Then it
is
him.”

“What if it is?” she said, at once on the defensive. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“I’m not sure. You went to a great deal of trouble to persuade him that you belonged together.”

“Well, you changed that, and it can’t be undone.”

Perhaps not. But there were enough obstacles in Damien’s path that he didn’t need the memory of a cricket player clouding a marriage that neither he nor Emily had planned.

So, while Damien remained confident that he would be his wife’s first lover, he would have to wonder if she still had feelings for this man. How deep did her affection for him go? Damien wasn’t an expert on the subject, but even he knew this was not how he wanted to start a marriage. Aside from the conspiracy and sexual compatibility, would they come to care for each other in time? He had to admit that she wasn’t unpleasant company. Through it all, she had managed to keep her wits about her for the most part.

They walked past the cricket match, Emily not looking back. Damien realized she was not in a talkative mood. “Do you mean that you staged a fortune-telling performance for that man and now you have no feeling for him at all?”

Emily stopped to stare up at him. “Well, yes. And no.”

“What the devil does that mean?” he asked, annoyed by this fickle response, when his instincts should have appreciated how easily she had adjusted to her change of circumstances. Indeed, he wasn’t certain whether her loyalty rested with him or the young man she had previously desired. Perhaps she was that uniquely dangerous sort of woman who saw foremost to herself.

“Are you going to insist I humiliate myself by telling you everything?”

He looked around. There were other families and couples watching them, waving and doffing hats as if they had known Damien from birth. “Yes,” he said. “Tell me everything.”

She sighed, walking a few steps ahead of him to the pond. “His name is Camden Jackson, and I’ve been waiting five years for him to notice me.”

To notice her? Was the man oblivious? “Does he know that you feel this way?”

She halted in her steps to pull her skirts away from the duck that had waddled behind her from the pond. “I’ll never know whether he knows or not. I had planned to read myself into his future at the party. The cards had been arranged so that I could predict our romance.”

Another duck splashed toward them from the murky water. Damien said, “Excuse me while I wipe a tear from my eye.”

She blinked and looked up at him in such disbelief that he felt like a bastard. “Emily, I shouldn’t have said that. I—”

She started to laugh. “Don’t turn around too suddenly.”

“Why? Is your beloved approaching?”

“No. Just a mother duckling and her babies. I wouldn’t want you to step on them.”

E
mily had never been interested in cricket, and she wasn’t about to pretend enthusiasm for the game now. She was too conscious of Damien, of the silence between them. He had asked questions and endeavored to learn more about her. Wasn’t it fair that she do the same?

“Have you notified anyone in your family that we are to be married, my lord?”

He hesitated. “I haven’t been the best correspondent. I did write letters off and on.”

He glanced at her. His blue eyes almost made her not care about his beginnings. “I have three younger brothers in England, numerous cousins, and a mother, a
duchesse
, who is living in France. I set out at an early age to conquer the world. I was in a private rivalry with my cousin Grayson, who is the fifth Marquess of Sedgecroft and as rich as Croesus.”

“Oh,” she said, smiling a little. “Did you achieve your goal?”

“Not quite. I was given an earldom as a reward for my dedication to the East India Company. I made and lost and remade a personal fortune. But did I accomplish what I set out to do? Not quite.”

“Why not?” she teased, wanting more than a glimpse into his past.

“I hoped to impress my family. When my father died I inherited his viscountcy and made plans to secure my foreign investments and return home.”

“Why didn’t you?”

His mood seemed to darken. It reminded her of the dangerous sophistication that existed beneath his outward charm. “I was placed under arrest and imprisoned for three years.”

“But you gained your freedom.” She didn’t know what else to say. Three years in a foreign prison? She couldn’t imagine how he had come out not only sane and self-possessed but as a decent human being.

He smiled, and yet his eyes locked her out of his secrets. “I escaped. It is a story for a private moment. I cannot relate it and stand watch over you at the same time.”

“You don’t have to pretend that you’re besotted with me,” she said quietly.

“Why not? It makes more sense to those watching our courtship. It explains why I cannot wait to marry and whisk you away.”

She pursed her lips. “But you aren’t besotted with me.”

“Are you besotted with me?” he asked, his smile sardonic and perhaps curious.

“Not yet,” she admitted. “In my most truthful moments, I’m sorry that I ever met you. Can you in all honesty say that you are overenthused at the prospect of marrying me?”

His mouth firmed. “I’m not the sort of man who is enthusiastic about most of what matters in life. Gentlemen who are prone to an excess of emotion do not generally make good espionage agents.”

Which led Emily to wonder whether good agents made doting husbands. She suspected not.

•   •   •

The moment the cricket match ended, Camden abandoned his team and dashed across the green to intercept Emily and Damien. Emily again felt the moodiness that emanated from Damien in the other man’s presence and quickened her pace, doing her best to ignore the sweet lumphead she had been infatuated with for years. But Camden would not be ignored, even though a few days ago he hadn’t regarded Emily as a female interesting enough to notice.

She wasn’t sure he noticed her now as much as he did Damien. “My lord, Miss Rowland,” he said breathlessly, bowing at Damien and flashing Emily a perfunctory smile. “I’ve heard the news of your engagement. I couldn’t be happier for you both.”

Damien stared through Camden as if he were a window looking into an empty room. “And you are—”

“Oh, sorry.” Camden swiped his hand through his tousled hair. “Camden Jackson, my lord. One of Emily’s oldest friends. We toddled together on this very common.”

“Did you?” Damien said as if he were addressing the toddler Camden had once been. “How quaint. I don’t believe my betrothed has mentioned you.”

“No?” Camden looked so disappointed that Emily could have poked him with her parasol. This was the most attention he’d ever paid her, and even now he was more engrossed in making Damien’s acquaintance than in her. She might well have been invisible.

It made her wonder why she had spent so much energy trying to impress the lout.

A thousand love potions would not change what Camden felt for her, which was a thousand times nothing.

The brooding aristocrat at her side might never fall in love with her, either. She couldn’t forget that he saw her as an obligation in the short term. And she saw him as— Well, she hadn’t decided what he was to her yet. She needed to know more about Damien before she passed judgment. But what she’d learned today about his past intrigued her. Standing next to Camden, the earl’s self-possessed elegance put Camden’s athletic vigor to shame.

It was impossible not to compare one man to the other. But, obviously, she’d best keep her comparisons to herself. Damien had admitted that he was competitive in business. It was rather intriguing to anticipate that he might also compete for her interest.

She couldn’t understand why Camden was acting like an awkward schoolboy. Perhaps one day, with Miss Whitlock’s tutoring, he would mature into a stronger man. Damien, on the other hand, was more than enough man for Emily, as dark and enigmatic as a demigod who had been sent to save her against her will.

He might not ever love her, but he had promised to take care of her. And if he was willing to be her guardian, she would learn how to be the wife he’d have chosen on his own. As soon as she understood what that was.

“Come, Emily,” Damien murmured. “You’ve been standing in the sun too long without putting on your bonnet or using your parasol.”

“What sun?” Camden said jokingly. “The sky is as black as a kettle.”

Emily swallowed at the rather unpleasant smile that settled on Damien’s face. “I don’t want her to become overwarmed. That fair skin flushes so easily.”

Emily’s skin went straight from a blush to boiling red, and Camden blinked. Damien smiled again and started to stroll across the green.

“I’m sorry, Camden,” Emily whispered. “He’s quite protective of me.”

Camden kept his eye on Damien’s progress. “Possessive, too.”

“I’d better go with him.”

“Right. But I want to confess something because we probably won’t ever have the chance to be alone again.”

Emily hastily pulled up her bonnet. She hoped he wasn’t going to admit that he’d loved her all along and hadn’t realized it until her engagement was announced. She glanced around. Damien had turned back to them.

“I know that you and the earl had a liaison on the night of the party, Emily.”

“No, you don’t,” she said, indignant and surprised.

“Yes, I do. There’s no other reason that you weren’t at Lucy’s party. When your father burst into the ballroom, I knew he had good reason.”

“Well, aren’t you clever?”

“It’s just that you’re so sweet and honest, it had to take a persuasive man to make you disobey your father. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll keep your secret until I die.”

“Thank you, Camden,” Emily said, as Damien finally reached them.

“Just be careful,” he said under his breath. “Men like that make their own rules where women are concerned.”

•   •   •

Later that same night Damien escorted Emily to an intimate supper dance at Lord and Lady Fletcher’s house. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said as the small carriage lumbered up the hillside road.

“Why not?”

For one thing, he looked like sin personified in the darkness, and they were alone. Michael was following on his horse. The baron had stayed home, confessing he needed a quiet evening to recover from all the excitement over Emily’s engagement.

“Isn’t it a gamble to return to the place where our troubles began?”

“It would be a gamble for Urania and Sir Angus to put in an appearance, certainly.”

“I wish I had your courage.”

“That will come in time. Just follow my lead.”

She shook her head. She had a feeling that she’d be his follower long after tonight. In fact, soon after they arrived, she was so absorbed in his behavior that she forgot why she had been afraid. Several of Lord Fletcher’s neighbors had been invited to the party, including a physician and his wife.

The lady examined Damien with long, oblique looks that perplexed Emily and that he seemed not to notice. But then, his negligent attitude covered nerves of iron. He hadn’t once asked what Camden had said to her today. Or mentioned why he had been concerned about a farmer’s cart.

“You’re being stared at,” she whispered as they sat waiting for the first course to arrive.

“So are you.”

He might only be playing the part of the devoted fiancée, but he was so convincing that Emily could almost believe the attention he paid her was sincere.

“Be careful of that knife, Emily,” he said as she sliced a piece of beefsteak.

“I will, my lord.”

“And let it cool a bit. It is delicious, but sizzling hot. I wouldn’t want you to burn your tongue.”

“Thank you,” Emily murmured, catching the glint of amusement in Lucy’s eye.

“Would anyone like another glass of champagne?” Lady Fletcher asked.

Damien held up his hand. “None for me or my fiancée, please. We’re reading poetry to each other when we return home.”

“Poetry?” Lord Fletcher said, shaking his head. “Why don’t you read a horrid novel? Nothing I like better than a scare before bed.”

Emily shuddered. He should have been told what had happened in his tower.

“I want Emily’s dreams to be sweet and restful,” the earl stated, giving her a quick smile.

She stared at him in admiration. He was spellbinding in the lights of the girandoles placed around the dining hall. He looked younger without his beard. But his features still gave the impression of a man who understood his own power. And who understood women.

After dessert a quartet began to play in the ballroom. Out of habit Emily took her usual chair beside Lucy against the wall. The instant she settled in her seat, Damien strode up to her chair, bowed, and took her hand.

“One dance, at least?” he asked, as if she had to fit him into a yard-long dance card.

“Well—” She looked back at Lucy, but her friend had come to her feet at Michael’s request.

“You’re going to make everyone suspicious,” she whispered as Damien took her gloved hand.

“Suspicious? Why? Because I can’t bear to keep you out of my sight?”

“I’ve told you,” she said softly. “You don’t have to pretend when no one can hear us.”

“Who said I’m pretending?”

The first strains of the country dance quivered in the air. A half-dozen dancers lined up in a set. Lucy and Emily grinned at each other. They had danced together in the ballroom nearly every week, driving the dancing master into a frenzy with their improvised steps and figures.

But tonight the master would have been gratified. Emily did not glide into a footman, and Lucy did not gallop across the floor like a runaway horse.

It was another night of make-believe, and Emily didn’t care. Damien didn’t glance at another woman; whether he had his eye out for spies was another matter. He stayed beside her except when the dance separated them. And before the band could begin a reel he reclaimed her hand and took her out onto the terrace, where a footman brought them lemonade.

Damien watched her as she endeavored to sip and not gulp down her drink. Away from the scrutiny of the others, she expected him to lose interest in her. But, to her surprise, the intense expression on his face indicated the reverse.

“That dress looks a little too enticing on you,” he murmured, his eyes raking her up and down. “I’ve noticed a couple of gentlemen studying you behind your back.”

She didn’t believe him. “You look more handsome in your tails and trousers than the ladies of Hatherwood deserve.”

“But you can’t see my curves and charming backside in these clothes.”

Emily shook her head. “Would you like me to change?”

“No, I’d like to take you upstairs, where no one but me can see you.”

Her heartbeat quickened. She finished her lemonade to hide her reaction. “Are you going to talk to me like that after we’re married?”

He took her glass and handed it to a passing footman. “If it pleases you,” he said, his eyes heating. His hand curled around her waist. “I assume that it does.”

•   •   •

Emily had started to fall asleep against him in the carriage. At first he was tempted to let her rest. She had carried on beautifully tonight. He was not only impressed by her mettle, but he was also starting to enjoy her as a partner. But he couldn’t allow her to become so important that he lost sight of his purpose.

Her muslin skirt had bunched up under her backside. He slipped his hand underneath to gently pull it down. She was curled up like a conch shell, and he thought it an apt metaphor for her character—strong on the outside, sensitive within.

As his fingers skimmed over her white silk stocking, he felt the softness of her upper thigh. The warmth above enticed him. He stroked his thumb between her folds in idle pleasure.

He should have known better than to touch her when they were alone.

He reached up with his other hand for the curtain. They would be married in two days. He could wait.

He
should
wait.

She made a sound in her throat. He pulled up her skirt and watched his fingers disappear inside her.

“What are you doing?” she whispered in a voice that said she knew but had to make a protest.

“Making us warm.”

She kept her eyes closed as he continued to play with her. The slickness that coated his fingers, the shiver she gave, encouraged him to enjoy her at his whim. “The coachman must be cold, too,” she murmured, a smile on her lips. “Are you going to do this to him?”

“Should I stop?” he asked, his fingers quickening, sinking deeper. “Say the word.”

She moaned, her back arching. He loved every moment of her helpless arousal, even as his body hardened to a point close to pain. He loved looking at her as she submitted to his control, her skirt riding her hips, her skin soft and glowing. He almost came when she reached her peak. She was so beautiful lost in passion, his woman to tease and pleasure.