Enticing the Earl (9 page)

Lauryn herself turned and went back to the bed, and pulling the covers back to her chin.

The contessa marched into the chamber as if it were her own, folded her arms, and stared critically down at Lauryn. Meanwhile, a timid-looking maid came in also, carrying a tray which she sat on a nearby table.

“Sacre bleu, you look most dreadful,” the contessa offered helpfully. “Your eyelids are the zize of melons. You”—she turned to the maid—“go and bring us cold compresses and a sliced cucumber from the earl's 'ot 'ouses, at once.”

“Yes, my lady,” the servant said, dropping a terrified curtsy. “Do you wish that soaked in vinegar?”

“Vinegar?” the contessa had swung toward Lauryn, who was trying to disappear beneath the covers, but she paused. “I do not make a zalad! No vinegar. I vish to put them on Miz. Smith's eyelids; she 'as 'ad a restless night. The cucumber iz good for reducing puffiness.”

“Oh, yes, my lady.” The servant seemed impressed at this bit of wisdom. She curtsied again and went out, shutting the door behind her.

“Now then,” the contessa said, her voice stern. “Enough of thiz. If the earl iz un'appy with you, there is always the next time. I varned you that 'e vas a man of the vorld. I can teach you some little tricks,
ma petite
—”

“He is not unhappy with me!” Lauryn pushed back the cover enough to almost shriek. “Why do you assume you're the only woman in the world who knows how to make love!”

“Then thiz is good, but do not shout, that iz very much not like the lady,” the contessa told her, apparently not in the least discomposed. “And it 'urts my ears. Then if you did not disappoint him, what iz the problem? I cannot believe that 'e disappointed you? Not Marcuz!”

“No, he did not—he did not disappoint me,” Lauryn said slowly, trying not to blush. “He is indeed an incredible lover.”

“As I have reason to know,” the contessa said, with a gusty sigh. “So why do I find you 'ere crying out ze eyes?”

“And anyhow,” Lauryn broke in, trying to turn aside these very private inquiries, “why do you wish to help me? I should rather expect you to be downstairs in my absence flirting with the earl and trying to insinuate yourself into my position.”

The contessa came and sat down on the other side of the bed. “I make the good try,” she admitted with her usual devastating candor. “'Is zilly brother is not down for breakfast; 'e drank too much last night—the poor boy 'as no stomach. So this morning I talk and laugh and smile vith the earl. But, alas, poor Marcuz 'as the thought only for you, are you ill, what is your vorries? Why did you not let in the zervant vith your breakfast? Zo until 'e is over this infatuation—”

Lauryn had been feeling a sudden warmth, but the word
infatuation
deflated that feeling as quickly as it had come. “Oh, so you think it will pass quickly?”

“Of course it vill. Marcuz iz not a man for lasting passions; look at me!” The contessa drew a silk fan out of her sleeve and flipped it open to fan herself vehemently. “Ve vere a vonderful couple!”

Lauryn would not have dared to dispute that assertion, so she said nothing.

“The only thing I could do to make 'im smile was to zay I vould come and check on you, so 'ere I am,” the contessa said, flashing her wide smile. “Zo, ve must get you together,
ma petite
.”

Lauryn thought about pointing out she was barely half an inch shorter than the contessa, but it didn't seem worth the effort.

“Ve vill put the cucumber on the eyes, and you vill 'ave the cup of tea, and you vill feel better, yes?”

No
, Lauryn thought.

The contessa regarded her sternly. “If you do not come down to dinner, I vill tell 'im you are 'aving your courses.”

“And what will I say when I do have them?” Lauryn demanded.

“Oh, ve vill think of something.” The contessa waved her fan in the air, unabashed. “Now, drink zome tea before it iz all cold and tell me what iz vith the tears?”

She left the bed to pour a cup of tea and brought it back, taking her seat again on the edge of the mattress.

Lauryn took the teacup the contessa held out, if only to keep it from being dumped into her lap, and as it was overfull, it seemed better to sip a little of the lukewarm brew. “It's—rather—private, if you don't mind.”

“Vould you rather tell ze earl?”

“No, certainly not!”

“Then, talk to me,
oui
? It is better than zitting and crying out the eyes,” the contessa pointed out. “And then you vill not 'ave the eyelids like melons. Ah, I 'ear the maid coming at last.”

The servant had made good time, actually, and she had a plate of sliced cucumber and a cold compress. After the contessa had shooed the servant away, she directed Lauryn to lie back in bed and placed cucumber slices over her eyes and positioned the cold, wet cloth on top.

It did feel quite nice on her swollen eyelids.

“Zo, vhat is it that makes you veep all over the nice sheets?” The contessa would not let go of the most private part of the conversation—at least it was all private, but that consideration seemed to abash her not at all.

“That's really not your—I mean, I'd rather not discuss it,” Lauryn said stiffly, but the contessa waved her hand as if brushing away a buzzing fly and plunged ahead.

“You are 'ere with the earl, who iz a most considerate man. If you 'ave changed your mind and vish to leave, 'e vill not hold you back. Did 'e pay you in advance?”

Despite the chill of the cloth over part of her face, Lauryn felt herself flush. “No, indeed.”

“Zo, you are not bound to 'im. Nothing iz keeping you.”

The contessa was always cheerful of mien, but she sounded quite eager, as indeed she had already admitted she was, eager to take Lauryn's place in the earl's bed. Lauryn was startled at the ripple of jealousy she felt over a man she hardly knew—at this rate, she fumed, she would turn her cold compress into a steaming heap of linen.

“I don't wish to leave!”

“Then vhat iz the matter?”

“I don't—I'm not—it's hard to explain. It's my husband,” Lauryn said before she could stop herself. There—it had slipped out. She had not meant to share her deepest emotions with a woman like—like what? At least the contessa was honest, whereas Lauryn herself was here hiding behind an assumed name, and behaving like—well, best not to even think about that, for the moment, she thought miserably. The thought made more tears squeeze out of the corner of her eyes.

“No, no, do not start again,” the other woman said hastily. “Now ve are making ze progress. It is your 'usband,
oui
. 'E has forced you to come 'ere? 'E will beat you if you do not please the earl? 'E vill take all the money that your patron gives you? Zuch is not unknown,
c'est vrai
.”

“Of course not!” Lauryn almost laughed at such a ridiculous idea.

“
Non?
Then, what, 'e beats you even if you do please the earl?” Looking mystified, the contessa wrinkled her well-shaped if rather long nose at Lauryn.

“No, indeed. My husband never beat me. He was a kindhearted, dear man.” Now she had to blink hard against more tears.

The contessa pulled a clean handkerchief from her sleeve and pushed it into Lauryn's hand. “Non, non. You vill veep us off the bed. Your 'usband is a zaint, we agree. You are zick for 'ome, is that it? As I zaid, if you miss your 'usband, you can leave and rejoin 'im at your vill. So what keeps you?”

“My husband is dead!” Lauryn almost shouted, raising her voice for the second time. “Unless I wish to cut my throat, I can't join him.”

This time the contessa did not admonish her. Instead, she stared at her for a moment. “Ah, now I understand, a little. You mourn the good dead 'usband. 'E died this week, this month?”

Lauryn shook her head.

“When vas it that 'e died?”

Lauryn told her, and the contessa again looked mystified. “But,
ma petite
, you cannot mourn the man, even the good man, the rest of your life.”

“I loved him,” Lauryn told her, exasperated in her turn. “Don't you know how it feels to love a man?”

“I vas married for eight years. It vas a buzinezz arrangement; 'e had a good family name, a zatisfactory estate,” the contessa said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Ve got along quite vell. When 'e died, I mourned him dutifully for zeveral months. Then I made the decisions I must to continue my life. You must remember the words of the priest, ma petite, when 'e makes the wedding vows: ‘until death do uz part.' The good 'usband has died. The marriage is over.”

It sounded so harsh, put like that. Yet in her mind, Lauryn knew that the contessa was right. It was in her heart that she felt she was being disloyal to Robert…especially…

“There is more, oui?” The contessa was still watching her face, where her sisters had always told Lauryn her thoughts were too easily read.

Lauryn tried to wipe her countenance clean. “What do you mean?”

“It iz not that last night waz not good. It iz that last night waz too good. That iz what troubles you zo.”

“I didn't say that!” Lauryn turned away from this too inquisitive, too discerning stranger, but the contessa would not be ignored.

“Of course, thiz iz the whole nutshell,” she said, nodding wisely. “If the lovemaking 'ad not been good, or only a little good, your conscience vould 'ave been easy. But Marcuz never makez love that is not exquizite. So now your 'eart iz smote—you vorry that the good dead 'usband vill look poorly in comparison.”

“I do not!” Lauryn tried to interrupt, her cheeks surely flaming, but the other woman ignored her.

“Do not be foolish, Madame Smith. Every man is different. Iz not necessary to judge better or good or not so good, just different. Zo, let it go and be eazy. And rest the eyes with the cucumbers, and come down for dinner, for if you do not—”

The contessa rose and glided toward the door, pausing with one hand on the door handle to say, “If you do not, I vill tell the earl that you are contemplating taking vows to become a nun, and 'e might as vell take me back as lover in your place.”

And smiling brilliantly, she pulled the door hastily shut before the handful of cucumber slices that Lauryn sent sailing her way splattered against it.

Even after the contessa had departed, Lauryn lay there for a time and fumed. Yes, she had been lying in bed overcome with guilt, it was quite true. The fact that what she had felt with the Earl of Sutton last night had taken her to such heights of passion—the very first time they had come together, too—how could it be possible, and what did it say about her years of lovemaking with her own husband?

She felt disloyal to the extreme. It was all very well, what the contessa had said, but she couldn't just turn her feelings off and on, like placing a candlesnuffer upon a candle's tiny flame when one was ready to kill the blaze. Her marriage may have ended at the moment life had been extinguished in her husband when he had succumbed to his illness, but feelings took much longer to fade.

Lauryn wished the contessa were not so skilled at putting her finger on the crux of the problem. It was quite true that if their lovemaking had not been so wonderful, she would not feel so guilty. Groaning, she put the cold cloth back over her eyes. She hoped that her swollen eyelids would be less noticeable by dinnertime, as she'd be damned if she would have the contessa telling spurious tales about nunneries while Lauryn lingered upstairs.

So she spent the afternoon in her room, wondering occasionally what the earl was doing, and how energetically the contessa was trying to cut her out of his activities. When the maid came up to help her dress before dinner, Lauryn was more than ready to get up and see people again. She choose another attractive dress from her collection of new gowns, this one a deep forest green, and with the servant's help, prepared for the evening.

When the knock came at her door, she recognized the hand and hurried to open it.

The earl's expression was hard to read. “I hope you are feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, trying to smile naturally.

“Good,” he said, and to her relief, did not question her about the nature of her indisposition. He only offered her his arm. They walked downstairs to the dining room, where again a large party of guests was assembling.

She did not, of course, sit by the earl; her seat was at the other end, in the place of honor at the hostess's position, where she sat above even the higher-ranked ladies, which must annoy many of them, Lauryn thought. She was careful not to appear to relish the fact. No need to make enemies; one never knew what the future would bring. She had hoped not to meet any of the Ton in this persona, but schemes could go awry, and this one had already strayed far from the course that she had intended it to take.