Read My Favorite Countess Online
Authors: Vanessa Kelly
My Favorite Countess (23 page)
As John guided her toward the door, she glanced at Miss Roston's face. A malicious and knowing satisfaction glittered in the woman's eyes as she studied the protective arm John placed across the back of her waist. Bathsheba silently cursed. The brother might be naïve, but the sister was anything but.
A moment later they were out in the corridor and down the stairs into the Grecian-themed lobby. John took her arm in a firm grip, hurrying her along to the doors. She pulled, but he refused to let go.
“If you don't slow down, I might suffer a relapse,” she snapped.
He finally came to a halt once they exited onto the street. Under the flare of the gas lamps lighting the imposing portico of the theater, she could clearly see the irritation marking his handsome features.
“Do forgive me, your ladyship,” he said in a sarcastic tone, “but any fool could see you were begging to be rescued. Or did I mistake your little performance back there? Is it a doctor you truly need, or me?”
Chapter 16
Bathsheba took several deep breaths, willing her heartbeat to resume its normal rhythm. She managed a lethal glare back at John, doing her best to ignore her giddy response to his possessive, predictably masculine behavior.
Of course she had wanted to be rescued. Otherwise, she would never have allowed him to haul her from Sir David's box. And it wasn't just their dash from the theater that was making her heart race with a disconcerting combination of anxiety and excitement. It had been doing that since the moment he walked into the box. It happened every time he came near her, blast himâthis easy breach of her defenses. It made her want things. Made her believe he could repair her life, much the same as he had repaired her body. This terrible wanting made her weak, when she had never been weak before.
He knew it, too, and threw the knowledge right back into her face.
“Dr. Blackmore,” she finally replied in a frosty voice, “I am, of course, grateful for your assistance, but your assumption is both incorrect and offensive. I'm extremely disappointed that circumstances forced me to cut short my evening. I was having a perfectly lovely time with Sir David and his sister. And may I point out,” she added with a haughty lift of her chin, “you were the one who insisted I return home. I was most reluctant to refuse, for fear you would make a public scene.”
He gave an incredulous snort and waved his arm to summon a hackney. “You're quite the accomplished actress, aren't you, my lady? But I'm having none of it. You were bored out of your mind. You did everything but get down on your pretty knees and beg me to get you out of there. What the hell were you doing with the Rostons, anyway?”
She opened her mouth to snap back at him, but then she heard the smothered guffaws coming from a group of coachmen lounging around the carriages lined up on the street.
“Sir David is a very distinguished man, and most kind,” she replied with a dignified air. “And his sister has an extremely well-informed mind.”
John took her arm and steered her toward the hackney, now inching its way through the tangle of carriages in front of the theater.
“Sir David is a dead bore. And his sister is the worst kind of martinet. I repeat, what the hell were you doing with them?”
She paused with one foot on the step of the hackney, arrested by what she heard, or thought she heard in his voice. Faint, it barely colored the words with a thin wash of emotion, but it was still there. John Blackmore was jealous.
She glanced over her shoulder, taking in the hard set of his jaw and the grim line of his mouth. His eyes stared back at her, their silver depths shimmering with a barely concealed challenge. A quiver of illicit pleasure rippled through her, moving from her belly to settle deep between her thighs.
“Why, Doctor, you surprise me,” she breathed, opening her eyes wide with faux innocence. “I would think Sir David and his sister were precisely the kind of people you would wish me to associate with. They're both so improving, don't you agree?”
His gaze grew diamond hard. “Get in,” he growled.
She yelped as a large hand covered her bottom and pushed her up into the cab. After issuing a terse direction to the driver, John followed close behind, hands on her hips to guide her as she collapsed in an undignified heap on the padded bench.
“How dare you?” she gasped as she struggled to sit upright. Her skirts had rucked up around her knees, and one of her shoes had dropped from her foot to hit the floor with a tiny thunk.
He came down on the bench beside her, his big body exuding enough heat to start a bonfire. She thought she had been warm in the theater, but the fierceness of his temperâand his hot masculine presence crowding so closely against herâbrought the blood rushing to her cheeks and weakened all her limbs.
With a concerted effort, she yanked her skirts back down as she felt for the errant footwear. It was so dark inside the coach she could barely see anything, including him. But she could
feel
him, so muscular against her softer body, and that contrast set every nerve leaping in anticipation of sexual submission.
feel
him, so muscular against her softer body, and that contrast set every nerve leaping in anticipation of sexual submission.
Which, naturally, would be a huge mistake.
“Really, Dr. Blackmore,” she huffed, trying to reclaim her equilibrium. “I find your behavior completely unacceptable.”
His only answer was a laugh that sounded more like a cat's purrâa feral cat. She felt the vibration of it along the length of her body, humming between them wherever they touched.
Repressing a mad urge to pull her skirts up around her waist and climb into his lap, she scraped her toes along the straw-covered floor of the cab, searching for her shoe. She gave a little groan when something thick and slimy dampened her silk stocking.
“Allow me, my lady,” said John. His voice was edged with laughterâsmoky, hot, and still holding the remnants of his anger.
Reaching down, he groped for a moment before finding her kid slipper. His long fingers closed around her ankle, stroking upward, then lingering to gently tickle the sensitive area behind her knee. She couldn't quite repress the whimper that fell from her lips.
“Is something wrong?” he asked as his hand dropped to slip her shoe back on her foot.
“Not a thing,” she said in an airy, somewhat breathless voice.
But deep inside, all the nerves in her body jangled like wildly pealing bells. What was she doing here, alone in a dark carriage with the one man she couldn't have? Danger lurked on every side. With the slightest hint of scandal, she would lose Sir David's favorâhis sister would see to that. Bathsheba could no longer afford the luxury of sensual indulgence, not if she wanted to save herself and her family. And indulgence was exactly what was happening in the velvet darkness of this hot little carriage.
She edged away, squishing her shoulders into the corner of the cab. With a desperate grab at the fraying ends of her common sense, she reminded herself of the last time she had let her emotions run riot. When she had blackmailed Simon. The results of that ill-conceived episode had been far-reaching and disastrous.
And at least with Simon there had been a compelling reason for her actions. But now she was behaving irrationally, against her own interests. John was not the answer to her problems, and he never would be.
He stirred, shifting to gently pin her against the wall of the cab. She clenched every muscle in an effort to resist the siren lure of his warmth and strength.
“What are you worried about, Bathsheba?” he asked. “I think I've proven to you that I can be trusted. That I have your best interests at heart. Tell me what's wrong.”
His voice slid through her veins like heated brandy, tempting her to blurt out every sordid detail of her dreary, exhausting life. But her intellect recognizedâeven if her body did notâthat he spoke with the voice of a doctor, not a lover, and the distinction made her skin crawl with shame.
After several fraught moments of silence, she managed a reply.
“As I've already told you, Dr. Blackmore, I find your unwelcome assumptions quite offensive. Please do me the courtesy of keeping your opinions to yourself. Unless I ask for them, of course.” She punctuated her remarks with as much sarcasm as she could muster.
He muttered a curseâshe had certainly heard worseâand retreated to the opposite corner of the cab. As the hackney inched its way along Piccadilly, bars of light from the occasional gas lamp slashed through the window, highlighting the clean, fierce lines of his aristocratic features. He stared straight ahead, his mouth pressed into an unhappy line.
Bathsheba sighed, feeling as unhappy as he looked. Why must he always force her to injure him? And why did an injury to him feel as though she had inflicted one upon herself?
As they bumped their way through the clogged street into Mayfair, she cast about for some innocuous comment to break the strained silence that hung between them.
She cleared her throat. “Dr. Blackmore, I was wondering if you had an opportunity to call on Lady Silverton.”
He made a small, scoffing noise, accompanied by a slight shake of the head. “Yes, Lady Randolph. As I promised, I called on the marchioness this morning.”
She felt her shoulders relax. His arctic tones lowered the temperature inside the cab several degrees, but at least he answered her.
“Can you help her?”
“I believe I can,” he replied in a clipped voice.
Bathsheba breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Lady Silverton's kindness had touched her more than she cared to admit. It had been ages since she had met anyone possessed of such a warm and generous nature, and even longer since that kind of warmth had been offered so freely to her.
Except for John, of course, but that was different. He was a man, and men generally liked her. But women . . . well, Bathsheba supposed she had only herself to blame for the fact that most of the female members of the ton couldn't stand the sight of her.
She cast him a sidelong glance, wondering just how far she could pry. But with a growing sense of surprise, and more than a touch of consternation, she realized how much she wanted Lady Silverton to be safe from harm.
“Dr. Blackmore,” she blurted out. “Do you think the marchioness will be safely delivered of her baby?”
He turned in his seat to examine her face. His dark brows dipped together over his nose, but he seemed puzzled rather than annoyed.
“The outcome is never certain, Lady Randolph, as I'm sure you realize.”
He seemed reluctant to elaborate, which did little more than feed her sense of anxiety.
“Lady Silverton isn't ill, is she? She seemed so very tired the other day.”
Even in the dim light of the cab she could see a smile tip up the corners of his mouth.
“She's fine. Her ladyship is carrying twins, which is the reason her pregnancy has been unusually difficult. But she's a strong and healthy young woman, so I have little doubt she'll do very well.”
“Twins!” Bathsheba let out a relieved laugh. “That would certainly explain her enormous size.”
His lips twitched into an easy grin, but only for a moment. Then he gazed down his nose at her, looking for all the world like a severe schoolmaster.
“You're not to breathe a word of this, Bathshebaânot to anyone. I had no business telling you. Not without Lady Silverton's permission. I only did so becauseâ”
She stopped him by laying a hand on his arm.
“Thank you, John. I won't ask any more questions or say a thing to anyone. I promise. It was very kind of you to tell me.”
He looked down at her hand, and her gaze followed his. Tightly encased in soft kid, her fingers looked small and strangely vulnerable against the coarser dark fabric of his coat.
“Bathsheba,” he said in a gruff voice.
The carriage jerked to a halt, throwing her against him. His arms came round her, enveloping her with an alluring warmth. For a moment she allowed it to happen, but then she struggled, all too aware of the false sanctuary of his embrace.
“Let me go,” she gasped. “We've reached Curzon Street.”
He made a frustrated noise but loosened his hold. She scrambled for the door handle, fumbling in her panicânot because of what he might do, but because of what she would surely do if she stayed one second longer in this dark, unbearably intimate space.
He gently pushed away her hand and opened the door. After he helped her alight, he turned to pay off the driver. She stood on the pavement, staring at the Palladian facade of her house, taking slow, steady breaths in an effort to still her trembling limbs.
When John had finished with the driver and joined her by the steps leading to the front door, she lifted her head and gave him a bright smile.
“Thank you for taking me home, Dr. Blackmore. It was most kind of you.”
She extended her hand but he ignored it, taking her by the shoulders and guiding her up the shallow steps.
“What are you doing?” she said, wriggling in a vain attempt to free herself.
“I'm coming in with you. I'm not convinced you're completely recovered from your illness.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don't be ridiculous. I'm perfectly well and you know it.”
He pounded on the knocker, still keeping a hand on her shoulder.
“And how many medical degrees do you have, Lady Randolph?” he asked sardonically. “I have two.”
She was about to deliver a scathing retort when the door swung open.
“Good evening, your ladyship,” said Buckles, the junior footman.
“Goodâ”
She choked off her reply as John's hand settled on the small of her back, just grazing the upper swell of her bottom. He gently pushed her over the threshold.
“Good evening,” he said to Buckles as he handed over his hat. “I'm Dr. Blackmore. Her ladyship was taken ill while at the theater tonight.”
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