The Incomparable Countess. Mary Nichols

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СКАЧАТЬ her figure off to perfection: the trim waist, the well-rounded bosom, the long, pale neck and the raven hair, pulled into a topknot and arranged in careful curls at the back of her head. Without the least attempt to appear girlish, she presented herself as still a young woman of astonishing beauty and great poise. She wore no jewellery; her lovely neck was unadorned. He felt a sudden urge to bury his face in the curve of it.

      ‘Countess.’ He bowed towards her, realising his smile had become a trifle fixed, as if he were afraid he would let it slip and all his thoughts and emotions would be laid bare.

      ‘I am sorry to have been so long,’ she said, without explaining why. ‘I hope refreshments were sent to you.’

      ‘Indeed, yes.’ He nodded towards the tray which a maidservant had put on one of the tables and which contained a teapot, cups and saucers and a plate of little cakes. ‘I have been waiting for you to come and share them with me.’

      ‘Then do sit down.’ She sat on a sofa and indicated the chair opposite. ‘I prefer tea at this time, but if you would rather have Madeira or sherry…’

      ‘No, tea will suit me very well.’ He lifted the skirt of his coat and sat down, his long legs, clad in buckskin riding breeches, stretched out in front of him. There was no fat on him, she realised; the shape of his calves and thighs was due to well-toned muscle.

      She poured two cups of tea and handed one to him, pleased that her hand was as steady as a rock. ‘Please help yourself to a honey cake.’

      ‘No, thank you, though they do look delicious.’

      She sipped her tea with what she hoped was cool detachment, but this mundane conversation was driving her mad. What did he want? Why had he come? He appeared to be sizing her up, as if he was trying to make up his mind whether she had been pining after him all the years they had been apart. Surely he did not hope to take up where they left off? If that were so he was insufferably conceited and she would soon show him how mistaken he was. ‘It is a lovely day,’ she said. ‘I am surprised you are not out riding. I believe Lady Lavinia is very fond of that exercise.’

      ‘She is indeed. We had a ride this morning, and I took her home half an hour since, but she finds riding in the park somewhat restricting and, as I have not brought her mare to London, she has perforce to use a hired hack.’

      ‘She will be glad to return to Derbyshire, then.’

      ‘Oh, I have no plans to return in the immediate future, so if she wants to ride, she must learn to bear it.’ He was waiting for her to ask why he was visiting her, she decided, and she would not satisfy him on that score, even if they sat exchanging small talk all day. He put his cup down and she smiled and asked him if he would like a second cup of tea.

      ‘No, thank you,’ he said, looking round the room. ‘You have a beautiful home.’

      ‘Thank you. I have enjoyed refurbishing it over the years. Of course, it now belongs to the present Earl, my stepson, but he has said I may consider it my home for as long as I wish.’

      It would be different when he came fully into his inheritance on his twenty-fifth birthday, when the Essex estate and the London house would be handed over to him. Then she would have to find somewhere to live; she did not like the idea of living there under sufferance and certainly not after he married. And before long he would. Her steady, unruffled life was about to change, but she had been putting her head in the sand and doing nothing about it. However, sooner or later, she must.

      ‘It would be an inconsiderate son who said anything else, Countess.’

      ‘He is far from inconsiderate, my lord. I cannot have wished for a better son, and, before you ask, I have not been so fortunate as to have children of my own.’

      ‘I would not dream of asking such a personal question, my lady.’

      She was cross with herself for allowing her agitation to show and picked up his cup and saucer and put it on the tray to give herself something to do with her hands. ‘Stanmore House is said to be a very fine example of a London house,’ she said, doing her best to retrieve the situation with an easy smile. ‘I am told the staircase is unique and the decoration of the reception rooms superb.’

      ‘Yes, but old-fashioned. My late wife did not like London and never came, so it has remained as it was in my mother’s time.’

      She longed to ask why the Duchess had not liked London, but that would be as personal a question as asking her about her childlessness and she would not give him the satisfaction of pointing that out to her.

      ‘My daughter has never been to the capital,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘And until now I did not feel she needed to, but next year she will be seventeen and must make her mark on Society if she is to take well.’

      ‘Surely there is plenty of time for that? I think seventeen is far too young for any young lady to make up her mind about marriage. Why, they are still only schoolgirls at that age and given to all manner of fits and fancies.’ That is one for you to think on, she thought, as she watched his face for a sign that he understood what she was saying; that she had been fanciful at that age and had recovered from it. But the years had taught him to mask his feelings and not for a second did his expression reveal that the barb had gone home.

      ‘I have no wish to saddle her with marriage before she is ready for it,’ he said, evenly. ‘But she must make her bow at court and I would not like it said she lacked polish.’

      ‘You propose to polish her, my lord?’ She spoke with the hint of a teasing smile which jerked him back seventeen years—the young Fanny Randall had had a finely tuned sense of humour—and made him stand up and go to look out of the window. The view was no different from the one he had been looking at earlier, but it was an excuse to keep his face turned from her until he had brought himself back under control. This was a business meeting and he must not allow emotion to gain the upper hand.

      ‘No, that would be foolish in me. I shall employ others to do it.’ He turned back suddenly. ‘You, for one, if you agree.’

      ‘Me?’ She could not hide the surprise and dismay in her voice. ‘I am persuaded you are jesting.’

      ‘Not at all. I am told one of the accomplishments a young lady needs, besides being able to sew a fine seam, play a musical instrument and dance the latest steps, is the ability to draw and paint and I can think of no one more suited to teach Lavinia that.’

      He sat down beside her on the sofa, which did nothing for her hard-won control. He was so close, she could almost feel the warmth emanating from a body which was still lithe and muscular. Her own body seemed to want to lean towards his, to feel again the contact of thigh against thigh, his arms about her, lips on lips. Shocked to the core, she stood up and went to pull the bell for the maid to remove the tray.

      Because she was on her feet, etiquette demanded he should rise too. She sat down abruptly and motioned him to the other chair. He sat down again, far enough away to allow her to breathe more easily. ‘It is true I have a certain facility, but…’

      ‘You are far too modest, Countess. You have an incomparable reputation…’

      ‘Fustian!’ She smiled, remembering those were the words that Lady Willoughby had used; she had probably repeated them in his hearing. ‘You have seen my work for yourself, at Lady Willoughby’s. And criticised it too.’

      ‘I would СКАЧАТЬ