A Countess by Chance (6 page)

O
livia paced outside Adam’s bedroom door, still wearing her nightgown, waiting for the doctor to emerge. He’d been in there an hour—an infinite amount of time, as far as Olivia was concerned. James had rushed from the room a half hour ago, but had yet to return. What did it mean? If Adam were dead or dying, the doctor would have no cause to linger. Would he?

Guilt seeped into every nook and crevice of her heart. Had she not lunged at Wood…well, Adam could have
still
been shot, but at least he would have had a fighting chance. Curse her impulsive nature. If she’d only restrained herself, then Wood may have deloped and Adam might still be standing, whole and hale.

Just as she’d quit her pacing and decided to knock on the door, the thick slab of oak whipped open to reveal Dr. Brookston. He stopped short at the sight of her, a frown etched into his aging features.

“Doctor!” In her terrified state, she advanced on him, nearly toppling the elderly man. “How is he? Tell me everything. What is the extent of his injury? Is there any hope of recovery?” The words rushed out of her mouth in a quick, panicked slur.

“He’s strong and still quite young—I daresay he’ll live to make more foolish mistakes.”

“Oh, thank heavens!”

Relief flooded her. Adam was going to be all right.

“I’ve given him laudanum and he’s resting comfortably. I’ve given instructions for his care to Mr. Leventhorpe.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

As the doctor left, Annabelle rushed up the hallway, her pedal-pink lips pressed into a firm, unreadable line. She was dressed in a yellow morning gown, hair pulled up into perfect ringlets, a handkerchief clutched in her hand. “Well, what did the doctor say?”

“He is…”

Olivia was about to tell her the good news, relieve the chit of her well-deserved torment, when Mr. Wood approached from the far end of the hall. Annabelle had her back turned to him and a plan instantly bloomed in Olivia’s mind—a wonderfully
devious
plan.

“The news is grim.” Father had always told her she bluffed well. She drew on that talent now, shaking her head sadly. “I fear that if he doesn’t survive, your brother will be tried for
murder
.” She said the last in a low, dramatic whisper—which gave it a more sinister quality.

Although Olivia had (regrettably) lunged at Wood, the gun had still been in
his
hand when it had gone off. It was
feasible
he could stand trial for such a crime, so Olivia wasn’t being dishonest. Exaggerating the situation, perhaps, but entirely truthful in her assertion.

Annabelle clutched a pink handkerchief, her eyes wide. “I only meant to hook the man, not kill him! And now because of me, my brother will be tried for murder!”

Olivia arched a brow. “You meant to
hook
Lord Huntington?”

Annabelle grew flustered at Olivia’s accusing tone. “Don’t look at me like that! I am nearly twenty-
two
and the only men who court me are decidedly beneath my station. Besides, he would have come around eventually—I merely hurried things along by forcing his hand.”

Wood approached just in time to catch her admission. “By forcing his hand…,” he repeated, his tone dripping with anger. “You
trapped
the man? Good God, Annabelle.”

Annabelle whirled around to face him and gasped. “I only meant… What I mean to say, is I…”

He glared at his sister, his lips pressed into a hard, implacable line. “You only meant what? That you have dishonored yourself by resorting to the actions of a desperate, grasping child? It’s no wonder Lord Huntington refused to wed you.”

“If I am desperate, it is only due to your
constant
reminders that I must find a wealthy, titled husband before I am too old!”

Before she could reveal more, Wood grabbed Annabelle by the elbow and flashed Olivia a tight smile. “Please excuse us, Miss Dewhurst. It seems my sister and I have some unpleasant matters to discuss.” Pivoting sharply on his heel, he dragged a whimpering Annabelle down the hallway and toward the main staircase.

Olivia almost felt a pang of sympathy for the girl.
Almost
. She considered herself a forgiving woman, but she wasn’t quite generous enough to excuse Annabelle’s behavior toward Adam. It was a shame, really. It was only a matter of time before the rumors began to circulate, and by then Annabelle’s reputation would be in tatters. And all over one ill-conceived kiss.

The minute Annabelle and Wood were out of sight, Olivia slipped into Adam’s room, clicking the door shut behind her. Sunlight spilled in from two arched windows on the far side of the room, glinting off the polished mahogany furnishings. Her eyes traveled past the chase lounge, past the stately writing desk, to the elegant four-poster bed beyond.

Adam.

Her heart leapt when she saw him. He was asleep, completely bare-chested save the white bandage wrapped tightly around his upper arm. Blankets were tangled around his hips and legs, as though he’d thrashed at some point during his sleep.

Biting her bottom lip, she stepped forward. Good heavens, how could she possibly ask his forgiveness? She’d thought him a liar, refused to speak to him, and then
shot
him—all in the span of a single day! He must despise her, and rightly so. After everything, she’d had no faith in him.

She lowered herself into the chair beside his bed and let her gaze travel freely over his angular features. He looked well, at least. A bit rough around the edges, perhaps, but breathing and whole.

She reached out and touched a fingertip to the seam of his lips. They were warm, soft, and she longed to taste them again. Just
once
more before he awoke and turned her away.

Standing, she leaned over him and gently pressed her lips to his. His scent curled around her, and she drew it into her lungs, committing it to memory. Spice with just a hint of earthy musk that was entirely his own.

Just as she began to pull away, he reached up with his good arm and cupped her head, pulling her deeper into the kiss.

He was awake and kissing her. She sank onto the bed as he claimed her mouth, hot, urgent, demanding. He kissed her as though these were his last, fleeting moments on earth.

He sucked in a sharp, pained breath and she pulled away instantly, her heart racing. “Did I hurt you?”

He ignored her question, his lips tilting into that wickedly charming smile that never failed to send shivers down her spine. “Does this mean you’re speaking to me again?”

“I should never have doubted you,” she said.

“How could you ever have believed I wanted Annabelle, when I have
you
? There’s no comparison.”

Her heart clenched at his words. “Will you forgive me?”

“You did
shoot
me. And as I see it that puts you in my debt yet again.”

“In point of fact, Wood shot you. I was trying to stop him.”

“I could list any number of reasons why you are in my debt—a bullet in my arm is one among many.”

Perhaps there was merit to his argument.

“Very well, I concede. I am forever in your debt.” Smiling, she traced the ridges of muscle that lined his stomach. “What, pray tell, is your price
this
time?”

He gazed at her intently, all traces of humor gone. “Marry me.” He brushed his thumb across her lower lip, gentle, reverent. “Say you’ll be my wife.”

She blinked several times, certain she’d heard him wrong. For so long, she’d imagined him uttering those very words again. Now, here, it felt like a dream.

He smoothed his hand over her backside, over the fabric of her nightgown, then drew it back and slapped her hard. She jumped as the sharp, exquisite pain lanced through her, igniting every nerve, every wicked desire. “Say it, Olivia.”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Yes, I will marry you.” She smiled. Joy swelled in her chest, spreading through her like rays of sunlight. “Looks like you won me, after all.”

Yorkshire, England, 1813

D
aphne Hayward slipped into the room silently, shutting and bolting the door behind her. Edward’s room was pitch-black, the curtains pulled tight against the moonlight, the air around her still and quiet—the only sound came from the far side of the room where Edward lay in his bed. His loud, measured breaths assured her he was fast asleep. Her sweet, pliable Edward.

Tonight he would finally be hers.

With trembling fingers, Daphne untied the sash at her waist and let the pale pink robe slip from her shoulders and pool onto the floor. Her chemise and slippers quickly followed. Cold air nipped at her naked skin as she hurried to the bed—from instinct rather than sight—quickly sliding beneath the coverlet.

For several minutes, she lay there, frozen, too afraid to move. Her heart hammered against her ribs and the crisp air caught in her lungs. Before she lost her nerve, she reached over and trailed one tentative finger down muscled arm. He felt smooth like granite, but warm to the touch.

When he didn’t stir, her touch grew bolder. Moving closer, she drew the coverlet back and skimmed her hand up his naked torso. In the darkness, she could feel every ridge and muscle that lined his stomach. She’d never realized how deliciously strong he was. In daylight, he looked every bit the respectable gentleman—tall with wavy blond hair, pale blue eyes, and a frame that leaned toward boyish. She was delighted to discover it was just an illusion—no doubt created by his very talented tailor. It was a wonder what miles of fabric and fine tailoring could conceal.

Licking her lips, she let her hand trail downward to the crisp hairs that peeked just above…he moaned a little, waking, and she snatched her hand back. He was completely naked. A split second before she’d pulled her hand away she’d brushed against the hot ridge of his erection.

Suddenly, she felt out of her depth. What was she doing? Despite her sister Margaret’s frank discussions about sex, Daphne hadn’t the faintest idea how to seduce a man—but she must. Her future happiness with Edward depended on it.  

He groaned. The sound of his voice was richer, heavier in sleep than she’d imagined. But before she could contemplate that too deeply, he rolled over and dragged her beneath him with a low growl.

“I hoped you’d come,” he said, his voice roughened from sleep.

Daphne let out a startled gasp, excited, as the weight of his body pressed her into the mattress. Her sister was right. Men really did abandon all civility and surrender to their animal natures in bed. Again, she had no time to contemplate this wondrous transformation as he swiftly caught her lips in a deep, passionate kiss, obliterating any further thought. All she was left with was the wicked sensation of his tongue sweeping into her mouth, stroking her senseless, melting her fears. He tasted rich, like brandy, mixed with cigar and wood smoke—wholly male, and so unlike the man she knew in daylight.

It was clear by the way he took control that he wanted this. She had long suspected it to be true, but his gentle and honorable nature had always been an obstacle. Now, in the darkness, the world, Society, melted away and there was only the two of them. And it felt right, so very right.

Deliriously
right.

He released her mouth and trailed wet kisses down her neck, biting as his hand found the patch of curls between her thighs. A thrill of excitement rushed through her as he toyed with her there, running his finger along the seam of her sex, while his lips lowered to play havoc with her left nipple. His tongue swirled and licked, sending ripples of heat spreading through her veins. His mouth felt so good against her skin, wet and hot, and she lost herself to the sensation.

“Mmmmm.” With one hand, he spread her thighs wide and settled himself between them; his lower half hovering just inches above her. Instinctively, she arched her hips upward, grinding into his pelvis, searching for more of that delicious friction. She wanted more. So much more. Everything he had to give.

In one swift thrust, he entered her. The sharp sting was so painful it took her breath away. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Edward had always been gentle toward her. If he knew he’d hurt her, he’d pull away and she simply couldn’t let that happen. She needed this.
They
needed this.

He moved with deep, sure thrusts, each more forceful than the last, and slowly the pain began to ease. Deep-seated satisfaction bloomed within her chest. This man was hers. Nothing could part them now.

A little moan escaped her lips as something swirled inside her, spiraling, faster and faster, like an unraveling spool of thread. This one moment was like everything she’d ever dared hope for, and more. The connection between them was powerful, soul-gripping and threatened to consume her whole. At any moment, she was going to shatter. Then, with one final thrust, he pushed impossibly deeper and stilled.

His breathing was labored, and it took him a full minute to gather himself before he finally rolled off her. This was the moment, she thought, that regret would start to sink in. The moment that he’d shower her with apologies and beg forgiveness. She’d promised herself that if she went through with this, she wouldn’t remain long enough for him to pollute the moment with shame. What was done was done, and she was happy for it.

Without a word, she kissed his forehead and pulled away, just as she felt him reach for her.

“Stay,” he said.

She hesitated, drawn by his warmth and by the rough, erotic rumble of his voice. How desperately she wanted to curl up within the shelter of his arms and drift off to sleep…but she couldn’t. She’d already risked too much by coming here.

“I can’t,” she whispered, disentangling herself from his arms. “Someone will discover us.”

Quickly, she scrambled off the bed. She stumbled around in the darkness and retrieved her robe, sliding the silky material over her shoulders. She blew a kiss into the air, smiling to herself. Edward was hers. Surely now, after their passionate encounter, he wouldn’t hesitate to propose. It was the next logical step.

She slipped out the door and into the passageway, tiptoeing her way back to her bedroom. He was hers now. And no one, not even her brother-in-law, could possibly object to the marriage. Smiling to herself, she was running her fingers along the cool surface of the wall when someone rounded the corner from the opposite end of the passageway, candle held high.

Daphne stopped abruptly and looked up into the face illuminated by the orange glow of the candle flame. “Edward?”

“Daphne,” he said, surprised.

Her heart stopped, then leapt into her throat. “My, God,” she gasped. “What have I done?”