An Unlikely Countess (45 page)

It was all a magnificent piece of theater, and probably had no force in law in this day and age, but it would put an end to Henry Draydale here and all around. Word would spread, as word did, and make him shameful throughout the land.

“Where will he go?” Prudence asked, as the crowd began to disperse, talking excitedly.

“Not far enough. I’ll find him.”

“Be careful, Cate. Vengeance can eat the soul.”

“I merely mean to bring him to justice for the crimes that are on the book. And I will. But I’ll leave the prosecution to others. He’s not worth my attention beyond this.”

“I feel the same.”

“Then let’s return home.”

“I’d like to speak to Aaron and the Tallbridges.”

“Of course.” Cate directed the horse that way and then helped her off.

“Well,” said Susan, for once lost for words.

“We’re very well, thank you,” Prudence said, and lightly embraced her. She turned to Aaron, who seemed torn between awe and annoyance.

“I’m pleased to see you comfortably situated, Prudence.”

“Then sound it.”

He frowned. “It’s only that I worry about you.”

Prudence shook her head, laughing, and let the matter drop. Aaron would always tell a story of his own choosing.

Cate was speaking to Tallbridge. “I must apologize again for the destruction of your carriage, sir, but as you’ll have heard, it wasn’t entirely my fault.”

“A nothing, my lord,” Tallbridge said, bowing. “We delight to see you safe. May I offer you the hospitality of my house?”

He was being most urbane, but Prudence hadn’t missed his intent glance at Diana, still mounted—rather, Prudence thought, amused, like an equestrian statue. She was sure it was deliberate, and equally sure that Tallbridge lusted to have her as a guest in his house.

“Alas, sir,” Cate said, “we must be on our way back to Keynings. But we hope to accept your hospitality some other time. And, of course, you and your daughter and Prudence’s brother are welcome at Keynings at any time.”

Tallbridge bowed, obviously pleased with the lesser prize.

They set off back to Keynings in good humor, waiting a couple of miles to take time to feed and water the horses. Later, Diana and Perry separated from the group to run an impromptu horse race.

“You want to do that too,” Prudence said.

“Yes. Would you mind if I switched horses with one of the grooms for a while?”

“Of course not.”

Cate made the change, appropriating the man’s plumed hat as well, and raced to join the others, riding magnificently, his laughter on the wind.

There was nothing for it. She’d have to learn to ride.

K
eynings looked lovely in the late afternoon, and Prudence realized that it was already home for her. Not yet her perfect home, but home, and she could be at home in it.

She saw Hetty out in the garden with the children and waved, and nearer the house Artemis was with her daughters, all three of them, along with nursemaids, one of whom carried a baby. Diana immediately turned her horse in that direction. When she got there, she dismounted, took her baby, turned discreetly, and set to feed her, just like a farmwoman.

Prudence hoped she’d soon have a similar confidence to do exactly as she wished.

She, Cate, and Perry dismounted at the front doors, and the other riders took away their horses. As they went into the house Cate said, “I suppose I should go to Mother and give her an account of today’s events. She won’t approve.”

“I’ll come with you,” Prudence said, “and make sure she does.”

“And I’ll escape,” said Perry with a laugh, and did so.

The dowager was not admiring, but she said, “Such dastards must be dealt with. It will have done no harm for you both to have been seen in Lady Arradale’s company. I hope tomorrow will be a more orderly day and she will dine with us. I knew her parents, you know. They lacked a son. It was a great sadness to them.”

“Like Henry the Eighth,” Cate said, “they might have taken comfort in their daughter if they’d lived to see her reign.”

“Henry the Eighth should have been much more judicious in his choice of wives. A foreign papist was a bad beginning.”

Prudence managed to keep silent, but when they escaped, she asked, “Does she not realize that Henry was a papist at the time?”

“I think it’s the ‘foreign’ she objects to. She feels our current king would have been wiser to marry an Englishwoman, but the queen’s ability to produce children, including healthy boys, is mellowing her. I’m sorry. My mother’s not an easy woman.”

“But forthright. That, I can adjust to.”

“And when you produce healthy boys, you will be the sun and moon to her.”

“That might be the more terrifying prospect! But we’ve rid ourselves of pandemonium, haven’t we? And all our demons are defeated?”

“Yes, and thus we should be rewarded.”

“Rewarded?”

“Tonight,” he said, his meaning unmistakable.

“Tonight? But . . .” They’d arrived at her bedchamber door. She glanced around to be sure no one was nearby. “We can’t.”

“We can. There are pleasures that carry no risk of a child.”

“There are?” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say so before?”

He came to her in his robe, and nothing else. She too was in a robe, with her plain nightgown beneath. She’d left her hair loose.

“Pale honey,” he said, gathering some in one hand and letting it drift down. “By candlelight.”

She’d waited for him sitting by the window, watching the last traces of the sun leave the sky and the first stars show.

He moved a chair beside hers, and then took her hand, interweaving their fingers. “Night is the time for demons, but it’s also the time for the sweetest love.”

The word
love
shimmered in the air like forbidden fruit. No, she wouldn’t demand too much of this. Their reward would be rich enough.

“Dusk is a peaceful time of day,” she said.

“Unless you’re a small creature trying to avoid the owl.”

She looked a warning at him. “I’ll have only paradise tonight, not
Paradise Lost
. Why is simply sitting here like this so sweet?” She answered herself. “Because everyone wants to touch, to be close to someone. Or does everyone? Do you?”

“I haven’t. Or perhaps I’ve not known it.” He kissed her knuckles. “I can’t imagine being married to anyone but you.”

“Nor can I, but if you’d married Bland, Bumble, or Fizz, you might have come to love her in time.” She’d touched on the forbidden fruit. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Perhaps, but I’ve known enough marriages of that sort where the couple merely tolerate each other Unlike us.”

He kissed each of her fingers, one by one, where they alternated with his. She drew their hands to her own lips to copy the gentle touch, enjoying his smell, the soft roughness of his skin, the fine hairs tickling her lips.

“But for you, I probably would have married one of them,” he said, “or one of the other candidates from the list. I was determined to do my duty.”

“Instead, you married me, and brought pandemonium into Keynings.”

He nipped one of her fingers. “Avoiding a worse kind of hell. I doubt I’d make a placid husband when driven to distraction.”

Saucily, she asked, “You’re sure
I
won’t drive you to distraction?”

“Only in the best possible ways. Come to bed, my wife.”

They approached the bed, where he slipped off her robe. “A lady in a demure nightdress. How enchanting. But it will have to go. You permit?”

Prudence’s heart was racing and her mouth was dry, but she managed, “I permit.”

He unfastened the six buttons slowly, his fingers brushing her chest, and then he eased the cloth aside so he could kiss one breast, and then one nipple, sending a shudder through her.

“Isn’t that delightful?” he murmured. “And no risk of a baby.”

His robe was hanging open over his chest. She gave in to temptation and put a hand there, where he was hot and smooth and hard with muscle. As he paid attention to her other breast, she stroked, exploring the mystery of his skin.

“There are no bars between us tonight,” she said.

“Yes, there are. The bars of our intent, but as I said, barriers themselves can add to delight.”

He slipped the nightgown off her shoulders and down, until it puddled at her feet, leaving her naked. She covered herself with her hands before she thought of it. He gently captured them and held her arms out.

“You are magnificent, my warrior queen. A classical body to match your classical face.”

“Agrippina,” she reminded him, and he laughed.

He shed his robe and stood there, letting her look as he’d looked at her. He wasn’t bandaged anymore, but she could see his wounds, old and new. All the same, he was perfect.

“You’re magnificent. A classical statue incarnate. You shame those statues in the hall.”

“Roe had copies made of ancient statues, but with any damage repaired. Impossible with mine.”

“You’re a warrior, your scars your badges of honor.” She took him into her arms for an embrace even more wonderful than they’d shared before, skin-to-skin, heatto-heat, but tender, in a fiery way.

Smiling, his eyes bright with delight, perhaps with her, he picked her up and carried her to the bed.

“I remember when you carried me upstairs in Tallbridge’s house. It excited me, but frightened me.”

“Frightened you?”

“Because you were so strong.”

“Do I frighten you now?”

She knew she should say no, but she told the truth. “You’re a man. I’m still not well accustomed to men. Especially men like you.”

“Men like me?” He laid her on the bed, then walked around to the other side.

“Men like you,” she repeated, taking in every detail of his magnificent body. “But I do see the advantages. If you were to come closer, I could become more accustomed.”

He laughed and lay down on the sheets, not bothering to cover himself. “Become as accustomed as you wish, my lady.”

She did so, touching and exploring for the pleasure of it, hoping it pleasured him.

He lay quiet for a while, and then a hand slid between her thighs, a finger exploring there.

She shifted, startled, but then said, “Oh.”

“Oh,” he said, smiling, leaning to put his lips to her nipple again. It was gentle play to wreak such havoc, but perhaps it was his hand lower down, or both. . . .

“What is this?” she asked.

“A gift of the gods with no repercussions. Surrender, my love.”

“Your love?”

“Of course.”

“You could have said that before,” she complained, and hit him as she had when he’d confessed to being an earl.

But he only laughed and commanded her into delight until she was lost in it, touching, gripping, and kissing any bit of flesh that came near her mouth.

His fingers slid deep inside her instead of his manhood, as he swept her into a dark heat that whirled around her and in her, driving her into raging need. She was grunting—grunting!—then shouting. Then a wave of pleasure swept through her, carrying turmoil away and leaving hot, shuddering satisfaction.

“Oh, my,” she said. “Oh, my.”

“Oh, my darling,” he said, smiling, kissing her. “I knew you’d be a lusty lover.”

“I was?”

“You were. Are. Always.”

“Say it again.”

“Always?”

“That you love me! Or did I imagine it?”

“I love you. You know that.”

“You never said it.”

“I must have done.”

“No.”

“You haven’t said it to me,” he pointed out.

“I was too shy.”

“Perhaps I’m shy.”

She hit him again, laughing. He caught her hand and kissed the palm. “You still haven’t said it.”

“I love you. I adore you. I think you the best of men.”

He smiled, but almost as if embarrassed.

“You are, Cate. I knew it—part of me knew it from the first. It’s why I let you in my house and supported your story in the church. I always knew you were a good man.”

“And I knew you were the only woman for me. . . .”

They kissed again, stroking, laughing, and she realized he was hard again. “You’ve pleasured me, but what of you?”

“There’s a messy bed.” He moved over to her side. “In time, we’ll move to yours. And in the morning, there’s the bath.”

“Who gets to use it first?”

“We both do. There are so many games we can play as we wait—in bed, in the bath, in a boat, on the swing, even. And after the waiting’s over, my delicious, lusty wife, in our paradise, our home, I’m going to delight in every way, all our days, till death us do part.”

I
took the seed of this story from Amanda Vickery’s excellent book
Behind Closed Doors: At Home in Georgian England
(Yale University Press, 2009). As in her other book,
Gentlemen’s Daughters
, about women of the gentry class in the same period, she mines the letters and accounts of women of the time to illuminate their lives.