He picked several twigs out of her hair. “You never found pleasure in the marriage bed?”
She winced at the question. A minute earlier she was cavorting with him on the ground, not caring that she was half-naked. How could a simple question make her feel more exposed? “Is this necessary? I would rather not discuss the particulars of my marriage with you, Mr. Claeg.” Standing, she gazed up at the sky. “It appears you have lost your sun, after all.”
He stepped in front of her. “To hell with good manners. You shouted my name while in the throes of your pleasuring. I want to hear it again.”
Brook shook her head, shyly refusing. Now that she was
thinking more clearly, her own brazen behavior embarrassed her. Dear God, she had actually begged the man to compromise her. Thank goodness he had refused, else she would have become one more woman in his long history of scandalous seductions.
His temper flared at her reluctance. “What troubles you, Countess? That you let me touch you?”
She walked around him, buttoning her spencer with unsteady hands. Mallory Claeg refused to be ignored. He manacled her upper arm and forced her to halt.
“Or is it that a few minutes ago I proved that you were no better than every other lascivious female who has parted her legs and begged me for a superior fu—”
Brook slapped him hard across the face. It was a stalemate on who was more surprised by her violence. She had never committed violence against another person. Horrified, she heard his teeth audibly clamp together as his hand curled into a fist. His restraint was commendable, but she might have felt better if he had retaliated and hit her.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. The imprint of her hand appeared like a sunburn on his cheek. “We were both painfully accurate, it seems.”
She blinked, taken aback by his cruelty. Brook looked down, unable to face the burning blue ire in his eyes. She did not comprehend the duality of men. What had she done to provoke him? It was almost as if she had somehow hurt his feelings. “I see no reason for us to meet again. You have more or less accomplished what you set out to do. Forgive me if I do not remain and watch you gloat over your victory.”
“And the picture?”
Ah, the bait he had used to lure her out into the woods each day. No matter how long she had begged, he had refused to show her his work until it was finished. She had no idea how far he had progressed, since he seemed to spend most of their
time flirting with her. Her ignorance did not prevent her from replying, “Paint another face over mine. I care not what you do. As you have so crudely pointed out, you see no distinction from one woman to the next.”
Mallory Claeg did not reply to her insult. He just stared at her with an unfathomable expression.
She pulled the loop of ribbon over her head and shook the debris from her bonnet. “Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Claeg. Keep off my land.”
Ham crouched down using his walking stick for balance and leaned his back against the trunk of a tree. His hands still trembled, but he had escaped unnoticed. The man and woman he had seen in the clearing were too caught up in their passion to hear him. At first, he had believed he had come across one of the housemaids with her lover.
As he had crept closer to the couple, he had recognized the man to be no servant but none other than the notorious Mr. Claeg. Curious about the lady who had been ensnared by the gentleman’s charm, Ham had stealthily moved from tree to tree in an effort to improve his view. Although he had only glimpsed her face, he had immediately recognized her hair and the dress. Lady A’Court had lied to him. She was not taking solitary walks as she had told her family. Instead, she was rushing off to meet Claeg. Immobilized by his shock, he watched the artist pull on the front of her dress and feast like a starved man on the lady’s exposed breasts. She had moaned and the sound of pleasure pierced Ham’s gut like a lead ball. His cock had thickened and it was not his fault that he had had to unfasten the falls on his breeches and adjust his swelling length. Ham had expected Claeg to do the same. Those throaty mewling sounds his cousin made would have stiffened the rod of a sodomite. Yet the artist had kept his breeches closed, an act that most likely had spared the gentleman’s life.
If he had touched her …
And yet Claeg had claimed her. Ham had watched the man’s hand slip under her skirt. Lady A’Court had whimpered and risen to meet those thrusting fingers. Sweat had beaded Ham’s brow. He had stroked his rigid cock imagining that he was the one who was pounding into her tight passage. That she was grasping his shoulders and begging him to spill himself into her. He had collapsed against the tree that concealed him, and muffled his hoarse cry as he brought himself to climax.
Ham had used his handkerchief to clean himself. Sneaking a peek at the couple, he had recognized the frenzied motions of completion. Buttoning his breeches, he had slipped away unnoticed with Lady A’Court’s cries echoing in his ears.
Thirty minutes had elapsed since he had crouched down and begun waiting for his cousin’s return. Hatred burned his throat for the artist. Envy was a weight on his heart. Ham dropped his head on top of his clasped hands, which rested on his walking stick, and despaired.
Mallory had let her go. It was for the best. Both of them were feeling angry and prideful. There was nothing to be gained in exchanging further insults. He threaded his hand through his tousled hair. The countess had removed the leather strip he used to tie back his long hair. Searching the ground, he picked up the narrow strip and tried to put order to his appearance.
The lady had surprised him. They had spent days dancing around the witchery between them. How had a harmless kiss ignited into a conflagration of need? Once he had put his hands on her and she had responded, he had waged an internal battle not to finish what both of them had wanted.
Yet the little widow had found satisfaction in his arms, he smugly mused. She had resisted, not understanding it was her body and desires she was fighting, not his. Her release had
been an irresistible siren’s song to the long-denied needs he had leashed on her behalf. Like a green lad reacting to his first taste of a naked breast, he had ground his arousal against her hip and ignobly pumped his release into his breeches. Damn, his hands were still shaking, he noted with disgust.
Fisting them, he stared off in the direction in which the countess had departed. Enough time had passed for him to follow at a discreet distance. She might have a low opinion of his bloody nobility, but he was not going to let her traipse around the countryside unescorted.
For a tiny woman, she slapped like a tough costermonger, he wryly thought, picking up her trail. That flash of temper had been unexpected. He would have wagered everything he owned that she had never struck a man before. Mallory rubbed his injured cheek. She had been horrified by her action, but the slap was well deserved. He had been deliberately provoking; however, he was willing to lay some of the blame at Lady A’Court’s feet.
She could not bring herself to say his name.
Her reluctance had hurt. It was an unwelcome vulnerability. Since his wife’s death, he had been selective when choosing his lovers. They were all beautiful, covetous, ambitious wenches who had been willing to share their bodies with him for a price. He had always been willing to pay it whether it was jewelry, new clothes, a small house in an affluent section of town, or even an introduction to a richer protector. He had adored each one in her turn. Still, none of his lovers had left a permanent impression on his heart. When the affairs ended, there was never regret.
Mallory had already figured out the countess was not so shallow as to sell herself for trinkets or his protection. He had offered her more of himself than he had anticipated, but at what cost? At the moment, he was not certain this lonely, unhappy woman was worth the trouble. He could return to
London and find another lady to amuse him, someone who was prettier and more confident. A naughty minx who muddled his senses but not his damn heart.
Why was he stalking the one woman guaranteed to ruin him?
Mallory had been observing her progress at a distance as they walked through the woods. Another woman would have cried after fighting with her lover or at least made a noisy exit. Lady A’Court had too much dignity. However, the lady had made a mistake in allowing him to get so close. What most gentlemen thought was ice was hot and quivering when stroked. He had discovered she had a weakness, too.
Him
.
Keeping out of sight in case she glanced back, he stopped as she exited the woods. Mallory became alert when a male suddenly appeared from behind her and motioned for her attention. The countess halted, allowing the man to catch up to her. At this distance, it was difficult to see the man’s face, but it was someone she knew, maybe the new earl.
The man had been waiting for her. The notion did not sit well. Mallory watched them talk for a few minutes and then continue walking toward the house together. Poor Lady A’Court. For a woman who shunned company, she had an abundance of male suitors. He brought his hand up and inhaled. Her musky scent still clung to his fingers. All thought of packing up and traveling to London faded. With the gift of clarity, Mallory grasped that he was willing to pay whatever price to have her.
“Cousin, walk with me in the apple orchard?”
Brook lifted her gaze from her needlepoint. Ham had positioned himself behind her and she had to squint to see his face. “Certainly, my lord.” She rose and nodded to her companions.
The ladies had decided to use the sunlight to their benefit and had set up a table outdoors to work on their various endeavors. Her half sisters had complained of the ennui, and exasperated with their complaints, their mother had given her blessing. The last she had seen of them, they had been running off to see the lambs.
“Do not keep her out in the sun too long, my lord,” the elder Lady A’Court said, finishing off a stitch. “Lady A’Court is beginning to freckle. Remind me later, dear, and I shall write down a reliable recipe even your housekeeper cannot spoil.”
“You are too generous, madam.” The freckles were the dowager’s way of reminding Brook that she had been neglecting her duties. It hardly mattered that she had not gone farther than the stone barn for the past three days. It was cowardice that had kept her so close to home. By the second day, she figured out that it was not fear of seeing Mallory but, rather, fear of
not
seeing him that kept her away from the woods.
Ham did not offer his arm while they walked. She had not been the only person at Loughwydde who was petulant these days. His hands crossed behind his back, the earl seemed preoccupied with his thoughts. The day she had quarreled with Mr. Claeg, she had encountered Ham near the woods. Despite her refusal, he had been searching for her in hopes of joining her. The thought of him accidentally discovering her activities with Mr. Claeg had been alarming. Without protest, she had accepted his escort back to the house.
“My lord, I can tell something is troubling you,” Brook said, breaking the silence. “You may not view me as a confidante; however, you have been kind to me. I can do nothing less than offer you the same.”
They had reached the orchard. The air was fragrant and the branches were pregnant with white blossoms. When the breeze shifted, the low branches showered them with tiny white petals.
“Lady A’Court, I will be leaving for London tomorrow morning.”
Odd, Mother A’Court had not mentioned leaving. “Of course. I would not wish to interfere with the duties of the title or any business prospects.” She cocked a glance in his direction. “Did you think I would be angry?”
“No. Yes.” He shook his head in confusion. Ham took up both her hands. “What I had hoped was that you would be disappointed in my departure.”
“You will be missed.”
“By you.” His light gray eyes reminded her of silver in sunlight. “You will miss me?” he asked, the distinction seemingly important.
“Certainly. You are a good man.”
He was not going to let her dismiss him with a few polite words. “Good enough to be your husband?” he countered, carefully judging her reaction.
She stopped under one of the oldest apple trees in the
grove. “Ham, I do not know what to say.” Brook was stunned. She had not considered that the earl had thought of her in any romantic manner.
“S-Say you will,” he stuttered, wearing the tortured expression that every man wore when forced to declare his matrimonial intentions. He cleared his throat. “I can see my revelation has shocked you.”
The orchard needed a few stone benches, Brook decided. If one had been available to her she would have collapsed on it. “I consider you a friend.”
“Friendship is as good as anything to base a marriage on,” he reasoned. “We could keep things as they are. You are fond of Loughwydde, and I would not keep you from it. Naturally, we will have to spend part of the year in London. It will be expected, but you will adapt.”
The old panic about London tightened her chest. “I told you, Ham. I do not want to reside in town. If I return, there will be gossip about Lyon.” And her. She could not bear the stares and whispers. There was also Wynne. How could she face her old friend again after Lyon had done his best to hurt her?
The earl was unaware of the fears he had resurrected by mentioning London. “The
ton
will accept you. You will not be Lyon’s countess; you will return as mine.”
“Ham, I cannot talk to you about Lyon—or my life with him.” She genuinely did not want to hurt this man. “After my husband died, I vowed never to marry.”
“And you think you are the first grieving widow who has made such an oath and later regretted the impulsive words? Dearest, no one will mock you for embracing life again.”
He was forcing her to speak the words that would crush him. Brook took a deep breath. “Ham—”
He had yet to release her hands. Maybe he feared she would run off. “Wait! Do not say it. In my eagerness, I have not allowed you time to adjust. You see me as Lyon’s cousin
and a friend. You have never looked at me and seen the man.”
“If I had known—” She would have sought a gentler way to dissuade him from this notion.
“Hush; forget about your answer. Put it aside. I have to leave tomorrow. Being around you without expressing my feelings has been … difficult. When May and the rest of the family follow, I want you to come to London. Come to me and allow me the privilege of courting you properly. I swear you will never find a man who adores you more than I.”
Ham bent down and pressed a hasty kiss on her open mouth. Holding her firmly against him, he tried desperately to prove without words the high sentiments she stirred in him. Brook stood stiffly in his embrace. She could have pushed him away, but curiosity had overruled her usual caution. When Mallory Claeg had kissed her, she had felt the humming response all the way to her toes. She hoped Ham’s kiss would inflame her, too. It would ease her mind, viewing her moments with the artist as a natural reaction to any male rather than offering the scoundrel a true part of her heart. Brook concentrated on Ham’s mouth. His lips were clammy and a little too soft.
“Very touching,” Mr. Claeg mocked with false cheerfulness. “Children, is there good news to share?”
Where the devil had Mr. Claeg come from and how long had he been observing them? Groaning, Brook closed her eyes. She placed the blame entirely on him. It was fortunate that Ham was still holding her, because she was reeling from her discovery. Nothing. She had felt nothing at all when Ham kissed her! Could it be that she actually had
feelings
for that miserable trespassing scoundrel?
The countess looked thunderstruck. Mallory might have drummed up a pang of sympathy if he had not caught her kissing another man. He scowled at her. The duplicitous witch had the audacity to return the murderous glare. What had he
done? She was the one caught in a compromising embrace.
“Mr. Claeg,” the earl greeted him, releasing the lady’s arm and respectfully edging away from her. “Your timing is regrettable, sir. My cousin and I were hoping to say our farewells in private.”
His meaning was a tad too obvious for Mallory’s liking. Neither was the countess pleased. Though he benefited nicely when she switched her glower from him to Lord A’Court.
“So you are leaving us,” Mallory said, cheered by the news. He did not perceive the man as a threat, but having him skulking after the countess at inopportune moments certainly dampened one’s ardor.
Lord A’Court frowned at both of them. “Tomorrow. Was there something you wanted, sir?”
Oh, he could not get rid of a Claeg that easily. He sent the lady a sly look, which had her bristling. He smiled. She understood what he wanted even if the earl was obtuse. “My muse,” he said, spreading his hands out in a gesture of helplessness. “She has summoned me to Loughwydde.”
“You actually hear voices?” she asked, her tone ringing with skepticism, pretending that he was not referring to her.
He gave her a patronizing look. “The summons is not a voice and yet it is a call.” He was always willing to talk about art. When he could get her alone, they would discuss the reason he had come to Loughwydde.
“Truly,” the earl said, fascinated in spite of his and Mallory’s mutual dislike. “Does the call come to you in dreams?”
“Sometimes. Most days, it is—I suppose one might describe it as a restlessness. In the beginning, it feels like a tickle in your stomach.”
“Eating a slice of Mrs. Whitby’s saffron cake should take care of your problem,” the countess suggested, convinced he was playing one of his games.
She was partly correct.
Mallory reached out and lightly pinched her shoulder in
warning. “You have a petal,” he apologetically explained, removing it. “Hunger is a part of it, but not for food.”
He raised his brows in a telling manner. The countess blushed, recalling as he had hoped that she had briefly experienced one of his other aspects of hunger.
“The tickle if ignored becomes thrum. It expands outward and is all consuming. One must obey its call.”
The earl idly twisted his walking stick into the soft ground, contemplating Mallory’s words. “And if one does not?”
“A kind of temporary madness.”
The countess choked on what he suspected was laughter. “Now that does explain a few things,” she said, managing to keep her amusement from her expression.
He had yet to forgive her for kissing the earl, so he ignored her. “You lose the taste for food. There is no comfort to be found in the oblivion of sleep. You wander about with a cauldron of unfathomable turmoil bubbling in your belly, which provokes you into seeking a means to ease the discomfort.”
Riveted, Lord A’Court asked, “What guides you to the solution?”
Mallory shrugged, struggling to put into words something that was unique to each individual. “For me? Maybe it is an artist’s acumen. It is difficult to explain. Sometimes it is a glimpse of an image, a flash of color, or even music.”
“How do you know when you have appeased this muse?” the other man inquired.
“When that thrumming recedes into nothingness and I can think of something other than my art.”
“It sounds like a selfish way to live,” the countess said flatly.
The blue eyes gleamed like sunlight on winter ice. “Oh, it is, Lady A’Court.” Leave it to the widow to unerringly find and poke one of his old wounds. Her observation was too reminiscent of his father’s and several bitter mistresses who had never accepted that they had been secondary in his life.
“It can be a solitary one as well.” Mallory shook off the dark thoughts with a cocky grin. “However, it also has its rewards.”
The earl cleared his throat. “I imagine it does,” he said with a trace of envy. “So what has brought you to Loughwydde?”
“A picture,” Mallory said mysteriously.
As she recalled their last encounter and her warning that he should stay away, the countess’s temper flared. “I have no interest in sitting for you, Mr. Claeg.”
“Then we are both fortunate, since you are not the lady who kindles my inspiration,” he smoothly countered, smug that she had fallen so neatly into his trap.
The countess had been so arrogantly convinced she was the reason for his appearance that his admission left her speechless. He had ruined the clever dismissal she had planned for him. Though the flash of pain she swiftly concealed tugged at his conscience.
“Who do you wish to paint?” she asked, her earlier spirit subdued by his snub.
Mallory gritted his teeth. Hurting her had not been part of the plan. Perhaps he did want to unsettle her a little, but he was not cruel. “Miss Hamblin. With your permission, naturally,” he said to the earl.
“Well, Cousin, I see no reason to deny Mr. Claeg his muse. My sister will be departing with the dowager, so you will have a few days to indulge in your craft. What is your opinion, Lady A’Court?”
“I believe your sister will be extremely flattered, since she admires Mr. Claeg’s … uh, talent,” she said, being diplomatic. “Even her departure for London in a few days will not be a hindrance, since Mr. Claeg had plans to return once his work here was concluded. There is nothing keeping you here, is there, sir?”
He could not interpret her expression, but he wagered he would have hated her private thoughts. Instead of showing
envy or anger, the damn woman was just letting him go without a fight. Her emotions were muted, just like her dress and the boring life she had set up for herself. He wanted to shake her for that apathy.
Mallory willed her to look him in the eyes. “You have it right, Countess. I will return to town once I have finished my work.”
“That is what I thought.” She offered the earl her arm. “Let us go share the good news with the others.”
Lord A’Court stilled. The hope brimming in his boyish face had Mallory tensing. “Does this mean—are you by chance giving your consent?”
The earl’s anticipation shattered the mask of calm she had donned. She bowed her head. “I was referring to your sister’s good fortune, my lord. As for the other, you spoke of giving me time. If you cannot, I—”
“No, no,” the man hastily cut off her refusal. “I was being thoughtless. Forgive me, dearest.”