Courting the countess, p.30
Courting the Countess, page 30
She flinched when he pounded his fist into the pillow. “This is about what Miss Hamblin saw in my painting room, is it not?” He sighed wearily.
“Your mistress confirmed it.”
“She lied. What Miss Hamblin witnessed was a pathetic attempt of a former lover to rekindle an affair that ended weeks after the first time I met you on the cliffs.”
His anger gave her hope. “That was more than—”
“A year—yes, I know,” he said, finishing her sentence. Mallory caressed the side of her face and then suddenly gripped her hair and gave her a little shake. “You touched something in me that day. I could not stop thinking about you, but I did not know how to approach you without frightening you away, so I started slowly. A few trips for my art, I told my friends and family. In truth, I was coming to see you. Courting you.”
“I rejected Ham’s offer for marriage.”
“Good. It saves me from having to challenge him. For all our differences, I happen to like A’Court. But I would have shot him without reservation if he had pressured you into accepting his proposal.”
The fierce adamancy in his tone had Brook soothingly stroking his back. “Mother A’Court is encouraging Ham to take Loughwydde away for my defiance.”
“He is a decent gentleman. I believe he will not bow to the dowager’s wishes. If he does, then we will fight them. You will not lose your home, Countess,” Mallory vowed, echoing her earlier sentiment.
He lowered his head and she lifted hers to meet his kiss. Brook boldly slipped her tongue into his, tasting and claiming him. Keeping his lips molded to hers, he moved and settled between her legs. Anticipating all the delightful sensations he wrung from her body with each coupling, she widened her legs, giving him access. Mallory teasingly rubbed his firm, turgid manhood against her moist cleft. “I am no longer satisfied with you being my mistress.”
“Oh really,” Brook said, raising her hips so there was a subtle shift in their position. He slipped smoothly into her. She grinned impishly up at him. “I disagree.”
Embedded to the hilt, Mallory held himself still, refusing to be distracted. “Being my mistress is too limited, too temporary. I want you in my bed every night. I want you sitting at my table each morning. There are other pictures I envision you posing for, so many they will take the rest of my life to complete. I want you to marry me.”
Brook swallowed the panic she always felt when she thought of marrying again. “Mallory.”
His handsome face contorted in pain, but he recovered swiftly. The determination that replaced it made her wary. “You require convincing.”
“Not really.”
“You are a demanding wench, Countess. How lucky you are that I have the stamina to ravish you into a quivering, boneless slave of my will.” He withdrew and drove himself into her tight passage. The power of his thrust forced the air out of her lungs. “When I am finished, you will scream my name. Saying no to me will be pushed from your stubborn head.”
Brook screamed his name six times before he was satisfied. Exhausted, she fell into a dreamless sleep with Mallory wrapped around her.
Chapter Thirty
Mallory lifted his head and gazed down at his sleeping lover. Tenderly he kissed her hand and gently disengaged himself from her embrace. It heartened him that sometime during the night she had reached out for him.
Rising, he slowly stood and stretched. Mallory was not particularly concerned with her waking. Brook was exhausted, he thought, feeling a significant amount of masculine arrogance. He scratched his backside and reached for a shirt. His lovemaking had taken the countess beyond her self-imposed boundaries to heights she had not conceived. He was not proud of himself, but his relentlessness had been calculated. With each cry he had wrung from her lips, he had hoped he would weaken her resolve to avoid marrying again. Her first husband had shown her pain. Mallory had given her pleasure. Was she so blinded by her fears that she could not see he offered her more?
Love.
Mallory had felt its sharp tug when he saw her on the cliffs, but he had existed without it for so long, he had not recognized it. Once dressed, he left her sleeping in his bed. If he had his way, she would never leave it. He was working on a plan.
The sun was high when he walked out the door. He was astonished that Mrs. Whitby was not around. Considering how he and the countess had burst through the door of the cottage, perhaps the woman had decided they needed some privacy. He assumed she had told the staff at Loughwydde that their mistress was safe. Needing the walk, Mallory decided it would not hurt to walk over to the main house and tell the housekeeper not to worry. While he was there, he could pick up a clean dress so Brook would not have to wear the one drenched with seawater.
Imagining how she might reward him for his thoughtfulness, he heard the noise too late. The walking stick connected with his forehead, bringing him down. His vision dimmed for a few seconds as he fought not to lose consciousness.
“Good. I was hoping you would not make it simple for me by passing out,” Lord De Lanoy said, leaning on his weapon.
“I barely felt your tap,” Mallory lied. Gingerly he touched the lump swelling in the middle of his forehead. It hurt like the very devil. The bastard had dented his skull.
“Get up! We do not want to draw any attention.” He kicked Mallory’s foot to enforce the command.
“I would rather not. Maybe you should have thought about that before you started swinging your stick,” Mallory said sullenly. He was wounded and weaponless. It also bruised his pride acknowledging that he had permitted a pretentious coward like De Lanoy to gain the upper hand.
“I will not ask again.”
Hearing the warning, he squinted up at his attacker. Laughter bubbled out of Mallory when he saw the pistol aimed slightly lower than his heart. “The countess will be sorely vexed if you geld me.” He glared malevolently at him. “And so will I.”
Brook blearily opened one eye. She rolled over, her hand seeking Mallory. Whether or not he admitted it, the man liked to cuddle. He always kept close to her. She opened both eyes when all that she felt was a cool sheet. Sitting up, she searched the room. Mallory was gone.
“You know, De Lanoy, I usually have my sketching book when I prowl the cliffs,” Mallory said conversationally, ignoring the tiny fact that the man who once was his rival for Mirabella’s affections had a pistol aimed at his spine and was very angry.
“I fear you will not have the opportunity to sketch today. You are otherwise engaged.”
Mallory glimpsed the churning sea and sandy cove below. “Is it your plan to force me into jumping?” If he was going over the edge, he was taking the madman with him.
“Who says I intend to kill you?”
The pistol and the cliff were big indicators, but Mallory doubted the marquis would be appreciative of his wry sense of humor. “What is next? We are running out of land.”
Brook returned to Loughwydde. Her irritation had turned to concern when she realized she was alone in the cottage. After what had transpired the night before, she could not believe Mallory had left her.
She closed the front door, not caring who heard her arrival. Mrs. Gordy poked her head through a doorway. “You are looking better. Will you be wanting to eat this morning?”
Better? Was the housekeeper daft? She looked worse than a dockside whore with her crumpled, stained gown and messy hair. “Did Mrs. Whitby stop by and give you a message?”
“Aye, madam. She stayed for tea and gave me an earful about you and Mr. Claeg.” The older woman gave her a cheery grin. “Considering the time of day it is, I’d say all that talk about his skills as a lover were not flummery.”
Brook found that even after everything Mallory had done to her body, she could still blush. “Have you seen Mr. Claeg this morning?”
“No, my lady. Did you send him over to collect a clean dress? If you do not mind me saying so, there is no hope for the one you are wearing.”
Where was he?
“Send Morna up to my bedchamber. You can tear this dress up later for rags.” She rushed up the flight of stairs.
Had a messenger come with news that his father had died? He came to the main house the last time to let her know he was leaving. Brook could not forget his promise:
When I am finished, you will scream my name. Saying no to me will be pushed from your stubborn head.
She had not uttered the word he wanted banished from her thoughts. Nor had she agreed to marry him. He had given her so much, and still, lying beneath him writhing from the pleasure he had coaxed from her body, she had resisted. Perhaps he had finally decided to stop bloodying his head against the stone walls of her heart.
Mallory’s head felt like he had been battering a wall with it. Grimacing as he assessed the swelling with his finger, he realized it was bleeding. When he untied his bound hands, he was going to beat the marquis to death with his walking stick.
Unused to the area, De Lanoy nervously eyed the uneven stone steps that led down to the beach. “Down there. You first.”
Still shaken from the hit he had taken on his head, Mallory carefully made his descent. “Why are we here? In London, you tried your hand at seducing Lady A’Court and were rebuffed. Do not tell me this is about revenge?”
“You were always astute, Mr. Claeg. Yes, this is about revenge. However, you guessed wrong about the lady.”
Mirabella. So many of his regrets in his life went back to his first love. “She is dead, De Lanoy. Killing me will not bring her back.”
“She was not supposed to die!” the man roared.
Mallory had raged at the heavens for the same reason. “I understand that you blame me, but the rumors you heard about her accident were not exaggerated. I arrived too late to prevent her from picking up that pistol.”
“I do blame you, sir!”
Mallory took a staggering step onto the sand. De Lanoy was too close for him to attack. “For what? Mirabella choosing a mere artist instead of playing mistress for you?”
“I wanted to marry her, Claeg.” The pistol wavered menacingly. “She would have accepted my proposal if you had not lured her away with the promise of adventure. I seemed too staid and homely when compared to the bravura of Mallory Claeg.”
Anger was the best weapon he had at the moment. Mallory prayed he would not go too far and goad the man into shooting him. “We were young and reckless. We dazzled each other. I was too arrogant to apologize for what you perceived as stealing her away from you. I can offer it now. I regret that you were hurt by our selfishness.”
De Lanoy howled in fury. “Keep your regret and apology. I do not want either!”
They had moved down the beach. Several more feet and Mallory would be standing in the surf. The water was likely to slow him when he attacked.
“She promised she would return to me. I had shown her how unworthy you were.”
His ramblings made no sense to Mallory. It was a clear sign he was witnessing the crumpling of the marquis’ sanity. He figured it was time to give the man a little prod. “I did not coerce Mirabella into running off with me to Gretna Green. She was the one who suggested it.”
“Seeing you rutting with that whore Edda Henning had her regretting her decision.”
Mallory’s eyes turned glacial at the mention of Edda Henning’s name. Very few people knew what had occurred in that bedchamber. He still only recalled pieces. He doubted the Hennings were so foolhardy as to brazenly admit what they had done in order to have a child.
De Lanoy curled his upper lip into a sneer. “I have not waited years for my revenge, Claeg. I have already had it. Who do you think held your head up and pried your mouth open after you had collapsed in a drunken stupor so Edda could pour her foul aphrodisiac down your throat?” His expression became gleefully evil. “You never knew how close I was, did you? Watching you and Mirabella … . Did you think I would allow you to walk away unpunished? Who do you think quietly pointed you out to Henning and his ilk? Their exclusive little group of freaks did not stumble across you by chance.”
They had stopped and faced each other while the surf lapped at their boots. “You must have hated Mirabella to have pushed her toward people you knew would exploit her weaknesses.”
“I was trying to save her!” he said, waving the pistol. “To show her that you were a beast under all that charm. She did not believe me at first.” De Lanoy nodded briskly. “But I convinced her. Or should I say, your zealous claiming of your host’s wife convinced her.”
Forgetting about the pistol, Mallory took a threatening step forward. “It was an illusion. A defilement of my mind, my body, and you let my wife believe I wanted it, you pompous bastard!”
“Stay back!” he bellowed; his eyes darted back and forth in agitation. “You should have seen her face when I removed the blindfold. I held her arms and forced her to watch you lose yourself in that whore. Mirabella cried, you know. She finally saw the devil in you and cursed you back to the hell where you belonged.” De Lanoy slumped and lowered the pistol to his side. “I just did not predict the duel.”
Mallory had his opening to attack, but he did not take it. The marquis had answers to the questions that had plagued him since Mirabella had bled to death in his arms.
“I was told the duel was her idea.”
Troubled by his own memories of that night, De Lanoy blindly nodded. “She hated you for betraying her, but she despised Edda Henning. It was she who Mirabella challenged.”
Mallory rubbed his head. His head was pounding and he felt nauseous. “It was Edda Henning who shot her.” It was only now that he realized that he had not seen Mirabella’s opponent. When he saw her raise her pistol, he had been blind to everything else around him. “I was told it was just another game for the guests.”
“That was what everyone believed. Only the Hennings, Mirabella, and I were aware that the pistols would discharge something deadlier than gunpowder. Later, the Hennings encouraged the tale to protect themselves.”
“You should have stopped her.”
De Lanoy’s mouth moved soundlessly. “Everything occurred so fast. Henning was loading the pistols for them when I learned of it.”
Mallory thought of the vivacious, beautiful girl he had been so entranced by that he had defied his family and married her. He then thought of Henning and his love for his wife. He had given her the child she had craved by the foulest means. Could the same man calmly load a pistol for his wife’s opponent and hand it to her, knowing it might the instrument that killed his wife?
Mr. Henning and I are also arranging another trip. I doubt we will meet again.
The truth blazed like righteous fire in Mallory’s eyes. “Henning would never have risked his wife’s life, De Lanoy. You watched him load Mirabella’s pistol with only gunpowder. Only Edda’s had been loaded lethally correct.”
The Hennings had shot his wife, but De Lanoy was her executioner. Mallory lunged for the pistol.
Brook had returned to the cottage, but there was no indication that Mallory had returned in her absence. Worried, she ran through the woods. It was there on one of the paths that she tripped over the ornate walking stick. Picking it up, she recognized it as the one Lord De Lanoy had held when they had shared lemonade at the hotel. Why was it here? Keeping the stick, she headed for the cliffs. She did not know what possessed her, but the urgency to find Mallory was mounting. As she peered over the edge, the wind snagged her unbound hair and the strands danced on the air.
She saw two men on the beach. The coatless one with his hands bound was Mallory. At this distance and angle, she did not recognize the man holding the pistol. The walking stick in her hand revealed his identity as Marquis De Lanoy. Suddenly Mallory charged. Brook screamed. The wind carried her horror up to the clouds. Heedless of her own safety, she ran for the stairs. She did not understand what had provoked this confrontation, but she was not going to let De Lanoy shoot Mallory. As she descended the steps, she felt helpless. The marquis, too shaken by Mallory’s attack, had dropped his weapon on the sand. Instead of picking it up, her reckless lover swung his bound fists and struck the man in the jaw. They both staggered backward from the force.
“Mallory!” she cried, frustrated he could not hear her.
Lord De Lanoy lowered his head and tackled him. They went down hard. Twisting to unbalance his attacker, Mallory brought his bound hands down on the man’s head. The lord clutched his head. Scooting backward, Mallory kicked out. His foot caught the marquis in the chest and he fell facedown in the sand. A murderous fury possessed her lover. He straddled the fallen man and curled his bound hands around Lord De Lanoy’s neck.
“You are going to kill him!” she shrieked. Brook did not bother with the remaining steps. She leaped. Her knees collapsed under her when she landed on the sand. Climbing to her feet, with the walking stick still firmly clenched in her hand, she ran toward the fighting men.
She noticed the pistol as the marquis reached for it. He aimed it at Mallory’s chest and fired. Screaming his name, she watched her love cover his wound and collapse.
De Lanoy shuffled to his feet. “I did not kill Mirabella!” He gestured with the empty pistol. “You were the one.” Raising the butt of the pistol, he intended to strike Mallory in the temple. If the wound in his chest did not kill him, the blow to the head might finish him off.
Brook was not going to lose Mallory Claeg to a madman!
She swung the walking stick at Marquis De Lanoy’s head. The impact was sickening. Retching, she realized the small jutting handle was imbedded in the side of his head. The man fell sideways toward the surf. Blood quickly darkened the sand under him.
“Countess!” Mallory called out to her, pulling her away from the violence she had committed. “Your aim is remarkable.” As he clutched his chest, his chuckle turned into a cough. To her horror, the circumference of blood was expanding beyond his hand. “Remind me to throw out all of my walking sticks.”
