His Christmas Countess Page 9

  Did I? How foolish. ‘There is virtually nothing. I do not want to make a fuss about it. He has control until I marry with his approval, that is all.’

  ‘You think he will object to me? He may not know me by reputation, but he is hardly likely to turn up his nose at an earl.’

  ‘He would be delighted with an earl,’ Kate said drily. ‘But he will be unpleasant. If you must have the truth, Henry has an expensive wife and ambitions beyond his means. He is quite unscrupulous.’ That was all true enough. ‘If he discovers who I have married, he would ask to borrow money—which I doubt you would ever see again. To encourage him to sponge off you would not be right.’

  That was harsh, but it was a mild version of the truth. Henry would hold the scandal of Anna’s parentage over Grant, try to entangle him in that mire. He would get a surprise if he tried it, she thought grimly. Grant would probably throttle him. But then there was the blackmail. What if Grant thought he must inform the magistrate? He was an honest, straightforward man. There was no way he could ignore it, surely? Then he would be smeared by association, by his marriage.

  ‘He is my brother-in-law. I would not like to be unreasonable. Do not sound so apologetic, my dear. Brothers-in-law are almost expected to hang on one’s coat-tails.’ The tolerant amusement in Grant’s voice was no help. ‘Besides, there is the matter of the settlements, which I really should discuss with him. You should have what is yours.’

  ‘It is very little, a few hundreds.’

  ‘Settle it on Anna if you do not want it. It is always a mistake to neglect financial matters, however minor.’

  Kate wondered suddenly just how wealthy Grant was. There was no stinting about the household, the land was obviously in good heart. But that might simply be because he was expending all he had on keeping things just so. Now, on top of the risk of her dubious brother touching him for loans, which would never be repaid, she had saddled him with the expense of a wife and a child. She had removed his opportunity for a much more advantageous marriage and all she could offer were the skills of any competent mistress of a country house.

  For how much longer could she put Grant off about contacting Henry? Or could she add to her deceit, tell Grant that she had written to her brother, but that he had cut the connection?

  But then Grant would still want to pursue her money for her and, she suspected, he would try to heal the breach. And behind those fears was the lurking terror that sooner or later he would ask her to accompany him to London, take her place beside him in society as his hostess. Inwardly she quailed. A country mouse contemplating life amidst the birds of prey of fashionable London could not have felt as inadequate. She could not even dance the waltz, Kate reflected with a descent into gloom. The faint smile felt as though it was pinned to her face. She would manage if she had to. Somehow. But if Lord Baybrook was there…

  ‘Kate, is something wrong?’ Grant had obviously noticed the artificiality of her expression.

  ‘No, of course not.’ She made the effort to smile with her eyes when all she felt was queasiness.

  ‘There is no need to be anxious.’ There was something warm in his expression, some meaning in his tone. Kate stared back, puzzled, as he added, ‘About tonight, I mean.’

  He is talking about bed, about making love. Does he mean not to be anxious because he will come to me…or that he will not? I hope he comes. There was no hiding the truth from herself that she was attracted to this man, this stranger-husband. She felt the blush rising up her face and with it the shame that Grant would see her eagerness, think her a wanton. Or perhaps he would welcome that, expect her to be very experienced and to possess sophisticated skills in bed.

  It was difficult to understand this feeling. After all, her skills were non-existent and she had no idea what would be involved in sophisticated lovemaking.

  ‘I am not anxious about tonight,’ she said, rather too loudly.

  ‘Dinner is served, my lady.’ Grimswade somehow managed to sound even more smoothly efficient and bland than normal. When had he appeared in the doorway behind her? Had he heard? She wondered if it was possible to pass out from sheer embarrassment. Henry always said that one should treat the servants as though they were furniture and would discuss anything and everything in front of them—from an embarrassing rash to his gaming losses.

  ‘Thank you, Grimswade.’ She found a smile for the butler as she began to rise to her feet, then almost jumped in surprise to find her husband by her side, his hand outstretched.

  ‘My dear.’

  My dear. A conventional phrase, that is all. He means nothing by it. She put her fingertips on his wrist and resisted the urge to curl them around the strong tendons, to feel the jut of his wristbone. When she had seen him this morning her eyes had been drawn to his bare, tanned hands, a sharp contrast with her smaller, paler hands beside his on the rug. What would those long fingers look like on her body? How would they feel? Now she told herself that she could detect nothing through the fine kid of her evening gloves, not his body heat, not the pulse of his blood.

  ‘I do hope you like the new recipe for veal ragout Cook has been trying,’ Kate remarked as they walked through to the dining room. ‘It is an old family one I remembered.’ Discussing the food was utterly banal. He would think her so dull. But it was safe.

  Giles the footman stepped forward to pull out her chair at the foot of the table for her, but Grant was before him. He pushed it in carefully as she sat, then laid one hand on her shoulder in a fleeting caress before taking his own place at the head of the long board. ‘I am certain that whatever you suggest will be delightful.’ That warmth was back in his eyes and behind it a question that had not been there before. Or perhaps a doubt.

  Conscious of the attendant footmen, of Grimswade bringing the decanter to fill Grant’s wine glass, Kate closed her lips on the impulsive questions—What do you want of me? What do you expect of me?—and focused her attention on the dishes arrayed on the table. At least her husband would have no reason to complain of her supervision of the kitchen, whatever he felt about her presence in his bed.

  Chapter Nine

  Kate was nervous. That blush when he had mentioned tonight had not been the faint glow of anticipated pleasure, but the embarrassment or nerves that Grant might have expected from a virgin. But she was not untouched—the presence of little Anna was proof enough of that. So what was it? An aversion to him, or painful shyness? One would be easy enough to overcome, the other, less so.

  ‘Have you been dining here in lonely state every night?’ he asked, casting round for some innocuous topic to discuss in front of the servants. He could send them away, of course, but that might only aggravate whatever fears Kate was harbouring.

  ‘Usually I invite Mr Gough to join me. I find he is an intelligent conversationalist. Once a week we have an early supper with Charlie in the small dining room with all the leaves taken out of the table. He enjoys the grown-up treat.’

  Grant felt a jab of something unpleasantly like jealousy and instantly regretted it. His wife had been lonely, Gough was a gentleman, intelligent and doubtless pleasant company, and he, too, was probably lonely and welcomed the opportunity for conversation.

  But something in his expression must have betrayed that instinctive, possessive reaction. Kate bit her lip and glanced uneasily at the footmen as though expecting a rebuke in front of them.

  ‘An excellent idea,’ Grant said with casual approval. ‘My grandfather would dine with Gough when he did not have company visiting and often when he did. I am glad you had congenial adult companionship.’

  ‘We had a lot to discuss about Charlie’s lessons. Mr Gough follows your instructions carefully, of course, but there is so much day-to-day detail. I hope you do not feel I am encroaching?’

  It was a question, not an apology, and Grant was careful to keep his own tone light. ‘Certainly not. You are his stepmama, after all, as I am sure you would have reminded me if I had objected to your involvement.’

  Ka
te flushed up at that, but her voice was confident as she raised it to give an order. ‘Grimswade, that will be all. We will serve ourselves and ring when we require dessert.’

  ‘My lady.’ The butler gestured to the footmen and closed the door softly behind the last liveried back.

  Kate put down her fork and fixed him with a direct gaze, compelling his attention. ‘My lord, I think we should be frank. I have a great deal of experience of being a daughter and a sister and of the limits of my authority and freedom in those roles. Since I have been here at Abbeywell I have gained several months’ worth of knowledge of how to run a large country house. But I have no experience of a husband, of the limits he will impose on my actions, of his expectations of me.’

  Ah, so now the recriminations come. Grant chewed his mouthful of beef, swallowed and decided that dodging the issue would not help. ‘In effect you feel I abandoned you.’ He had done just that, but he was damned if he was going to justify himself. Which was a good thing, because he was not certain that he could. He had left Abbeywell because he knew, once he was not drugged with exhaustion and grief, that he could not bear to be there. Now he was going to have to make himself endure. He owed it to Charlie, to the estate and to his neglected wife.

  Part of him had been running away from confronting what he had done by marrying a woman without the qualifications necessary for a countess. He was beginning to suspect he was wrong about that judgement, but confessing that he had believed it could only be deeply wounding to Kate.

  ‘You had a great deal to do in London, many responsibilities in connection with the earldom. I am not reproaching you, my lord.’ Her smile was sudden, vivid, and took him completely by surprise. ‘I merely explain my own…limitations.’

  ‘I wish you would use my given name.’ Grant smiled back, charmed, and realised he had never seen that open, uncomplicated smile from Kate before. She smiled at the children, at the servants, but never at him.

  But why would she? He had hardly seen her except as a desperate woman in the throes of labour, or an exhausted one in its aftermath. Even that morning her smile had been polite and dutiful. But this expression transformed her. Strangely it did not enhance her beauty, as a smile usually did for a woman. Instead it emphasised the slight irregularity of her face, it crinkled up her blue eyes and showed the little gap between very white, otherwise even, front teeth. And yet…charmed was the only word for his reaction. This was a real woman, not a pretty, regimented society doll. A real woman he knew not at all.

  ‘I see no limitations, Kate. There is nothing we cannot deal with by a little discussion, an exchange of views, greater familiarity.’ He chose the final word deliberately.

  That produced a blush that he had no difficulty interpreting as anything but one of sensual awareness. Kate’s lips were parted and she did not meet his gaze, but glanced up, above his head, blushed even more rosily and reached for her water glass.

  Grant suppressed the instinctive movement to turn and look at the wall behind his chair. Of course, that was where his own portrait hung. So what was there about that to make her colour up? Unless she had spent every mealtime sitting just there, looking at his image and liking what she saw. He bit his lip to repress a grin that could only be unworthily smug. He was used to hearing himself described as a good-looking man, women seemed to like to flirt with him, but he felt no conceit about that. He looked like his grandfather at the same age, which was good fortune and no merit of his. He could feel some satisfaction at the appreciation shown by his lovers, however, because he was confident that was due to practice and an interest in his partner’s pleasure as well as his own, rather than to heredity.

  His first wife had been more prone to burst into tears or tantrums at the sight of him than to blush prettily. The marriage had been an arranged one and they had hardly known each other before it. Grant had come to the conclusion that Madeleine was simply averse to sex and hoped that he was not the cause, but that it was something inbuilt in her character. She had been stiff and unresponsive in bed from the first, informing him, when he had asked her what was the matter, that her mama had explained to her that she must endure her marital duty and that was what she was doing. Enduring. It was hard work being a sensitive and imaginative lover in the face of that. And then he had made the grave tactical error of getting her pregnant too soon…

  Grant pushed away the memory and focused on the very different wife facing him down six foot of polished mahogany. It occurred to him that it would be a pleasant novelty to be wed to a woman who took an interest in the physical side of marriage. He allowed himself to smile and decided that Kate was decidedly flustered.

  Slowly, slowly, don’t startle her, you are almost a stranger in her eyes, he reminded himself. Just because she showed sensual awareness did not mean that she was not shy. He must court this woman even though she was already his countess. ‘I hope you will always feel free to discuss any thoughts you have about Charlie. As for the household, it is yours to command, and if the allowances I give you for those expenses and your own expenditure are inadequate, I will certainly amend them.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Kate had recovered her composure, it seemed. She took a sip of wine. ‘It would be helpful to know when we might have regular discussions about day-to-day issues.’

  ‘Of course. Would around ten each morning suit you? I am usually back from my morning ride about then and the steward and estate manager come to see me after luncheon.’ She nodded, apparently happy with the proposal. ‘Of course, we will have much more time together to discuss more…intimate matters.’

  The charming smile vanished, but the equally charming blush persisted. How far down did it go? Below the decorous dip of her black silk evening gown? Down far enough to tint those sweet curves with rose? Grant shifted in his chair, feeling again the lash of his own arousal. Slowly, slowly might be wise, but the seduction of his countess promised to be a leisurely pleasure.

  *

  Kate watched her husband’s face and tried to read the thoughts behind that handsome, intelligent surface. She suspected that he was clever enough to hide whatever emotions he did not want her to read, although the warmth in his gaze and the faint curve of his lips when that gaze strayed downwards from her face were less revealing of deep thoughts than of basic masculine instincts, that was certain.

  She wanted him, although now the man was before her in the flesh and not simply as a fantasy fuelled by a two-dimensional image, that wanting was tinged again with apprehension. Kate reached for the silver bell that stood before her place. ‘Time for dessert, I think, my lord.’

  One dark brow lifted.

  ‘In front of the servants I should not be too familiar, Grant,’ Kate said repressively and was rewarded by a fleeting, wicked smile that vanished into an expression of aristocratic calm when the footmen re-entered.

  *

  Somehow Kate’s increasingly fevered imagination had carried her directly from the dining table to the bedchamber and it came as a shock to see Grimswade setting the decanters on the sideboard when the dessert dishes were cleared, just as he always did when Mr Gough dined with her.

  ‘I will leave you to your port, my lord.’ She rose and Grant stood, too. She caught his reflection in the glass of the watercolour that hung by the door as she left and saw he was still on his feet, watching her. The glimpse of dark, shadowed eyes made her shiver deliciously.

  Now what? Mr Gough would linger only long enough to drink one glass, more out of custom than pleasure, she suspected. Then he would join her for an hour, bringing journals with items he thought might interest her, or some written exercise of Charlie’s that he knew she would approve.

  She had come to enjoy the harmless, companionable interludes that were such a pleasant novelty. Her brother had never scrupled to leave the ladies waiting for him if he had a male companion to talk to or when he found a female guest tiresome. Sometimes, he would not join his wife and sister at all, disappearing to a cockfight in the village or to join his
cronies for a game of cards without as much as a by-your-leave.

  Kate picked up her embroidery, regarded the unsteady line of French knots with dismay and began to unpick them.

  ‘If you scowl at that unfortunate piece of work much longer, it will scorch,’ a deep voice remarked from just behind her.

  She jumped, drove the needle into the ball of her index finger and said a naughty word under her breath. She switched the glare to Grant, who moved, soft-footed, to stand in front of her.

  ‘You have pricked yourself. My fault for startling you.’ He hunkered down, the silk of his evening knee breeches straining tight over muscular thighs, and took the wounded hand in his. ‘Let me kiss it better.’

  ‘I— Oh!’ He lifted her hand, pressed his lips to the tiny bead of blood and then sucked the whole top joint of her finger into his mouth. Kate stared down at the fashionably barbered dark head bent over her hand, the wide shoulders in their blue superfine, the elegance of the man performing a small, insignificant, utterly indecent act.

  Because it was indecent, she had not the slightest doubt of it. His fingers clasped lightly around her wrist, the ends over her pulse as if to monitor the effect he was having on her. She was shackled by the encircling grip as securely as if by iron manacles, because she could no more have moved her hand away than flown.

  The sensitive tip of her finger was encased in the wet heat of Grant’s mouth. His tongue caressed the pad until the sting of the needle prick was lost in the soft touch. She could sense the sharp edge of his teeth, carefully kept from her flesh as gradually, so very gradually, he drew her finger into his mouth as far as the middle joint. The suction pulsed, moving it in and out, his tongue tip curled and the heat rose through her as she realised what this action mimicked.

  She needed to move, to squirm in her chair and push him away, draw him closer. She needed—

  Grant sat back and she jerked her hand back against her bodice, the damp finger leaving a mark on the silk for a moment. ‘Has that taken the sting away?’ His lids were half closed, his eyes dark, his parted lips a little moist.