Courting His Countess (A Historical Romance Novella) Page 6

  Finally, as the evening drew to a close and the musicians packed away their instruments and the dancing couples drifted apart, Thomas was able to get Rose alone in her rooms.

  He shut the door and caught her around her waist. "They all adore you."

  "When I am with you," she said, leaning away from him.

  "Nonsense." He leaned forward and kissed the skin below her ear. Her body sighed against him. "They will grow to like you more when they get to know you better."

  "They'll never forget," she whispered.

  "Of course they will. Anyway, they're not important." He licked her throat and pressed his lips to the small hollow at its base. "You are the only one who matters."

  She tilted her head back and he focused his attention on the swell of her breasts. Irresistible. He hooked the front of her bodice and shift with his finger and pulled them both down to uncover her cherry-ripe nipples.

  "Thomas!"

  He kissed the gently undulating mounds then took a nipple into his mouth. She cried out but caught his face between her hands and pulled him away.

  "Stop, Thomas. I don't want to."

  "You don't? But...the sighing and heavy breathing and..." Hell. How could he have misread his wife so badly? And here he thought he knew her well now. He stepped away and watched as she righted her clothing, covering up all that deliciousness. Damn. "Is this because you saw me speaking to Temperance earlier?"

  She smoothed down the skirt even though it looked unruffled. "No."

  "I assure you, I didn't want to converse with her. I can't stand the woman."

  Her quick hands stilled. "How you've changed then," she said, stiffly. "Six years ago, it was me you could not stand to be near."

  It had been a mistake to bring her to court. He could see that now. He'd wanted her with him, wanted her at his side to show the world how lucky he was and how stupid he'd been, but he'd not taken her feelings into consideration. Selfish fool. He should have let her stay home like she wanted to. Now their relationship had gone backwards because of it.

  "Rose." He went to take her hands but she put them behind her back. "Rose, please. Six years ago I was an impetuous youth eaten up by revenge. I betrayed you and I am sorry. So very sorry."

  "Your words are simply that, Thomas. Just words. I promised myself I would not allow my heart to be broken by them again."

  He broke her heart? Oh God. That meant...that meant she'd cared for him once, perhaps even loved him. It made his betrayal all the more terrible.

  "Rose." He reached for her again, but she spun around and walked away. She sat on the window seat and stared into the darkness beyond. She didn't want him near, but he knelt beside her anyway. He had to say this. Had to, or he would always regret it. "Do you know why I came home now, in winter, when it would have been wiser to wait for spring?" She said nothing so he forged on. "I wanted to apologize. I've tried to do it for six years, but you didn't answer my letters. So when the queen gave me permission to return after Father's death, I took the first ship out of Ireland and came straight home."

  She kept her hands to herself so he touched her skirt and rubbed the soft velvet between his fingers. It was as close to her as he dared get. "It wasn't until we set sail that I began to have doubts. I was afraid that I might inadvertently punish you again in order to get revenge upon your father. You know that's why I did it, don't you? I was furious with Wallan for the way he tricked Father out of the estate, and I hated being manipulated by him into marrying you to raise his standing at court. I grew afraid that the anger would return when I saw him, and I didn't want to hurt you again. I'd already done enough."

  She looked so calm, so peaceful, it was as if she couldn't even hear him. As if she'd shut herself off.

  "I'm so sorry, Rose." He stood and backed away to the door. She didn't turn to him, didn't blink, didn't seem to be breathing at all. He paused at the door, his hand on the knob. "Perhaps in time you can forgive me, or perhaps not. It doesn't matter, because I'll never forgive myself."

  She turned to him then and blinked, slowly, as if she had just woken from a long sleep. "I will receive you again back at Lockhart." Then she once more looked out the window.

  He left and reached his own rooms although God knows how he made it when his heart felt like it had broken into a million pieces and his feet felt too heavy to move. He ordered his servant to leave and collapsed on the bed, burying his face in the pillow. He welcomed the misery that had threatened to envelope him ever since leaving Rose's rooms.

  Much later, he undressed and returned to bed. He lay on his back and tried to think through the fog in his mind. He'd done everything. Said everything. What else could he do to win her forgiveness?

  Somehow he didn't think time was going to heal the deep wounds he'd inflicted. So what would?

  CHAPTER 11

  As with the last two nights, Annie had a gown ready for Rose to wear on New Year's Eve. It took Rose's breath away.

  "The seamstress sewed the pearls onto the bodice today, according to His Lordship," Annie said, her watchful gaze on Rose. "He said it wasn't lovely enough to be worn by his exquisite wife without them. That's what he called you, his exquisite wife." She blinked hard but not before Rose saw the tears in her eyes.

  At least someone could cry. Rose had not been able to in the two days since Thomas had given his latest apology. Her heart and head felt numb. It was as if a bubble surrounded her and his words had fallen on them only to bounce off. She heard them but she couldn't feel them.

  "Thank you, Annie, it is a beautiful gown."

  "Aye. Are you ready, my lady?"

  Rose nodded. She had pleaded illness the previous night and the gown Thomas had provided for her to wear to the evening's entertainments went unworn. It was nothing compared to the one he'd procured for her for the New Year's Eve ball. The cloth of silver bodice and forepart were embroidered with pale blue thread and dotted with the newly added pearls. The sleeves and overskirt complimented them beautifully in pale blue silk with silver embroidery. A ruff fanned out behind her neck, leaving her throat and décolletage bare. Perfect to display her Christmas gift from her husband.

  "The necklace please, Annie."

  With a little sigh of pleasure, Annie placed the gold band around Rose's neck. Rose wiped her thumb over the sapphire nestled against her bust like a fat tear. It was already warm from the heat of the room and her skin.

  "He won't be able to take his eyes off you tonight, my lady," Annie said, smiling sadly. "No man will. Better watch Her Majesty doesn't get jealous."

  "Annie, hold your tongue. These walls have ears."

  Once her hair was fixed in place, Rose went in search of her husband. She didn't find him in the great hall where dozens of couples danced the Galliard. Nor was he in the library or the nearby rooms. Perhaps he was still in his rooms or outside or...oh lord, where was he? Panic churned her gut. Thomas was her rock at court, the one solid thing in a strange, ever-shifting world. Why had he left her?

  She stopped her search in the roofed gallery running alongside the courtyard. The cold wind snapped at her cheeks and bare shoulders and teased her hair in an attempt to dislodge the pins. Snow twirled more erratically than any of the dancers inside and finally settled on the flagstones at the gallery's edge. It was freezing but Rose breathed deeply, dampening the fear clutching at her insides. A gentleman strode past, bowed politely and asked if he could be of assistance. She shook her head and walked away. She looked out to the courtyard, lit by torches fighting for survival in the wind and snow, but there was no one there who resembled her husband. No one tall enough, commanding enough, handsome enough. She stamped down on the dense foreboding as it welled again.

  "Ah, there you are, Lady Avondale."

  Rose lifted her eyes to the gallery's ceiling and prayed for resilience. "What do you want, Lady Mossdale?"

  "Oh dear, you sound quite upset. Is there something I can do?" The towering beauty's smile wasn't at all sympathetic or comforting. It was m
alicious. She was up to something.

  Rose turned on a smile to match. "I was simply taking in the air."

  "Oh? Not looking for your husband?"

  "Do you know where he is?" Rose winced at how desperate she sounded. There was no doubt it was the question Temperance wanted her to ask and doing what the wasp wanted was the last thing Rose liked to do.

  Temperance waved a hand at the door. The garnets in each of her rings flashed red in the flickering torchlight. "He's with the queen and her advisors in the audience chamber. Shall we wait for him together?"

  "Thank you, but I'll go to him on my own." Rose ignored the arm Temperance offered and strode past her.

  "You can't go into the audience chamber uninvited."

  Rose walked on, back into the great hall where the fiddle and lute wove merry tunes for the dancers, and fat gentlemen stood at tables overflowing with comfits, tarts and cakes. She felt their eyes on her and she wished her gown was more demure. She wished she was anywhere but at Richmond Palace with its idle, indulged nobles and their constant desire for entertainment.

  She strode toward the guarded audience chamber, the sense of foreboding congealing in her stomach. Something was wrong. What had Lady Mossdale done?

  But when she saw her father hovering at the large double doors to the audience chamber, she suspected she had blamed the wrong person. "Father, what's happening?"

  He grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her aside. The guards didn't move, didn't blink. She might as well not have been there. "Don't ruin this," her father snapped.

  "Ruin what?" She tried to wrench herself free but couldn't.

  "I have placed a great opportunity in his lap," he said through an unmoving jaw. "I've worked tirelessly for this for months, do not destroy it with your female meddling."

  "What. Have. You. Done?"

  "I've done what any good father would do. I've already made you a countess, now I'll make you rich beyond our wildest dreams."

  "We already have a lot of money. The Avondale lands are extensive and—"

  His fingers twisted around her arm, bruising. She bit her lip to stop from crying out. "Don’t be a fool," he said. "You can never be rich enough. Ask that divine Lady Mossdale. You're too much like your mother, too stupid for your own good. Lucky you have me to look after your interests."

  "What do you know of my interests? You're nothing but a greedy, self-centered man. My interests have never entered into your plans. So tell me, what have you done?"

  His mouth twisted into a harsh grin. "Imagine, with the richest earl in the kingdom as my son-in-law, I'll be treated like royalty. They'll all clamor to me. I used to think I needed you and he to be here, at court. I know now that there's a better way."

  He was mad. He had to be. Mad with greed. "Father, stop this and tell me what is happening in there."

  But the doors opened before he had a chance to speak and Thomas emerged. His face was closed tight, his lips white. The eyes that clamped on Rose were filled with such deep sadness and longing that she was almost undone. Almost.

  "Thomas?" she whispered. "What is it?"

  He took both her hands. They were cool and shook ever so slightly. "Rose," he murmured, "I've failed you. I'm so sorry." The hopelessness in his voice clawed at her heart. It wasn't natural on him.

  "What's happened?"

  "I told you I wouldn't leave you. But..." He cleared his throat. "I have been commanded to return to Ireland in the spring."

  A cold shiver slid through her and wrapped ice fingers around her bones. No. No! She had just got him back, just discovered he was good and kind and gentle, not odious and cruel. And she'd come to realize that she didn't want to live without him. She didn't need his love in return, she just needed him.

  "Father." She spun round to face Wallan once more. The old man was smiling. Smiling! "You did this." His conversations with Lord Burghley, his avoidance of Rose since their arrival at Richmond...he'd orchestrated it.

  "Your husband forgot to mention the part about his doubled wage," Wallan said. "You can pay me a fee as thanks and find it in your hearts to give me a loan. You owe me now."

  "We owe you nothing," Rose spat.

  But her father didn't seem to hear her. "I knew Burghley would agree to it. Now perhaps he'll see the value of my counsel and seek it more often instead of dismissing me." He thrust out his chest and his jowls wobbled as his smile broadened.

  Rose wanted to scratch his merry eyes out. "I hate you!"

  Thomas was fast. He slipped his arm around her waist and held her firmly against him so that she could not get close enough to strike her father. "He's not worth it," he murmured into her ear. The steady beat of his heart at her back calmed her and she relaxed into him, despite her anger.

  "That's it, Avondale, control that little vixen lest she ruin her reputation further."

  Rose became aware of people staring, one of them being Lady Mossdale. She didn't care. Let them stare. Let them see her at her worst. What did it matter now?

  Thomas was leaving. Nothing mattered anymore.

  "I never want to see you again," she said to Wallan, her voice rasping. "You are not welcome at Lockhart Castle."

  "Nothing's changed then."

  Thomas's arm tightened.

  A thought seeped into Rose's mind but it was too elusive and slippery and she couldn’t catch it, not with anger ruling her.

  "Listen to your master for once, Daughter, and do as you're told. Be silent and accept this as the opportunity it is."

  "It is not the opportunity I want," she said.

  "Nonsense." Wallan threw out his arms to encompass the room, the courtiers. "All this is ours. Take it. Go on. Take it with me. Use some of that charm you've kept for your husband on these people and we'll rule this court."

  "You and I will not be seen together here or anywhere." She had so many more things to say to him but Thomas stepped between them and took her face in his hands. He kissed her lightly on the lips and caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. She was vaguely aware of murmurs drifting around them like the snow, and she welcomed them. Let them talk.

  Then Thomas stopped kissing her and turned to Wallan. "I will give you an annuity if you tell Burghley and Her Majesty that you made a mistake. You have Burghley's ear it seems and I have faith in your persuasive powers. If you are successful, you'll have your annuity. If not, then you'll get nothing and I'll return to Ireland."

  "No," Rose said, shaking her head over and over. "We'll give him nothing. He doesn't deserve it, not after everything he's done."

  "We must. I'm not angry with him anymore, not enough that I'll jeopardize this last ray of hope."

  She looked up at him, her heart in her throat and her eyes as full as swollen lakes. "How can you not be angry when he drove a wedge between us all those years ago? He poisoned this marriage before it had even begun."

  He dragged a hand through his hair. "I've had time to think since I said that. And I know now that I cannot hate the man who made me marry you, despite the circumstances. You're the woman I love and—"

  "Enough of this." Wallan snorted. "Any more sentimentality and I'll lose my supper."

  Rose needed to sit. She felt weak-kneed. The woman I love. Oh. My. He meant it too. Such an off-handed comment could only be said by someone who thought it obvious. Who thought she knew.

  "How much?" her father said. "I want to know the amount of the annuity before I agree to your terms."

  "Five hundred pounds, paid every new year until your death."

  Wallan pursed his lips in thought. Rose's fingers gripped her husband's hand and she swayed into him. Finally, her father shook his head. "Not enough. It never will be."

  Thomas swore. "You're a cur, Wallan. Come, Rose, let's see if we can't talk Her Majesty out of this together instead."

  "I thought you were going to accept your situation," Wallan said, sneering.

  "I'll accept it when the situation is completely hopeless, and not a moment before. Does that tell you ho
w much I want to be with my wife?"

  His words lifted Rose's heart and gave her courage. She'd need all of it for what she was going to say next. The thought that had eluded her moments before now demanded to be heard. "Not yet, Thomas. I have one more thing to say to my father."

  "Bloody hell," Wallan muttered. "What is it now?"

  She held his gaze and eventually he looked away with a sniff. "Go and tell Lord Burghley that Thomas is not going to Ireland. And you had better succeed, because if you don't, I will spread rumors that you have no money. Indeed, I will make sure everyone knows you are in severe debt and your son-in-law refuses to loan you so much as a shilling. How long will it take them to snub you?" He blanched. She leaned closer to drive her next point home. "How long will it take for your creditors to demand what they're owed?"

  Her words took a few moments to sink in, but sink they did. Right to the bottom, if his wobbling jowls and white face were an indication. "You can't do that," he spluttered.

  "I can and I will. And we will not loan you a groat." She nodded at Lord Burghley. "Tell him now."

  She could see from his horrified face that he'd grasped the ramifications. Not only would he be ruined financially, his friends would desert him. With no money, he could not buy the clothes and gifts needed to thrive at court and without a life at court, Rose knew her father would rather die. It was the only thing he cared about.

  "I'll even help you," Thomas said. "There was initial talk that I would be used as an advisor on the Irish situation, based here. Your meddling put a stop to that. Re-plant the idea in Burghley's head, suggest it as the better alternative."

  Thomas's arm lent Rose the strength she needed to watch her father plod after Lord Burghley. They didn't wait for an answer but left the great hall and made their way to Rose's rooms.

  Inside, she made love to her husband. The man she loved. The man who loved her. He'd said so, out there in such a casual way that she almost missed it. He confirmed it over and over to her in bed.