The Substitute Countess (12 page)

The liquor burned its way to his stomach and lay there, doing nothing to dispel his mood.

The dowager might, at any time, reveal her husband’s bequest in front of Laurel as spitefully as she had the circumstance of Hobson’s birth.

That strong possibility decided the issue for Jack. He must be the one to tell Laurel. If it came from someone else, he would never be able to convince her how he felt about her now—how much he had come to admire her, like her and need her—independent of her former holdings. Holdings that were now
his
by law.

The admission would require exactly the right timing, of course. And his words must convey an abject apology that somehow did not also mean he was sorry they had married. His would be a tricky and potentially disastrous confession, but one he now viewed as necessary. He would have to choose the moment carefully and do it when he was perfectly calm and collected.

Not just now, then. Not tonight.

George knocked and Jack bade him enter. Two footmen brought in water and prepared his bath. He dismissed them all for the night and finally sank into the tepid water.

Somewhat refreshed but still feeling like an overwound watchspring, he toweled off and marched naked to his wardrobe to don the black silk banyan he had purchased in London. Properly, it should be worn over shirt, waistcoat and breeches, but Jack didn’t bother. The thought of Laurel waiting for him, all smiles and compliance, stoked his need well beyond that of his desire for peace.

He went back through the dressing room, hesitated for a moment, breathed several deep breaths in an effort to conceal his urgency, then knocked softly.

Chapter Twelve

A
t last he had finished his bath. She had sat there on the bed listening to the commotion in the next room, hearing a door close as the servants departed and then the subtle splash as he washed. She imagined him naked, thinking of those strong sun-kissed hands of his soaping himself, perhaps thinking of her as he did so.

Who would have guessed that the mere sound of a man bathing could engender such feelings in a woman? She smoothed the soft fabric of her shift over her thighs and sighed with impatience. The subtle splashing had stopped. What
was
he doing?

The knock came at last, an almost tentative request. Laurel sighed. “Come in.”

And there he stood, resplendent as always, wearing a black robe that exposed his bare chest. His hair was damp, strands of it lying slick over his forehead as if he’d absently brushed it across his brow with his hand.

He seemed somehow vulnerable beneath the powerful shield of strength that surrounded him all the time. She had yet to see a weakness in Jack, nor did she now. What she detected was more of a yearning that peeked through. It touched her as surely as his hands had last evening.

Laurel opened her arms. The look of relief on his face as he crossed the room fueled her desire to hold him as nothing else ever would. He wanted this, wanted
her,
more than she had known. She needed no sweet words, no romantic verse or teasing entreaties. Only him.

He attempted gentleness when he embraced her, but Laurel felt it give way almost instantly. His mouth found hers and consumed with a fury. Her mind fogged with pleasure, feelings scattering thoughts like chaff in the wind. Hands, his and hers, claimed, stroked, clutched and soothed.

Growls, groans and sighs mingled as they rolled, pressed together, upon the pillowy coverlet. She tugged away the tie of his robe as he raked up her shift. His desperation seized her or perhaps hers caused his own. One thrust and he was home within her. “Yes!” she rasped against his neck.

He began to move, slowly at first, a struggle for him, she knew. Deliberately, she rose faster, increasing rhythm, altering his pace yet begging for mastery. His body reacted almost fiercely. Those long, strong fingers plowed through her hair, holding her head immobile for the wildest, wettest, longest kiss ever. Laurel returned it in kind, thoroughly emboldened.
Nothing forbidden,
he had said.

She felt the building of pleasure with each frantic thrust, knew as he grasped for the pinnacle, he swept her with him. Suddenly it was all too great to bear and her body shuddered with an explosion of pure heat, sparks showered behind her eyelids as she clenched them tight. She cried out as he poured himself into her with a soft roar.

Laurel could barely breathe the effort seemed so great. He lay still for a long moment, then braced himself on his elbows, his hands still threaded in her hair. When she opened her eyes, he was looking down at her with an expression of awe. Or, on closer inspection, perhaps stunned regret.

She smiled to show him it was all right, his abandoning of control. For a man who probably prided himself on his command of every situation, he might even feel embarrassed.

“That was
remarkable!
” she whispered.

He released the breath he’d been holding and looked to one side. “I want to say I’m sorry,” he said on a sigh.

Laurel breathed a little laugh as she raised one hand to his clenched jaw, then trailed it down his neck to his chest. “But you won’t say it and you shouldn’t. I have never in my life felt so...
alive.
So free.”

He withdrew slowly and moved to her side so that her head rested on his shoulder and his arm held her tight against him. No words were needed as far as she was concerned. Laurel felt so wonderful, she couldn’t express it anyway. And he must be at a loss, as well.

They lay that way for a long time. Suddenly he asked, “Do you like this room?”

“I
love
this room,” she replied lazily. “It is the most wonderful room in the entire world and I shall always love it.”

“Let’s go next door,” he said. “You can love my room, too.”

Laurel laughed and pushed to sit up. “All right. Too many ruffles for you? Is that why you were gone this morning when I awoke?”

“I never sleep more than four or five hours and I could never lie abed. Didn’t want to wake you. Come on.”

They got off her bed and he swooped her into his arms. He turned sideways to get through the dressing room doors and deposited her on his enormous four-poster. George must have turned down the bed for Jack before leaving, so she slid between the sheets.

“Are you cold?” he asked, following her under the covers, propping up on one elbow as he looked down at her. “Shall I warm you a little?”

She gave a salacious wiggle and grinned up at him. “Warm me a lot.”

He began toying with her hair, winding it around his finger. “Do you have any inkling how you affect me, Laurel?”

“Hmm. Let me see... I make you wild?”

He winced. “Well, that, too, but only when you arouse me.”

“How do I do that?” she asked, playing coy for the first time in her life.

“Without even trying,” he admitted. “You might have noticed how difficult it is for me to contain my...need to move about. All of the time,” he added and pulled a wry face. “I have to be forever
doing.
”

She nodded and snuggled closer. “I understand.”

“I wish to hell I did. The only thing good about it is that I get a great deal accomplished. But it’s nice to just sit or stand, you know, at rest? Not rush about like a man on fire.”

She traced a fingernail along his shoulder, admiring the line of his muscle. “I like the man on fire.”

He issued a little grunt of satisfaction. “Well, you can always have
that
with a come-hither look. But you seem to give me something precious when we’re together like this. Afterward, it’s as if you lend me your stillness for a little while.”

She slid her hand behind his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “Then I take it back so you may borrow it again. Afterward.”

* * *

The next morning, Laurel woke when Jack’s clock chimed eight. Betty was humming softly in the dressing room, pouring water in the ewer.

When Laurel started to stretch, she realized Jack was still curled next to her, sound asleep. It was the first time she had ever seen him sleeping. For several minutes she simply watched him, noting how much younger he looked, how boyish with his hair in total disarray and his cheek lying on one hand.

She wanted to kiss him awake, but decided not. He was likely exhausted by last night, not to mention all the cares he had borne since inheriting. Carefully, she slipped out of bed and snatched up his discarded banyan, an older one that had seen much wear. She wrapped it around her and returned to her room.

Betty was there now, laying out morning clothes. Laurel laid a finger to her lips and whispered, “His lordship’s still asleep.”

“Did you ask him?” Betty asked. “You know, about me and George?”

“Not yet. As you know, we had that visitor last evening at supper and later we...were busy. I’ll ask him today.”

The morning progressed beautifully. Laurel began to truly believe that life in the convent had been a boon, preparing her rather well to deal with her present circumstance. She continued to use her Mother Superior voice, which was kind, yet firm, when dealing with servants and staff.

She had always been one for making quick decisions, sometimes to her detriment, but usually working better for her than dithering about undecided. Her decision to come to England with Jack had been the best she had ever made.

She realized that her pretended self-confidence was becoming quite real.

Jack met her in the breakfast room for their midday meal. It was a well-lit, airy place, a third the size and much more intimate than the formal dining room.

“You are a veritable ray of sunshine,” he said by way of greeting as he joined her at table. “Yellow becomes you.”

Laurel preened, something she could not ever remember doing. “Flattery welcome, sir. You look well rested.”

“For a slug-a-bed,” he replied with a grin. “Never in memory have I slept so long. If I don’t rush, I’ll be late for my first local court session and I’m to preside. I also hope to meet with the vicar later to discuss the school.”

“May I teach there?” she asked, gesturing for Thad, the footman, to begin serving them.

“The position is taken, and you, my girl, will be too busy with dancing lessons!” He winked. “I told Hobson to hire us a dancing master. I could use a few lessons myself. We can’t risk any missteps when we return to Town next Season.”

Laurel could hardly contain her happiness. Jack looked so content. And so completely at ease. She thought of her maid and how eager she was to wed Jack’s valet. It would feel good to spread a bit of happiness around. “Is there any rule against servants marrying within the household?”

He looked up from his eggs. “I suppose not. Why do you ask?”

She sighed and smiled. “Betty and George are in love. She says they were not allowed any sort of attachment at the London house. I thought if we agreed, perhaps such a marriage would be of convenience to us as well as them. They could coordinate our plans...”

“Quarters for the men and women are separate. That could pose a problem,” he reminded her.

“Surely we could work out something suitable. There are so many unused rooms in this old place.”

“That is your bailiwick. I have no real objection.” He began buttering a toast point. “Maybe they would hover around each other and leave us more time alone.”

“May I tell her we approve then?”

He thought for a minute. “No. In the event this is your Betty attempting to push George to the altar with our help, I’d best find out whether he’s willing. He should be the one doing the asking, after all.”

“Oh. Well, that never occurred to me,” she admitted.

He inclined his head and looked at her for a minute without speaking. Then he said, “You’re still so innocent, giving everyone the benefit of your trust without a question of whether they deserve it.”

She bit her lip to hold back a sharp retort.

“I don’t mean it as a reproof, Laurel, only a reminder to question first.”

“Thank you,” she said, her temper tightly reined. “You’re right, of course. George might not be of the same mind but would feel compelled if she told him we wished them to marry. We couldn’t have that.”

Jack stirred his coffee. “No, we shouldn’t take on the business of arranging marriages.”

She studied Jack for a moment. “I know you weren’t exactly eager to marry me when circumstances practically forced it on us. Were you so disappointed to relinquish your bachelor status?”

He set down his cup. “Not in the least. It was probably the best move I’ve ever made. Do I look unhappy?”

She shook her head. No, he did not, but if she could pretend confidence in herself so convincingly, he could just as well pretend to like being married. He had certainly empathized with George’s possible evasion of that state quickly enough.

He looked at his watch. “I really must go. Have a good morning!” She watched him rise and accepted his perfunctory kiss as he excused himself to go down to the village.

* * *

Jack had endured a thoroughly exhausting morning. He dismounted and walked halfway home from the village, hoping he could recover some sense of well-being before reaching the manor. He hated to trouble Laurel with the problem of Rob Huntland, the farmer who had stolen one of their sheep, but she probably would guess something was wrong. Damn the man. Why hadn’t he asked for the sheep instead of stealing the damned thing?

Dispensing justice had never been a thing Jack enjoyed, though he’d had to do it a few times aboard ship. At least then, it had been deserved. Perhaps it was warranted this time, as well, but the usual punishment did not seem to fit the crime. He knew he must set an example with Huntland or others would mark the light consequence and the flocks would soon disappear one by one.

He led his horse to the stables and left him with a groom. When he entered the house at the back, Betty was waiting. “Ma’am said watch for you and tell you there’s a gentleman guest in the front parlor.”

Jack handed her his hat. “Someone we know?”

“No, sir. A Captain Morleigh, I think he said.”

A relation of Neville’s then. Jack hurried in the event Laurel was entertaining the man alone. She would think nothing of doing that in her own home. However, it was a little-used area of the house and a complete stranger might get the wrong idea.

The minute he entered the parlor Laurel stood, greeting him with a happy smile. “You’re here at last!” She held out her hand. “We have a guest! Neville’s cousin, Captain Caine Morleigh.”

“Captain,” Jack said, nodding to the stalwart fellow. He was a large man with a definite military bearing. His scarred visage lent him a rather dangerous air.

However his ready smile reminded one of Neville’s. “Lord Elderidge,” Morleigh said as he sketched a quick bow.

“Good of you to visit.” Jack was not entirely sure why he had come. “How are Neville and Miranda? In good health I trust?”

“The best. I’ve been to London and am headed home. You weren’t far off my path, so Neville suggested I stop by and see if I could be of any help to you.”

“Yes, he mentioned that you might,” Jack said as they took their seats.

The captain smiled and inclined his head. “I understand you were thrust into your position without any preparation, much as I was a while ago. He knows what I’ve been through due to that.”

“You’re heir to Hadley,” Jack said.

Morleigh nodded. “No title as yet, but all of the duties, save sitting in the Lords.” He wrinkled his nose. “Worst of the lot, I imagine.”

Jack agreed. “I’ve just had a taste of enforcing laws this afternoon. If I serve in the House, I hope concocting them provides better flavor.” He released a heavy sigh and shook his head.

“Who transgressed?” Laurel asked, sitting forward in her chair. “And what did you do?”