Romancing the Countess

Both seemed apt phrases, appealing to the heavens and cursing the lower dominions as he ground his jaw together.

The widow he’d known for the past four months had completely transformed. Her widow’s cap was gone, revealing a braided coiffure which complemented the angles of her face. She wore diamonds, not the usual somber, black ornamentation allowed. And although her dress appeared black at first glimpse, it became clear as she walked that blue threads were interwoven into the material, for the gown shimmered and reflected the light, alternating between blue and black with each step.

Still, thank God the dress was modest. Her sleeves were pulled to her wrists, the line of the bodice high at her neck. Any illicit thoughts he had as she walked toward him were inspired by his own imagination, not by the cut of her gown.

Sebastian moved toward her. He told himself it was to block her path to the salon, but in reality he simply wanted to be closer to her. “Return to your chamber,” he said. “Change back into the dress you were wearing before. And please, don’t try to dance tonight.”

She shook her head and tried to step around him, but he extended his arm. Her chest lifted as she inhaled, pushing against him. She turned her head and met his gaze. “I need to do this.”

“Please, Sebastian. It’s rather far-fetched to believe anything I do will cause rumors about Ian or Angela.”

“Perhaps it is. I might be concerned for nothing. But if the truth does come out, even if it’s just a rumor that no one can confirm, what do you believe will happen to Henry? How soon until you think people will begin to question his legitimacy?”

“Then they’d be fools,” she said slowly, considering him as if in doubt of his sanity. “Sebastian, he looks just like you.”

“Does he? What of his hair? His eyes?” Sebastian dropped his arm and stepped closer to her, the scent of her soap like an aphrodisiac to his senses. “Some days it’s perfectly clear that he’s my son. Other days I look and look, searching for some resemblance, unable to find any. All I ask is that you think of Henry. If he is mine, allow him to grow older until there’s no doubt. If he isn’t—” Sebastian exhaled harshly, lifting his hand to her face, cupping her cheek. “He’s still my son. Don’t do this, Leah. Don’t take the chance.”

She closed her eyes, and for a moment, Sebastian thought he’d convinced her to give up her plan. But then she shook her head again and opened her eyes, a small, regretful smile on her lips. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and then ran past him, her sleeve slipping through his fingers as he tried to catch her.

Leah paused at the door to the salon, glancing back over her shoulder to see Sebastian following behind. His eyes widened as he spied the open V at the back of her gown.

Moving forward, Leah edged to the side of the room to stand near Lord Elliot and Mr. Meyer as she waited for the next dance—the waltz—to begin.

Her ears buzzed too loudly for her to understand their conversation, but she was aware after a few moments of the absence of speech; Lord Elliot was no longer talking, but staring at her, his brow wrinkled. Leah offered him a smile and curtsied, then did the same as Mr. Meyer turned to look.

Second by second passed, and one by one the guests turned from their small groups toward her. Eventually the dancers in the middle of the floor stopped dancing, and the musicians in the corner of the room ceased playing in turn.

Sebastian’s gloved hand was warm at the small of her back as he came up behind her. “You wanted to dance, yes?” he murmured, a smile in his voice. As he walked around to face her, she could see that the smile was more a gritting of teeth.

Leah placed her hand on his arm and lifted her chin. “Yes, my lord, I would love to dance.” With a nod to the musicians, she called, “A waltz, please.”

Sebastian guided her to the center of the room and they took their positions as they waited for the music to begin: her hand on his shoulder, his on her waist, their other hands clasped together. All around them, from every corner of the room, she heard the swell of voices. Then the music started, and they began to waltz.

Leah remembered that she’d danced with Sebastian a few times since her first Season. She couldn’t recall the specific times, or the specific places, but she knew she’d danced with him before. How was it, then, that this dance seemed so incredibly intimate, each movement of their bodies a flirtation, an unspoken question waiting to be answered by the other?

“When the waltz is over, I suggest you make an apology. Make an excuse about this being for Ian—they probably won’t believe it, but any reason is better than none.” His hand tightened on hers, his lips thinning as he glanced over her head. “Of course, you had to wear that dress.”

“Do I like it? No. Do I want to tear it off of you? Yes.” His gaze returned to hers, and she found herself caught in their green depths, tangled in his desire. “For more than one reason, Leah.”

They continued dancing, Sebastian leading her as they turned about the floor. Leah swallowed as she glanced around; by the way no one else came out to join the waltz, but just stood and stared at them, she surmised that her attempt at breaking the rules had gone over quite well.

Instead of feeling a flush of embarrassment rise over her as might have happened in the past, Leah looked up at Sebastian and smiled. “Thank you,” she said, “for dancing with me.”

“I assure you, Mrs. George, it’s entirely selfish. If I were to leave you alone the consequences would be much worse. In truth, I don’t know if I’ve succeeded, but I hope by waltzing with you to make it appear as if this was planned. God help me, I hope they believe it. Just explain when you make the apology—”

He turned her with him at the corner, and a wall of faces flashed by her vision. He dipped his head. “You’ve already created cause for a scandal,” he said urgently in her ear, “but you can still minimize it.”

“He’s your son. It’s obvious, even if you have doubts. He’ll be fine.” Leah forced herself to believe the words, forced herself to believe that even if Sebastian didn’t understand or forgive her now, he would someday.

“Very well,” he said, his shoulder stiffening beneath her touch. “Be aware, then, that once this waltz ends, I will be the first to spurn you. I will not acknowledge you again, nor will I defend you should anyone ask me the reason for your actions. In the future, if something should happen and you should ever think to ask for my assistance—no matter your situation—be assured that you will be sent away without a hearing.”

Her heartbeat became faint. His words threatened to topple her resolution, but she remained strong. “I understand you very well, my lord.”

She looked in his eyes, and even though no more words came, a host of unspoken emotions passed between them. There was anger in his gaze. His desire for her that she could no longer hide from. Also, resignation and regret.

She had made her choice, and he had made his. Just as Ian’s and Angela’s deaths had drawn them together, her actions now ensured that they were returned to a more formal relationship. Not even the polite acquaintance they had once shared, but something closer in resemblance to an aloof enmity. At last, they were the enemies they’d pledged to become.

As the last note of the waltz faded, Sebastian brought them to a halt. He withdrew his arms and stepped away. Then, without making a bow or any other gesture of courtesy, he turned his back on her and strode from the drawing room.

She wouldn’t faint. She wouldn’t vomit. No matter how inclined her body seemed toward those measures at the moment, after Sebastian gave her the cut direct in front of the entire party of guests and as those same guests stared at her in horror and salacious disbelief, she held her head up and kept her shoulders straight. If she’d learned nothing else from her mother, it was the carriage of confidence.

She pasted a smile on her face and strolled from the dancing area. The musicians began to play another tune. Yet no one moved to dance, and as she walked forward, guests edged away so that she felt like Moses parting the Red Sea. A part of her found this humorous, since every step she made created a space of three feet in distance between her and the nearest guest. But another part could not help but be mortified.

After all, after having been taught to please others for so long, it was natural that she should feel discomfort at being the object of their criticism, wasn’t it?

Looking around, she spied Miss Pettigrew sneaking a glance at her. With a deep breath, Leah smiled wider. Miss Pettigrew answered with a glimmer of a smile and moved to step forward, but her arm was caught in the grip of Mrs. Thompson. The companion stared at Leah and murmured something to Miss Pettigrew. With an abashed gaze, Miss Pettigrew turned her back on Leah and began speaking with Miss Sanders.

So it was for the next half hour. Covert glances were thrown Leah’s way, but no one dared approach her, and the guests’ voices rose until it became clear none meant to shield their comments from her ears.

Eventually the musicians stuttered to a halt, and the lead violinist caught her gaze. She nodded, and they played again. Not a dancing tune, but a performance piece. They’d been paid, after all, and at least the music would partially drown the overwhelming condemnation of her guests.

Finally Lady Elliot approached. “Mrs. George,” she acknowledged, arching her brow. “I thought you were to tell me before you created a scandal.”

Leah’s smile turned genuine at the viscountess’ admonition. “Please accept my apologies, my lady. I meant to surprise you.”

Lady Elliot nodded, her gaze approving. “Good for you,” she murmured. Then, more loudly, “I’m afraid Lord Elliot and I cannot stay throughout the evening. We won’t be leaving in the morning. We shall leave now.”

With one last look at Leah, she whirled and placed her hand on her husband’s arm. As the music played behind them and the other guests watched, Lord and Lady Elliot departed the drawing room.

Soon it became apparent that Lady Elliot would be the only one to even attempt to say good-bye. In the following minutes the others began trickling out, slowly at first, then with greater haste until a line formed to leave through the drawing room door.

Leah sighed, then moved across the room toward a settee which had been pushed against the wall. The quartet continued to play as she sat on the sofa. Her guests’ voices receded down the hall, and she listened to the wheels of their various conveyances rumble across the drive as they departed.

She might have predicted it would end this way. After all, if she had been one of the guests and her hostess had done something similar, Leah would have felt compelled to leave. Then again, with the hint of scandal surrounding such a house party, she probably wouldn’t have attended in the first place.

Yet even with Sebastian’s disappointment and the knowledge that she would soon become a social pariah, she felt no remorse. She’d broken the rules, did as she pleased, and for tonight at least, she would enjoy her freedom.

Every few miles Sebastian decided he would stop the carriage and have the coachman return to Linley Park. He would return to the salon, grab ahold of Leah, and demand that she return to her senses.

But even though he lifted his arm toward the roof of the carriage numerous times, he always ended up lowering it before he could pound on the ceiling and make his wishes known.

They had come to a standstill, he and Leah. She had made her decisions, and he must do what he could to now protect Henry from the consequences. Perhaps if he had stressed the importance of not creating a scandal before . . . but no, he’d tried. He simply hadn’t told her what the consequences would mean to him, or to Henry. Even if he had, he had no reason to believe it would have changed her actions, not when she’d so readily dismissed his concerns earlier tonight.

The coachman drove the carriage on, past the chalk hills, past the rolling lines of trees that were thick, tangled shadows beneath the moonless sky. Sebastian lowered his head into his hands, the image of Leah imprinted on his mind after she’d entered the salon. Her chin lifted, head held high, more regal than Queen Victoria herself.

And the absurdity of it all was, for an instant in the corridor, he’d been glad to see her—happy that finally, even though she was wearing black, it wasn’t the customary widow’s weeds. In that moment, she’d seemed free. He hadn’t felt guilty for wanting her so soon after Angela’s death, and he hadn’t felt guilty because she was Ian’s wife. Everything had seemed right, their future together unclear, but certainly something possible outside of his lust-filled fantasies.

Sebastian’s fist pounded at the roof before he had time to hesitate and retrieve it back to his side. The carriage slowed, the horses snuffling as the reins tightened.

His breath came faster, anticipation filling him at the prospect of turning around and returning to her. Soon the coachman climbed down and knocked on the door.

“Never mind,” he said. “It was a mistake.” Turning his head, he stared out the window again. At the countryside that would soon disappear, changing into the city landscape, taking him closer to his son and farther away from Leah. “Drive on.”

Four days had passed since the infamous end of her country house party. All the guests had left the night of the dinner, so that when Leah woke the next morning it was to a quiet house, completely silent except for the movements of the servants around her. It was almost as it had been after Ian had first died, when she’d retreated to Linley Park in order to escape everyone.

Leah was in the flower garden, walking among the roses in the afternoon, when she heard the sound of a vehicle approaching on the drive. She already suspected who it would be. Out of all the people who might have been upset at her behavior the other night, it was the Viscount and Viscountess Rennell whom she regretted disappointing the most.

Clutching her skirts in her hands, she left the garden and walked through the doors of the conservatory, then into the hall, pausing to pat down her hair in a mirror as she passed. No widow’s cap. No veil. She’d even stopped wearing black. If they hadn’t heard the rumors, her appearance would tell them all they needed to know.

Bowing deeply, Herrod disappeared. Leah climbed the stairs to the drawing room. Her hands trembled at her sides as she paused outside the doorway. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, then walked in.

Thirty seconds. That’s all it took for it to be clear that he was the master of Linley Park, that she was at his mercy for her shelter, her food, and her amusements.

A maid entered at that moment with the tea service, and neither spoke as she arranged the tray between them. When she left, Leah leaned forward and poured two cups of tea. “Milk and sugar as usual, my lord?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you. And I see you sent for cherry tarts.” A small smile crossed his mouth as he selected one of the pastries.

Leah passed him the cup of tea, proud of the surety of her hands. Not one ripple marred the surface of the liquid. However, when she stirred in her own sugar and removed her own cup of tea from the tray, it nearly tipped over and scalded her lap.

“I’ve come to request that you leave Linley Park within a fortnight,” Lord Rennell said a moment later. “I will give you a small purse of coin—”

“—but afterward, you will no longer be welcome at any of our homes, nor will we continue to support your livelihood.”

A few elongated, terrible moments of silence followed, in which she alternated between sipping at her tea and listening to the sound of Lord Rennell eating his cherry tart.

Finally, she heard him set his cup on the tray. “Leah,” he said softly. She glanced up. “Do you think that we didn’t know?”

“Not the party. About Ian. He was our son. And you, even in such a short time, have become like our daughter.”

“No, don’t apologize.” His mouth quirked, and it reminded her of Ian. “We both know you wouldn’t mean it, anyway. I daresay you deserve to be happy now. God knows Lady Rennell and I both regretted seeing you so downtrodden with Ian’s faithlessness.”

“How long did you know?” she asked, her grip tightening on her teacup. The wonderful part of keeping her husband’s affair a secret was her belief that no one else had been privy to her humiliation. She realized her own strength and confidence now, but the viscount and viscountess must have witnessed her at her worst: small and weak, stripped of her pride.

“Something changed in you. You ceased looking at Ian as if he were a king and became more reserved, even toward us.” He paused. “We would have liked you to continue as our daughter, if only in name. We do care for you, my dear, and would have done anything for you. But now . . .”

“We cannot ignore the rumors. It would make us appear ignorant and foolish. Also, I suspect you knew the consequences of your actions before you carried them out.”

The viscount waved a hand. “It’s done now.” He stood, and she followed. He smiled across at her, then reached out to take her hand. Leah lowered her gaze, watched as he enfolded it between his. It was one of the most comforting gestures she had ever known and, not for the first time, she found herself jealous of Ian for having the sort of parents she’d always dreamed of.

“We wish you the best, Leah.” The viscount withdrew his hands. “You have a fortnight. No more. I will see that the purse I spoke of is delivered to Herrod shortly.” He gave her another bow. “Good day, Mrs. George.”

Leah curtsied. “Good day, my lord.” She watched him walk away, and just before he strode from the room, added, “And thank you.”

Henry paid no heed, teetering on the bench before the pianoforte as he leaned over and banged on the keys. Grinning, he looked at Sebastian and said, “Play, play, play!” before turning back and once again serenading Sebastian with his masterpiece.

Henry swiped his hand down the pianoforte and pivoted toward Sebastian, moving his hands up and down in the air on an invisible instrument. His foot slid to the edge of the bench and Sebastian swept forward, his arms outstretched and his heart beating madly in his chest as he tried to catch his son.

Scooping his legs out from under him, Sebastian planted Henry on the seat, then scooted beside him. His arm supported Henry’s back in case he decided to fall sideways and scare Sebastian again.

Sebastian smiled and touched one key, leaving his hand at rest until the note died. Then, as Henry watched, he moved his finger over each key, all the way down and back up, faster and faster.

He feared that was as well as he could do; he’d never been offered music lessons, and he’d never had any interest in playing the pianoforte. For some reason, though, he was fairly certain Leah knew how to play the instrument, if not many others. She was capable, intelligent, trained to act the perfect Victorian lady; it seemed only natural that she would excel at nearly everything.

A week had passed, and though it seemed the rest of the ton had deserted London in favor of their country estates, Sebastian had kept Henry in the city.

Because he thought—he hoped—Leah would return to London after the disastrous end to her house party. Because, even though another new rumor spread every day and he knew it was only a matter of time before he heard one about Ian and Angela, he couldn’t stop thinking of Leah.

He had no reason to believe she would come to him—he’d specifically told her not to—and yet he stayed, looking through the post as soon as the butler brought it to him each day, wandering toward the front door whenever he thought he heard someone knock.

Henry pushed his arm away and climbed down off the bench, and Sebastian turned on the seat to watch him. Henry went first to a plant and fiddled with its leaves, then crouched down and poked his finger in the soil. “No,” Sebastian said when it appeared his son might stick his finger in his mouth.

Henry glanced at him over his shoulder with a look that could be described only as mischievous. It reminded Sebastian of Leah. Hell, he admitted silently, raking his hand through his hair, everything reminded him of Leah. He looked for her everywhere, tried to see her in everything, even dreamed of her at night.

Henry meandered from the potted plant to the sofa, climbing up onto the cushions and then attempting to hoist himself over the back. Sebastian stood to rescue him again.

It was time to move on. He was exhausting himself, and Henry needed the countryside to play. He needed the wide-open fields to run in and soft grass to tumble on. Sebastian couldn’t rescue Leah. And it was clear that she didn’t want him to, for she hadn’t come, nor had she written him.

Sebastian crouched low and hurried behind the sofa. First he saw Henry’s hand reach over the top, then the crop of his blond hair. Sebastian growled, then jumped up and snagged Henry in his arms, holding the squealing, giggling boy tight. “Come,” he said, striding to the door. “It’s time to go to Hampshire.”