Liz Tyner - The Notorious Countess

‘No.’ His voice quietened, but it didn’t lose the rumble, the masculine richness that pulled her like a vine twining towards the sun. ‘I can help you, though. We can create a new world around you. One in which you glitter as you should. This blunder tonight could be fortunate. It can be the moment you begin painting the world around you in the colours you wish.’

‘You are daft. No one has a brush that can do as you suggest.’

‘What is the harm in trying?’

She didn’t answer, with words, but her lips turned up. ‘You have lost your senses.’

‘I can help you.’

She examined his face. No laughter lurked. Brown eyes with the tiniest flecks of green studied her. In all her marriage—all her life—she’d never felt another person could see into her as deeply as he did.

She took a quick step back, breaking the connection—giving the world a chance to start moving again. ‘You really don’t know what you say.’

‘I will let you consider it, tonight,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow we will take a ride in the park. We can discuss it further then. You’ll have a chance to decide if you’d like to rebuild your reputation.’

He moved closer, leaning in, lips almost against her cheek. ‘Let that be the first thing you think of when you wake tomorrow.’

After he left, she wasn’t quite certain if he’d kissed her cheek or not, but she was certain her heart was beating.

Chapter Four

When Andrew returned to Wilson’s home the next day, the door opened one small creak at a time and the butler came into view. Andrew noted the crevasses of age on the man’s face. Wilson should have considered the man’s health. Ire spiked in Andrew’s body at the architect’s oversight. The frail servant should have been pensioned off years ago.

‘Please let Lady Riverton know that Lord Andrew awaits the moment when he might again be in her presence,’ Andrew said.

An infant could have taken a nap in the time it took for the man to nod. But the butler’s eyes now had nothing slow about them and he examined Andrew in much the same way a woman’s father might assess a suitor.

In the sitting room, Beatrice didn’t keep him waiting. She whooshed into the room within seconds of the door opening, beaming a greeting. She wore a dress the colour of a calm sky and the garment clung above the underlying corset, moving with each step. Even if he turned his back, he would have been aware of her.

She immediately asked if his carriage was ready and was at the door before he finished an answer.

When he assisted her into the curricle and her skirts swished by his hand, he wondered what he’d been thinking to take her for a ride in the park. At the time he only considered it a necessary means to increase the appearance of an established relationship between him and Beatrice. He hadn’t thought of the narrowness of the seats in the small open carriage and how close their bodies would press.

As the carriage turned into the park, a breeze wafted, cooling the air and bringing the floral perfume of Beatrice against his face. He didn’t miss the smell of baked goods. He much preferred the lavender.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder, aware of every one of her curves, he forced himself to think of plans for Beatrice’s reintroduction to society.

She turned her face to him. From the gentle brushes of movement at his side, he knew he need move only the barest amount and she would be in his arms.

‘I don’t think your sleep agreed with you,’ she mumbled. ‘You look quite grim.’

He nodded, aware of her fluid movements, confined by the seat, and yet she didn’t still. Her body moved constantly, checking its boundaries.

She coughed and lost all seriousness. ‘Did you, um, think of me last night?’

His thoughts jumped from her body to her words. ‘Of course.’

Her shoulders wobbled and she managed to squeeze so close to him he braced himself not to be pushed out of the other side of the conveyance. Tickles of warmth moved from the place she touched to flood his entire body. Wide eyes blinked up at him in feigned innocence. ‘I do have a place in the country...’ Then she grimaced. ‘Except it’s rather crowded. My mother’s there.’

‘I was trying to think of ways you might impress the ton.’

‘I did not think of that once after you left.’ She moved closer to her side of the curricle. ‘They cannot be impressed by me. I assure you. They’ve spent too many teatimes murmuring about what has happened in my past.’

Andrew slowed the horse.

‘Past. Present. The future. You must only consider the future now. I don’t believe anyone is really aware of the events of the night yet,’ Andrew mused, ‘so I want us to be noted today. A pre-emptive move for when Tilly’s words are spread about.’

He ignored the scepticism on her face. ‘Also, you might adopt a worthy cause and pour yourself into it. A cause which shows your heart. With your ability to draw attention you’ll gather print. At first people will be unimpressed, but over time you’ll gain acceptance. People are fascinated when others change from what is expected. Think reformed rakes. Ordinary people into war heroes. Women who sacrifice for others. Those gather a lot of discussion.’

‘So you think to tame the Beast.’

‘I think for you to tame her,’ he said. ‘Things have been exaggerated in your past and now you will merely control what is noticed and embellished.’

She gave a distinctive grimace and touched the blue at her sleeve. ‘Not the carriage incident.’

‘You must also refrain from rolling your eyes in public, I suppose. And smirking. And using scissors.’

‘Is this better?’ She brushed her shoulder against his again, kept her chin down and looked up at him. Her lips parted. ‘This is my entranced gaze.’

‘You do that very well.’ Too well. He could become quite lost in it. But that would never do. Her volatile nature caught his attention, but concerned him at the same time. He could help her become less explosive in public. True, she didn’t deserve all the bad reports. Those did not concern him in the least.

But the bursts of energy—the disorder of her spirit—those concerned him. She’d dressed in a mob cap and impersonated her companion. He smiled at the thought. His friends sometimes did outlandish things. Harris had once worn a bonnet and cape—nearly scaring Waters into an early grave. They’d all laughed for months over that. But friendship was one thing. A romance something else. And someone like Beatrice was best kept at a distance. He could not let himself become close to her. She was too much like wildfire and the night before he’d been closer to being dry tinder than steel.

There was a definite discreet nudge of her elbow to his side. She kept her eyes forward, but her head tilted in his direction. ‘You’re not terribly unpleasant to look at either, Andrew. Have you had your portrait done before?’

‘As a child. I hated it beyond belief. I had to stand still for hours while the artist scowled at me from head to toe.’

‘Trust me, I would not frown if I painted you.’

The lilt in her voice caused a similar response inside him. ‘It will not hurt for us to be seen about together. We can use the abruptness of it to your advantage and to add interest. We can both attend my older brother’s soirée and then, a few days later, the theatre. This will bring everyone’s attention to you afresh. You’ll have a chance to attract the right kind of notice.’

She did need some guidance concerning how her actions were interpreted by others and he could assist with that.

Her lips thinned. She sniffed in and then expelled the air with more force. ‘They may be wondering at what moment I will begin to attack you. The suspense of it all.’