Liz Tyner - The Notorious Countess

‘I suppose less than half of those tales are true and less than half of those occurred as you recounted them.’

Fox grimaced, patting the stopper on the decanter. ‘I do not do numbers, my friend. Quality—not quantity—always my rule.’ Fox frowned. ‘You’re my cousin. My blood. And you’ve no notion of the true pleasures of life. You stand there so—’ He twirled his finger. ‘Sombre, dressed like a man in mourning... Or dressed like the man already buried. And you’ve reason to look grim, I suppose. No woman to put a smile on your face.’

‘I have to hide you from enough husbands and beaus that I don’t relish doing it for myself.’ That was the only thing he truly hated about Fox. His cousin did not understand how his actions could affect others.

‘I told you,’ Fox murmured. ‘They jump to conclusions. Because I am such a stallion, a man cannot bear to see me even talking with his wife without assuming I have ulterior motives.’

‘You do.’

‘But you do not. You ever tup that Hannah woman you spoke so poetic about?’

‘Most certainly not. She was quality. An innocent. One does not despoil innocents.’

‘She wasn’t when she was in my bed last summer.’

Fury pumped into Andrew’s body. ‘You did not defile Hannah.’ He slapped a palm on to the book on his desk. ‘Even you could not have taken an innocent.’

Fox shrugged and held up the glass. ‘We were in love. You should try it.’ He gave the lopsided grin which made skirts flutter. ‘You’d be a lot happier if you’d just drop your trousers more.’

Andrew’s hand clenched the book. He stepped towards his cousin, the tome held firm. He might not throw the book at him, but he could use it to knock him to the ground. ‘You dared ruin an innocent? Unforgivable!’

Fox saw something in Andrew’s eyes, because he stepped quickly behind the desk. ‘She really wasn’t a loss, Andrew. Trust me. Just another butterfly for my nectar.’

‘I will kill you.’

‘Andrew.’ Fox put the glass on the table and held up both hands, backing away. ‘Innocent cousin. You only feel this way because you have not been able to put your little sceptre in the proper hands.’

‘You are going to die—’ Andrew slammed the book down, almost hitting the inkwell, and knocking a vase of roses to the carpet. He skirted around the desk. Fox sidestepped.

‘My funeral,’ Fox muttered, head high, ‘will be attended by many distraught ladies.’

‘—a slow death. A particularly slow death.’ Andrew stepped forward, crunching glass and crushing a bloom under his foot, bringing the scent of roses into the fray.

‘And move into eternity with a smile on my face for ever.’ Fox’s words wavered into a chuckle.

Andrew realised Fox was sliding closer to the door. Andrew dived across the corner of the desk, grabbing Fox’s coat-tails, pulling him back and slamming them both to the floor. Fox grunted as Andrew landed on his cousin’s back.

Fox scrambled, trying to crawl from Andrew’s grasp. The cur would take his punishment. He would learn respect for women.

Andrew secured Fox’s wrist, stopping his escape, but Fox kicked out, delivering a bruising blow to the shin. Andrew shifted forward, grabbing the neck of Fox’s coat and digging his fingers into the back of the cravat, pulling it tight.

Fox coughed and sputtered.

Andrew gave another lunge, pinning his cousin to the floor. The cravat worked to hold the bounder still.

‘I’ll forgive you for killing me, but do not hurt my face,’ Fox growled. ‘I’ll get you a woman. Let me go. The passions you do not release are turning you into a savage.’

Andrew gave a twist of the cloth. ‘If you dare ruin another woman, you will not live to regret it.’

‘You’re...choking me...’ Fox’s voice wavered.

Andrew applied more pressure and then let up slightly. ‘You will propose to Hannah.’

‘I cannot,’ Fox said, arms flailing. ‘She is in love with Lord Arvin. I allowed her to call me by his name and we were both pleased.’

Andrew paused. ‘I find that more than a little odd.’ He released the cravat, twisted his body up and slapped his hand across the back of Fox’s head with a satisfying pop. Fox’s hair briefly splayed before falling back into a tousled look Andrew could not even accomplish with a valet’s help.

Andrew perched back so Fox could rise.

‘You would,’ Fox said, sitting and arranging his cravat. ‘You do not have the first notion of passion. You need someone like Sophia Swift to teach you’

Andrew stood and dusted his knees. ‘I will not get within a furlong of that crazed woman.’ He straightened his lapel and spoke softly. ‘She bit me.’

Fox stilled. ‘Women sometimes bite. It’s all in play.’ He took in hearty breaths and pushed himself to his feet. ‘I’ll explain once I have another drink.’

Moving quickly, Andrew pulled off his coat and slung the garment on the desk. Then he undid the buttons of his waistcoat and dropped the silk to the floor. He pulled his white linen shirt from his trousers and raised the garment from his skin. He pointed to the scar on his chest.

‘She. Bit. Me.’ His teeth clamped on the last word.

Fox leaned forward, staring, eyes wide. ‘Made a lasting mark.’ He peered closer for a few seconds. ‘She does have well-spaced teeth.’

‘I am sure she will be happy to bite you. I will even suggest it to her. But I cannot remain enthusiastic when a woman draws blood and it is smeared on her cheek. I cannot.’

That had been in his sixteenth year. His father had suggested that Andrew must partake of a woman’s favours or he would never be able to use good judgement in finding a wife. He gave Andrew instructions he said he wished his own father had given him. He’d even made sure Andrew could stay the whole night at Mrs Smith’s establishment.

Sophia was only a few years older than Andrew and she’d promised to show him all he would ever need to know. They’d had a grand time initially, but that had not lasted long past the first kiss. She was all he could have wanted—and then her passion had overcome her.

‘Hellish.’ Fox stared at the skin. His voice rose. ‘And she was willing?’

‘She was. I was not—any longer.’ Andrew threw down the tail of his shirt. ‘Some day a wife will see these marks.’

Fox straightened. He squinted and said, ‘Do not concern yourself. While saving a lady—an invalid grandmother—from a cutpurse, the thief bit you. He was taken to Newgate and sentenced to death.’ Then his eyes twinkled. ‘Or maybe just tell the truth.’ His voice turned poetic, he took in a breath and put a palm to his chest. ‘A woman driven mad by passion.’

‘She is just mad.’ Andrew shook his head. ‘Fingernails like talons and...three mirrors.’ The sight of the dishevelled woman begging his pardon from three angles had been rather like a bad dream.

‘I might take you up on the offer to meet her.’ Fox looked the ceiling. ‘To see if you tell the truth.’

‘Oh, by all means, please do. The two of you should get on quite well together.’ He shook his head. That night he’d felt he’d been in a room with a marauding animal. In the beginning, Sophia’s vigour had grown with his own, but then he’d had to calm her when she’d realised what she’d done to him. He’d spent an hour reassuring her that it did not hurt—all the while it did hurt. He’d not wanted a repeat of such an encounter. The one time he had let himself be swept away by passion, it had turned on him. His father had been right that the encounter with Sophia would make Andrew a man. He’d felt one from that night forward, though perhaps not in the way his father had intended.

‘You really must learn to experience life.’ Foxworthy’s throat rumbled with a fluttery burst of smug disapproval.