Courting the Countess, page 20
The countess wanted him.
The knowledge was an intoxicating chemical in his brain. Cupping his scrotum, he moved and positioned himself above her. His hand stroked and then encircled his rigid length, anticipating the claiming. She fit against him perfectly. He groaned as her wetness coated the head of his cock, coaxing him deeper into her core.
Mallory held himself back. “Say the words, Countess.”
She hesitated. He sensed she was puzzled by his command. Even in the gloom her eyes were a beacon for him. He stared down at her, willing her to speak. She lifted herself up on her elbows and the motion had him sinking deeper into her. He could feel himself expanding within her. In a few minutes, he was no longer going to care about words. The countess tilted her face up to his. He accommodated her by lowering his so she could kiss him. She was not interested in a kiss. Instead she moved her mouth and shyly whispered into his ear.
“Fuck me.”
His body jolted at the unexpected vulgarity. The beast she often accused him of being awakened. Fully aroused, he speared his cock into the heart of her. They both cried out in ecstasy. Mallory’s mind blanked as he surrendered to the pleasures of a willing woman beneath him. Wildly he battered himself into her. There was no resistance. Her slick, hot feminine core took him deeply, encouraging speed and less finesse. The countess’s hands roved over his back as if searching for purchase. Finally clasping his hips, she disrupted his frenzied rhythm by forcing him to slow down and linger, as her impending release grew nearer. Crying out, she lifted her hips, demanding more. Mallory blindly obeyed. Cupping her buttocks, he shortened his thrusts, letting her orgasm pulse against him. As he took her, he allowed himself to be taken. As he was grinding against her, the violence of her release milked his cock. Claiming her in the most primitive manner was impossible to resist. He did not even try. As he muffled his shout of completion into her shoulder, the streaming of his seed seemed never-ending.
Only when his head cleared did he recall their parting words to each other at Loughwydde.
The choice is yours.
Choice, you black-hearted villain … what choice?
The choice of whether you are my woman or some pitiful lonely widow I fucked for sport.
Still deep within her and panting into her hair, Mallory realized now that the countess had never believed he had been offering her a choice. She had never trusted him of being capable of offering her more.
Fuck me.
Black-hearted villain. He had been so bloody obliging.
She was getting rather apt at slipping into houses unnoticed, Brook decided as she prepared for bed. There was no doubt it was Mallory Claeg’s wicked influence. Dressed in a night rail, she climbed into bed. She groaned in pleasure. Her back felt bruised from Mallory’s frenzied lovemaking. His impulsive nature created some interesting predicaments, she mused, but next time she preferred that they make love on a soft bed instead of the stone flooring of an old greenhouse.
Perhaps that explained his odd mood afterward. As she was used to his teasing chatter, he seemed too quiet. He did not speak until they had straightened their clothing.
“We have been reckless, Countess,” he said, coming over to her. He smoothed the hair from her face.
“We were quiet,” she said, lowering her voice just in case she was wrong.
Mallory smiled at the horror in her tone. “I was not speaking about the sounds we made but rather the fact that I have been treating you more like a wife than a mistress.”
Blinking at him, he thought she was being deliberately obtuse.
“I have spent my seed in you on numerous occasions, Countess. You could be breeding.”
A child. She had long given up the hope that she might be blessed with another. Holding Wynne’s little girl had resurrected those old needs. Bitterly she met his gaze. “I knew something was troubling you.”
“A woman who knows her lover usually commits her heart as well.”
She sensed he spoke more to himself than to her. “Are you worried about it? There is no need. My husband had his revenge on me. Losing his son has left me barren.”
Mallory’s silence as he contemplated her confession unnerved her. “Do you know this as fact?”
Brook shrugged and stepped away from him. She was careful to remain close because she had no desire to crack her head on the fountain. “There was a great amount of blood, I was told. Tipton warned me that I might never completely recover from the damage done to my womb. So you see, you have worried needlessly.” It was so painful for her to speak of it to anyone. Saying it aloud made it real.
“Hmm, that remains to be seen.” He came closer and embraced her. They stood there for a while. She closed her eyes and pretended he was attempting to draw some of the pain out of her.
His next words confirmed her wry suspicions that he was relieved by her news and not above enjoying it. “However, I am never one to turn away or reject good fortune. Besides, I rather like being reckless with you.”
“A strange declaration, Mr. Claeg. Still, I like being reckless with you, too.”
Mallory backed them up to the concrete edge of the fountain. Sitting down, he pulled her onto his lap. He touched her ankle and she knew what he wanted.
“Your stamina is remarkable,” she said, her nipples puckering at the thought of him inside her again.
“Thank you, m’dear.” He planted a wet kiss on her mouth. “Oh, let us be clear on one matter. If we discover you have more in common with the lush Gaea than we had erroneously assumed, you will marry me.” He pushed against the hidden nubbin, softening his threat with pleasure. “Do you agree?”
She was so slick, there was nothing he could not do. The fiend was trying to seduce her into agreeing with him! She tried to shift away from him to think clearly, but he was relentless. “This is something we need to seriously contemplate.” He kissed her throat and wiggled his fingers deeper. “I … oh …” She sucked in her breath. He was not playing fairly. “Marriage … I do not desire it.”
He murmured against her throat, “Let me persuade you.” He licked her ear. “You will not regret it. In fact, you will insist that I persuade you again—and often.”
A man of considerable talent, he had worked his manhood free from his breeches while he kept her too busy to think of the hundred reasons that she did not want to marry him. He lifted her and shifted her balance so that she straddled him. This new position thrust him so wholly, she thought she might weep from the pleasure.
Lying on her bed, Brook tightened her legs together, recalling the cries he had wrung out of her. The man had shown her several times before he sent her off to bed how persuasive he could be. She furrowed her brow trying to recall all that she had promised in the throes of passion.
Yes, I desire you, Mallory.
Yes, only your masterful touch will satisfy me.
Yes, if we make a child, I will marry you!
Yes, please!
The scoundrel had used her own body against her. He had seductively extracted each promise he had demanded and she had joyfully succumbed to the rewards of her compliance.
Let me persuade you.
Oh yes. Even despising the method by which he had gained her oath did not prevent her from wanting him to persuade her again.
Chapter Twenty
“His Lordship is having a good day,” the servant announced to Mallory when he entered the room. His mother had retained the man, personally trained by the physician seeing to Lord Keyworth’s care, to take care of her husband’s personal needs while he carried out the physician’s day-to-day instructions.
As the weeks passed there had been some improvement in the viscount’s condition. He was able to sit now unassisted. Mallory had immediately purchased him a wheelchair. Although he needed help moving from the bed to the chair, the chair freed him from the chamber that had become his prison.
“Good day, my lord. Forgive me for interrupting your meal.” Mallory was usually more thoughtful of the time of day at which he visited Lord Keyworth. His father was easily frustrated. It was not Mallory’s intention to add to his humiliation.
“Veal broth,” the cheerful man explained. “Very fortifying to the weakened constitution.”
The permanent frown contorting one side of the viscount’s face and his slow tongue were still making speech difficult for him. “Cow pish,” he grumbled.
It had become an old argument. Until the physician was satisfied Lord Keyworth could swallow bits of food without choking on them, he was confined to the plain diet of the infirm.
“Well, Father, if we could all recover as quickly as you have, the entire ton would be swilling a pint of cow piss daily.”
Mallory was pleased to glimpse the familiar gleam of humor. His sire’s chuckle was slow and sounded like he was out of practice.
“Really, Mr. Claeg,” the servant complained when the viscount refused another spoonful of the broth. “His Lordship becomes uncooperative in his excitability. I do not think it is a behavior we should encourage.”
Mallory did not view stubbornness as a flaw. It was a trait he admired in the countess even when he wanted to strangle her for it. The Claegs were also known for their various degrees of stubbornness. When the trait flared to life, it gave him hope that his father had not given up.
“Perhaps he tires of cow piss,” Mallory said, earning another hoarse chuckle from his father. “Now that I am here, why don’t I take Lord Keyworth for a stroll through the gardens? If he becomes difficult I will dump him in the cistern.”
“Co’ try,” the older man said; his breathing had become more pronounced with his efforts. He turned his head into the pillow and coughed.
Not liking his routine tampered with, the servant offered the older man another spoonful of broth. “Perhaps, after he has finished his meal.” Lord Keyworth evaded the spoon at the last second and the broth dribbled down his neck.
“He does not want it,” Mallory said through his teeth, not caring if he was interfering with the physician’s or his mother’s rules. The servant ignored him.
The viscount struck out at the next feeding attempt. He had lost the dexterity of his hand, but that did not keep him from swinging his arm at the servant’s head. He missed. Instead, he knocked the bowl of broth out of the man’s hand. Perhaps that had been the viscount’s goal all along. The china shattered against the leg of a nearby chair.
Wearing a fair amount of the broth down the front of his shirt, the servant sputtered in outrage.
“He warned you, and so did I,” Mallory smugly said. “Perhaps if you quit treating him like a child, you might discover he will be less temperamental.” He grinned at his father. “What do you think, my lord? Shall we check out the cistern?” Mallory leaned over his father, planning to carry him to the wheelchair in the corner of the room.
“No-no-no-no-no,” Lord Keyworth complained when Mallory touched his shoulder.
He stepped back, uncertain what to do. “I was jesting about the cistern,” he said, appalled that his father might believe he was serious.
“G’ way … . Go ’way,” the man sobbed.
Mallory felt an obstruction in his throat at his father’s rejection. Whirling away, he was brought up short by the servant standing in his way. The sympathy in the man’s expression was unexpected.
“Mr. Claeg, permit me to walk you to the door.”
Not trusting his voice not to break when he spoke, Mallory did not bid his father farewell. The servant maintained his silence until they reached the door.
“Mr. Claeg, do not be offended by Lord Keyworth’s reaction.”
He swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “Is his mind so scrambled that he thought I was actually planning to hurt him?”
“Of course not, sir,” the man denied. “I know you do not think highly of our attempts to keep your father quiet and adhere to routine, but we proceed cautiously because he does not benefit from the excitability. He has shown remarkable improvement and will continue to do so if we give him the opportunity to heal and work around his limitations.”
The reasonable explanation made Mallory ashamed that he had ridiculed the man earlier. “Are you asking me to stay away?”
His job required patience and his solemn expression exuded it. “No. Despite his reaction, he is comforted by your presence. It eases his injured brain knowing that you are looking after your mother and his business interests.”
Mallory thought of the letters on his father’s desk and the meeting his solicitor had arranged for later in the afternoon. The viscount had employed good men to look after his interests. Acting in his stead had not been as burdensome as Mallory had once imagined it would be.
“What did I do to cause his upset?” Seeing his strong father cry disturbed Mallory more than the rejection.
“Nothing dire,” the man said assuredly. “His Lordship was enjoying your banter and it was clear he wanted to join you outdoors.”
“Then why was he so upset?”
“You can blame the injury he has suffered. Sometimes he cannot control his reactions. He feels, sometimes too much. When he is overwhelmed he reacts like any of us would. Only Lord Keyworth’s tolerance is decidedly lower than it used to be. He understands this, but it does not negate his feelings.”
Mallory remained silent. He had half a dozen questions, but the servant who was used to working with slower, damaged minds worked at a different pace.
“When he realized that you intended to pick him up, your father lost the delicate balance he had with his emotions. His pride would never permit him to accept such assistance from you.”
He glanced away and nodded abruptly.
“Why do you not go down to His Lordship’s study and assist your mother with his correspondence? I will clean up your father and give him a chance to calm down. Later, if his disposition improves, I will help him get into the wheelchair and the two of you can enjoy the gardens as you suggested.”
“Why did you not warn me that the encounter betwixt you and Mrs. Milroy was planned?” Ham demanded.
He had arrived an hour earlier at their house with the purpose of inviting her along for a carriage drive through Hyde Park. Brook assumed the invitation had been an excuse for him to deliver the lecture she was enduring.
“My lord, you are not privy to all of my activities, nor do you have the right to exert a claim,” she said pointedly. “Berating me for a past deed is a waste of time.”
“She and Mr. Milroy were in the house when your husband had his accident,” he argued. “Renewing the acquaintance will only remind the ton of the connection.”
If Lyon had gotten his way, Mr. Milroy, Wynne, and anyone else who had interfered with him would have been discovered dead in that house. “The connection was made when Lyon kidnapped my friend from her carriage.”
“Was that what she told you?” He sneered derisively. “Have you forgotten that you were missing from your household? Lyon was questioning everyone who might have encountered you that day.”
If Ham believed the lies, there was nothing she could say to dissuade him from casting the Milroys as villains. “I refuse to continue this discussion, my lord.”
“Elthia, Lady A’Court, was inconsolable when she learned you had left with those people. It took hours and a liberal dosing of sherry to calm her down.”
Ah, the crux of his ire. “Be reasonable, Ham. There is nothing I do in my life that does not upset Mother A’Court. Since I did not have the decency to collapse dead at the foot of her son’s coffin—”
“She does not—”
Brook overrode his protest. “The very least I can do in her esteemed opinion is spend the rest of my life not upsetting her!”
“The dowager recognizes that you are still a young woman, with the desires of youth. Children … .” He let the word linger tantalizingly on the air. “Marrying me would ensure the A’Court line, Brook. I could give you back the son you lost.”
Brook curtly held up a silencing hand. No one could ever bring back the son she had lost. “Please, my lord. Say nothing more on the subject.” If by some miracle she was able to have a child, she was not breeding to continue the A’Court line.
Ham refused to give up. “She would support the match, Brook. If you were kinder to her.”
“Kinder?” She laughed bitterly. “Being kinder implies I have been cruel, which I have not.”
“More patient, then,” he entreated, coming around the table so nothing separated them. “You are not the only member of this family who remembers the past. Facing the old rumors has been difficult for all of us.”
She quietly conceded that he was correct.
“That is why meeting Wynne Milroy in the middle of the salon of the King’s Theatre was inappropriate.”
So he had circled around to make his point. “Argh, I will not listen to this!” Brook slapped her hands over her ears and walked away from him, disgusted. She was too gullible, she thought, berating herself. She actually had believed Ham could be reasonable.
“Brook, we are not finished!” he yelled, charging after her. “Let us sit down. I will summon a servant for some tea.”
“My lady, I beg your pardon,” the housekeeper said, but her cynical expression hinted that it was the earl who should be doing the begging. “You have a gentleman caller.”
The implication that Ham was not was amazingly clear to everyone but the earl.
“Send him away. Tell him Her Ladyship is indisposed,” he said dismissively.
“I take my orders from the Ludlows and Lady A’Court, my lord,” the woman sniffed, her hands fisted on her broad hips. She was the mother of fifteen, and eight of them were males. A snotty lord did not impress her. The housekeeper looked to her mistress. “The gentleman told me that he did not want to bother the family. He asked if you would meet him out in the gardens.”
