The Countess Confessions Read online

  But was she safe now, with him?

  “Oh no!” She wriggled from his loose grasp to the ground, aware he had drawn a gun. “I’ve lost another card.”

  “For God’s sake.” He dropped to his feet beside her. “You do realize you’ve left a trail for the entire village to trace?”

  “I’ve got it now. Do you have to raise your voice?”

  “I am not raising my voice.”

  She hooked the basket over her arm, reached up to grasp the pommel, and lifted her foot to the stirrup. He gave her an undignified boost in the behind, which she refused to acknowledge. He mounted from the other side, wasting no further time arguing with her. Uncomfortable and cold, she kept one eye on the basket and the other on the path for guideposts.

  Her half boot slid off her heel and sat dangling on her toe until it fell in the dirt. “Sir Angus,” she whispered in hesitation, afraid of his anger.

  He dismounted, sighing, and wedged the boot tightly back on her foot. He vaulted up behind her before she could explain that the boot could fall off again. She had borrowed the pair from Lucy, and she might be wiser removing them for the duration of the ride. But Sir Angus didn’t appear in the mood to make any concessions for fashion, so she refrained from comment. Until the other boot came off.

  “Heaven help me,” he muttered. “What is this preoccupation you have for shedding various belongings at the most dangerous moment of your life? A ball gown, a deck of cards. Anything else?”

  She wanted to answer, Yes. This hideous wig. It’s going to droop to the side of my head at any moment. But again she managed to hold her tongue, slipping the boots back on in reflective silence.

  He grunted as he settled back in the saddle. “Under normal circumstances I would encourage you to disrobe to your heart’s content.”

  “Would you?” she said, not at all surprised.

  He laughed. “Shameful, isn’t it? I’m not impartial to a beautiful woman, dishonest though she might be.”

  A beautiful woman. Was that what he said? Ordinary Emily Rowland, a beauty? Lies must come as second nature to a spy, she thought.

  Besides, she was the one who should feel ashamed instead of oddly flattered. But, then, neither of them had started out on the right foot. Or feet. One of her boots had fallen off again, and she knew he’d noticed. She shivered under her shawl as he jumped from the horse, this time removing both her shoes and handing them to her before he remounted. “I am sorry,” she said. “I suppose you could accuse me of ruining your plans, too. It wasn’t on purpose. I didn’t set out to deceive you.”

  He blew out a breath. “What did your scheme involve, anyway? It had to be more than romance. Plain jewelry theft? A few coins from a gullible guest? You didn’t try to rob me. Are there others in your group? I cannot believe that Michael would be a party to such a low-class crime. What did you hope to gain tonight?”

  She decided to ignore his questions. His mind was sharp enough that eventually he would find the answers he sought without her help. “Stop a moment, Sir Angus,” she said, gesturing to a pattern on the path of twigs around the crop of toadstools. “Do you see that signpost?”

  “What signpost?”

  “Are you telling me that with your highly trained senses you cannot see what is arranged around those toadstools?”

  “The toadstools? Oh yes. It’s obvious. How could I have missed them? Surely they were there last night when I pranced naked through these woods, playing my reeds.”

  “Are you finished, Sir Angus?”

  He took some time to answer. “I was going on like an ass, wasn’t I? It is a habit I’ll have to break if I’m to travel through England.”

  Emily didn’t care if he traveled to Prussia and back in a bad temper. She wanted to go home. “As I was about to say, just beyond the toadstools is a passageway concealed between those juniper and aspen. It’s an escape route the gypsies use when they’re blamed for a sickness in the parish.”

  “Show me.” He sounded serious, if not contrite.

  “It’s right in front of you,” she said, pointing to a stand of silver-gray branches. “We’ll have to walk your horse the rest of the way.”

  “Is it the fastest route?” he asked hesitantly.

  “It’s the safest that I know. We don’t want to ride across an open ridge with only furze as cover. In the moonlight we’d be too easy to spot.”

  He hesitated, then slid to the ground, holding out his arms to catch her. She fell into his arms and against his chest, which felt strangely uneven. What was he hiding under his coat? He pulled away. It was clear he was anxious to be rid of her, and she had no particular desire to become further involved in his life. “We have to arrive home before my father,” she said. “Once I’m back I assure you that you will be absolved of all responsibility for me.”

  “I hope you are right.” He frowned. “Where did you put the stolen jewels?”

  “The jewels— Oh. Iris has them.”

  “So you are the decoy, and a good one at that,” he said, with a dark smile. “I might have been one of your victims.”

  Chapter 12

  For most of his life, the Honourable Michael Rowland had managed to live between two worlds. Then one day he realized he didn’t have to make the choice. Society harbored deep prejudices toward his natural father’s people, but also a fascination for their wandering ways. Baron Rowland, the man who’d raised Michael as his own son and heir, had come to terms with Michael’s heritage the year after his wife had died. The baron had adored her. He would never marry another. But he wanted a son, and Michael was an easygoing child who never gave him a spot of trouble, unlike his sweet younger sister, who had been a magnet for mischief from the night she had climbed out of her cradle.

  The baron had his failings. He drank to excess. He grew distressed if Michael showed an interest in his gypsy ancestry. But Lord Rowland had never told anyone that Michael was not his. Emily was the one who seemed to have been sired by a wild seed.

  “If I think we’ve been followed,” Michael said to the maid sitting immobile on his saddle as if rigor mortis had set in, “we won’t return to the house. We’ll go along the hollow ways.”

  “The hollow ways?”

  “Tracks that have been made by rain or wagons transporting goods by drivers who don’t want to be spotted. Try to lean back against me and relax. You’re jumping at every twig that snaps. If you don’t stop, I’ll have to—”

  “Do what?”

  He’d thought to answer Kiss you, but a kiss would ruin their camaraderie or initiate a romance that had no chance of survival. Iris was three years older than Emily, and he had always known that while he was at war or reacquainting himself with a purposeless life, he could count on Iris to take care of Emily.

  “How do you know you can trust that man with your sister?” she said quietly.

  “I’ve seen him on the battlefield. He never thought twice about his own life when it came to his troops. That kind of decency and sacrifice means more to me than how he stirs his tea.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “I don’t remember exactly. Men don’t keep track of their social encounters like women do. I’d say it was six or more years ago in Spain.”

  “Six years, sir. And prior to that how well did you know him?”

  Michael nudged his gelding forward. “I knew other men who served under him, and that was good enough for me. He was a brave and honorable solider during our acquaintance. What more can you ask of a man?”

  “He could have become a dishonorable philanderer since then,” Iris said not unreasonably. “It isn’t as if he keeps good company.”

  “He’s an agent for the Home Office, and if you repeat I said that, I will never speak to you again.”

  “He’s a spy?” She sounded relieved that there was an explanation for Damien’s behavior. “That was what he was doing in the tower? He didn’t make up his story to frighten us away?”

  “I don’t know
the entire story myself,” Michael admitted. “But I doubt that the earl would—”

  “An earl! A Scottish earl, he is now? He was supposed to be a wool merchant. I’ve heard of noblemen investing in trade, but not of an earl who deals in sheep.”

  “Be quiet, Iris. Your voice carries in the woods.” Michael said, dismounting at the end of the narrowing trail.

  “You’ll have to change your clothing and cut your hair the moment we get home,” she said thoughtfully. “Whether you like it or not, this isn’t the time to attract undue notice, if I haven’t misunderstood the gravity of the situation.”

  “I will admit one thing,” he said with a reluctant smile, “of all the schemes in which you have served as Emily’s henchman, this is by far the most heinous.”

  “Not that either of us have ever been able to refuse her. Still, she respects you more than she does me.” She slid down before a cloak of creeping vines that hung between the trees. The reassuring shape of the baron’s modest country house showed through the foliage.

  “You could have stopped her if you’d been so inclined,” he said.

  “Lucy thought up the idea,” she answered. “I was only trying to be helpful. My mistress believed that this was her one chance at happiness. Did you discourage her?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I wanted her to be happy, too.”

  Chapter 13

  Emily was braced for the sadness that submerged her whenever she returned from Lucy’s estate to her own home at Rowland Hall. No matter how many years had passed since her mother’s death, Emily still searched the apple orchard in hopes of glimpsing Mama playing with the dogs before bed. But the orchard was untended and lonely, as was the country house that had once been a refuge for the baron’s beloved family. The only sign of new growth, of life, was the sunken rose garden where the double-petaled roses the baroness had planted still thrived. The baron and the gardeners lavished all their love and attention on this fertile plot.

  The roses flourished. But the baron had never found the enthusiasm to finish the stables or the conservatory.

  “What is it?” a low voice asked behind her. “Is there anyone in that orchard?”

  “It’s only a gardener picking up snails. Or a ghost.” Emily shook off her memories and turned to glance up into the Scotsman’s face. What would her mother think of him? Emily couldn’t decide herself. In a few more hours she hoped it wouldn’t matter.

  “Are you sure there isn’t anyone in that orchard?” Sir Angus asked again.

  “They don’t mean us harm if there is.” Emily decided that Mama would approve of his conquering-hero character, especially if he kept her daughter safe. But he wasn’t a gentleman that a lady would have chosen, given his profession.

  “I have to hurry inside and change before—” She caught herself, but not in time.

  He stared across the lawn at the house, his face pensive. “It’s a nice house, from what I can see. I don’t understand why a gentlewoman who lives here has to go about in a disguise to steal jewels.”

  “I didn’t steal any jewels,” she said in exasperation. “My friend made that up so I could escape.”

  “I thought as much.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  “I wanted to understand whom I was saving and trusting with my secrets.”

  “Now I’ve told you mine.”

  Something wicked glittered in his eyes. “I’d like to see you safely inside before I go.”

  “I can find my way from here. You should go. I’ve no doubt you’ll save the day for England. I apologize for interfering in your work. I hope all goes well. And that your mission is more successful than mine was. Please don’t get yourself killed. I’ll try to behave myself from now on, too. The only towers in my future will be the ones I read about in fairy tales. She drew a deep breath. “Thank—”

  “I want another kiss before I go.”

  She felt the horse nudge her against the Scotsman as if encouraging her to obey his master. “You had your kiss. We kissed.”

  He locked his arm around her waist, drawing her away from the horse. “I kissed you. It’s your turn to kiss me.”

  “A good-bye kiss?”

  He bent his head and brushed his mouth over her swollen lips. “As you wish.”

  “But we already—”

  She stared up into his face and couldn’t concentrate on anything except what he had asked of her. Kiss him? How? She felt herself slipping into some forbidden world. She closed her eyes, rising on her toes to better reach his mouth. His arm molded her to his body. She shivered and lightly touched her tongue to his.

  “Damn me,” he muttered, his breathing harsh. “I was the one who had to ask.”

  He took control then and slowly deep-kissed her mouth until the pleasure that lanced through her shocked her back to herself. “Passion,” she whispered, opening her eyes to stare at him. “This is what it does to a person. I’ve always wondered.”

  “Aye,” he laughed. “And it doesn’t come along like this very often.”

  She edged around his unmoving frame. “I’ll have to take your word on that,” she said, her voice firm. “And you have to leave. I’ll explain this to my father. Don’t ask me how.”

  “I intend to be gone before you meet him. I should have been in the next village an hour ago. I wish you luck with your father. Is he violent?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes. But don’t worry.”

  She’d run out of breath, and yet she felt a deeper appreciation for what he had done for her than she could put into words. She would remember this night, this man, for a long time to come. He had given her her first kiss. He had rescued her from evil and most likely from a humiliation that would have crushed her spirit.

  As she glanced up again at his face, she realized that her sheltered life had never prepared her for a man like this. He was a scoundrel to break hearts, yes. But somehow he had given of himself to protect two women he could easily have dismissed as worthless. That was a different kind of passion than he had shown in his kiss.

  “You can go now,” she said, her voice softer.

  He frowned. Obviously his thoughts had run off in a direction different from hers.

  A soft footstep in the grass stopped Emily’s heart. Sir Angus heard it, too, and drew her and his mount deeper into the orchard. Another horse whickered softly. Emily leaned back against the gnarled trunk of an apple tree in relief.

  “It’s only my brother.”

  “Good. Then I can leave you with a clear conscience.” His dark eyes traveled slowly from her face to the hem of her skirts. “Be careful.”

  “And you,” she whispered, her throat suddenly dry. “Thank you for bringing me home. You kept your word. I admire that.”

  He laughed. “It was an experience I won’t forget in a hurry. None of it. From the tent to this place. You are entertaining, Urania. You made me lose my sense of time and responsibility. I suggest, however, that you take your talents to the stage, where you’ll have a genuine chance to find a protector. Don’t undervalue yourself. Make those who vie for your company earn your devotion.”

  “A protector?” she said, unsure whether he considered this to be an insult or a compliment. Well, this wasn’t a convenient time to set him straight. He would disappear soon enough.

  “Another thing,” he said. “Your guardian should provide you with jewels in the event that you are tempted to steal.”

  Emily turned her head. She had never heard such a lovely load of nonsense in her life. Why couldn’t she have met a charmer like this in Hatherwood? Perhaps she should suggest a holiday in Scotland to her father, if men there appreciated young ladies desperate for affection.

  “You’ll make some fortunate gentleman a fine mistress,” he added. “And who knows? You could be offered a decent marriage proposal.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “I do not lie.”

  She smiled. “Except to traitors.”

  “That’s rig
ht,” he said, leaning into her. “Now stay out of trouble.”

  “The same to you, I’m sure.”

  Michael strode up behind them. “You’ll have another unforgettable experience with my father if you stand chitchatting all night.” He glanced at Emily. “Run inside and bring out a bottle of brandy for our friend. Iris, make yourself and my sister look respectable and ready for bed.”

  Damien shook his head in refusal. “I’d rather take my horse to the stable for water. I’ll have a drink when I go back to the inn.”

  “You have a few minutes to rest,” Michael said. “I’ve locked the gates. It takes ages for a servant to hear anyone calling for entry at this time of night. We’ll know if he arrives. We can all breathe a little easier until then.”

  “Father will be furious,” Emily said. “He has no patience at all these days.”

  “Is it any wonder?” Iris said under her breath. “Come, miss, into the house before you frighten anyone in that costume.”

  Emily wavered. She couldn’t help noticing the detached expression on the Scotsman’s face. He was back to playing his role. Only moments ago he had been staring at her intently, not only as a woman to seduce, but because they had forged a fragile bond tonight. Or was that her wishful thinking again? He would forget her by tomorrow. It wasn’t as if he had nothing else on his mind.

  She’d meant it when she wished him well. Only now did she realize how quickly he had acted to protect her. Maybe in a few months she’d laugh about their escape. But she would still be alone.

  At any rate he was the most dangerous gentleman she had ever met, and she ought to be grateful to escape his company with nothing lost but a kiss or two. Her infatuation with Camden was tarnished as if it had been only tin all along. But, then, a man like Sir Angus tended to put other gentlemen to shame.

  “One thing I would like to know,” Sir Angus said, his eyes locking briefly with hers before he looked at Michael. “What was it that Urania spilled on the both of us in the tent?”

  “Who?” Michael said, running a hand through his unkempt black hair.

  “Never mind,” Emily whispered.