The Countess (Madison Sisters #1)(22)
Author: Lynsay Sands

"And this time? Was it as much?" Richard asked.

Christiana shook her head. "No. I gather it’s about half what it was the first time.

But Father drained the estate to pay his debt the first time. Dicky only paid off what was stil outstanding after he’d squeezed al the money out that he could. The estate would recover slowly, but there is little actual money to hand, so even the smal er amount this time would force the sale of the estate."

"Unless Suzette married," Richard said thoughtful y.

"Yes." Christiana frowned. "I suppose it makes sense that Dicky took Father to the gaming hel the first time to force my marrying him, but why would he do it this second time?" That had been troubling her even before she’d heard Richard’s suspicions that Dicky had been the one to take her father to the gaming hel the first time. Why had Dicky taken him there when he’d known what had happened the first time?

"I don’t know," Richard admitted on a sigh. "He wouldn’t have profited from it this time."

Christian clucked impatiently and stabbed her needle into the cloth, wishing it was Dicky. She wished the stupid man would come back to life long enough to answer these questions, and then kindly drop dead again. However, that simply wasn’t going to happen. She’d seen Dicky when the men had taken him from the bed and folded him into the chest presently resting on top of the carriage she and Richard rode in. The man was definitely dead, and they were removing him from the house none too soon. It was time he was buried. And good riddance to him, she thought unhappily. Of course, it just meant she would be married to the real Richard Fairgrave, Earl of Radnor instead, but even after the last two short days it was becoming obvious that he was nothing like his brother. He hadn’t once tried to control her, not even raising an argument against having to sleep in the guest bedroom though she’d expected he would. He also hadn’t criticized her even once yet, but instead had given her a handful of compliments, which was a handful more than she’d received from Dicky during their marriage. Many of those compliments had been during their night of passion, which might not be that reliable. But one had been at the bal the night they’d met, and he’d greeted her that morning with another, saying she looked lovely with her hair in the much softer style Grace had arranged it in. More importantly though, he seemed to respect her opinion, trusting Langley on her say-so twice now, and that was very important to her. She had always considered herself a relatively intel igent and sensible young woman, but George had made her feel stupid and clumsy. Richard didn’t make her feel that way.

"I am surprised you do embroidery," Richard said suddenly. "From al Langley has told me it sounded as if you were more into horseback riding and other physical pursuits while growing up."

"Yes." She smiled faintly at the thought of her childhood, and explained, "Robert was often at our home while we were growing up, and we were always running, jumping, riding and whatnot. I fear my sisters and I were never real y interested in the more ladylike pursuits such as" – she glanced down at the cloth in her hand and grimaced – "needlework."

"And yet you do it now," he pointed out.

"Dicky – I mean George – "

"You can cal him Dicky if you like," he interrupted gently. "I don’t mind so long as you never cal me Dicky again. That was George’s nickname for me and I always hated it."

Christiana nodded, but simply said, "He insisted I learn embroidery and other more ladylike pursuits. He said I was far too unruly and needed to learn discipline and needlework would teach it to me."

"Control ing idiot," Richard snorted with disgust, and suddenly leaned across the smal space and snatched the cloth from her.

"Richard!" she cried with surprise, and then half rose from her seat to try grab it back. "Give me that back."

He merely held the cloth behind his head and asked, "Do you enjoy it or do you only do it because he said you should and it has become a habit?"

"I – wel . . ." She frowned and muttered, "It would not hurt me to learn to be a proper lady. Mother died shortly after Lisa was born and I fear Father let us run a bit wild. We didn’t learn what most girls do."

"That does not answer my question. Do you enjoy it?" he repeated, grabbing her arm to steady her as they hit a rut in the road.

"No," she admitted on a sigh. "I do not like it at al ."

"Just as I thought," he said dryly. Richard opened the window and tossed the embroidery out. Christiana gaped after the fluttering bit of cloth, and then turned to peer at him in amazement. "I cannot believe you just did that."

"Believe it," Richard said solemnly. "You do not need to do embroidery if you do not like it. I wil not try to change you. You can be yourself with me."

She stared into his face for a moment and then swal owed a sudden lump in her throat and shook her head. "You do not know me. What if you do not like me once you do? Dicky said I was – "

"My brother was an idiot," he assured her solemnly. "He was selfish and self-absorbed and lacked the capacity to care about anyone but himself. In truth, I suspect al those efforts to try to control and change you were based in envy."

"Envy?" Christiana asked with surprise.

Richard nodded. "You have something he never possessed and never could.

You appear to have a basic optimism and joy in life. I’ve seen it. Oh, I’m sure you worry when trouble strikes and can have a sad day like anyone else, but you can also just as quickly shed your fears and worries and smile and enjoy life once those worries pass. I do not think George enjoyed a single day in his life. I do not think he ever felt hope, or happiness. Perhaps he was afraid that if he did find happiness it would be snatched away, but whatever the case, he just did not have it in him. I suspect that is why he liked to take it from others." Richard peered at her solemnly.

"From what I can tel he spent the last year trying to browbeat that happiness out of you."

"And he tried to steal it from you by having you kil ed and taking your name and position in society," she said quietly. "And yet as you say, he wasn’t happy."

"No, he wasn’t," Richard agreed, but his voice was distracted this time, his gaze suddenly fixed. Christiana raised her eyebrows at the change in both his expression and the sudden tightening of his fingers on her arm, and then glanced down and saw what had caught his attention. She stil stood in the half-bent position she’d taken when she’d tried to grab back her embroidery. It left her slightly bent at the waist, and her chest directly before his eyes with the neckline gaping to reveal a good deal of her bosom. Blushing furiously she forgot she was in a carriage and started to straighten, managing to bang her head on the roof, and then they hit a rut in the road and she stumbled forward. Richard reached to steady her even as she caught at his shoulders and between the two of them she came to a halt with her bosom just a hair’s breadth from his mouth.

"I should real y sit down before I fal down," she said breathlessly, the moment she could find her voice.

"Yes," Richard agreed, but rather than release her, his hands shifted to the back of her legs and with a little pressure and guidance she was suddenly straddling him on the bench seat.

"Oh, I don’t think – "

The rest of her very lame protest was lost when his mouth suddenly covered hers. Christiana didn’t even try to pretend she wanted to protest further, but opened to him at once and let her arms creep around his neck with a little sigh. She did so like his kisses. Christiana had been able to think of little else since their night of passion, the memories of what they’d done and how he’d made her feel had interfered with her every thought since then. When he deepened the kiss, driving his tongue into her mouth, she gave a little moan and tilted her head for him, her fingers tightening on the strands of his hair and then scraping across his scalp as the familiar heat began to build in her lower bel y. His hands had settled on her h*ps once he had her on his lap, but began to move now, riding up her sides and then around until he could cup her br**sts in his hands through the cloth of her gown. Christiana arched into the caress, groaning as he began to knead the eager flesh through the soft material. As nice as it was, she found herself wishing her gown away so she could feel his flesh against her own.

She knew from experience how much nicer it was when his hands, work roughened from his time on the farm, were unimpeded by material. Christiana had barely had the thought when Richard gave up caressing her and began to tug at her gown, trying to pul it off her shoulders. Releasing her hold on his head, she reached to help and then gave a little sigh and shiver as the cloth slid down her arms, freeing her bosom. Richard broke their kiss then to al ow her to lean back and remove her arms from the sleeves. The material soon dropped away, leaving her completely, brazenly bare from the waist up.

Christiana would have pressed herself shyly against him then and kissed him once more to help ease the embarrassment suddenly claiming her, but Richard held her back, determined to look his fil . His eyes traveled hungrily over what she’d revealed, and then he said, "You’re beautiful. Absolutely perfect."

His voice was rough with a need that cal ed out to the hunger she was experiencing and then his hands rose to cover both nak*d globes and she sighed with a combination of relief and pleasure as he began to caress her. Covering his hands with her own, Christiana squeezed as wel , urging him on and then moaned and tipped her head back, eyes closing as he caught her n**ples between thumbs and forefingers and toyed with them. The heat in her bel y was now a wildfire, spreading outward and making her very core ache in a way she’d never experienced before Richard. Gasping with want, she squeezed his hands harder and then raised her head and kissed him with al the hunger he was causing in her. It wasn’t enough. Even when he drove his tongue between her lips, and she writhed into his hands, her h*ps pressing down into his lap, it stil wasn’t enough. She wanted more. When he slid one hand out from under hers, it left her own covering the abandoned orb and Christiana instinctively squeezed it herself and then stiffened with a gasp as she felt the roughened fingers of his hand touch her knee beneath her skirt and begin to glide up her inner thigh. When it reached the apex of her thighs and brushed over the damp, swol en flesh there, her h*ps rose up with a jolt, but his caress fol owed and she broke their kiss to groan his name desperately. And then to squeal it with shock as the carriage suddenly shuddered to a halt and she went flying backward. Fortunately, Christiana landed on the bench seat across from Richard, though she arrived there in something of a muddle, her skirts flying up to cover her face and chest.

"Are you al right?" Richard was there at once trying to right her and brushing her skirts down so that he could see her face.

"Yes," Christiana assured him, pul ing her gown up to cover her chest and peering about uncertainly. "What happened? Why have we stopped?"

"I’m not sure," Richard admitted and turned to peer out the window. While he was distracted, Christiana quickly slid her arms back into her sleeves and pul ed the top of her gown back into place. She was feeling her hair, trying to tel if it was al right or needed fixing when he muttered, "It would appear we’ve reached Stevanage. I told them to stop there for lunch."

"Oh," she murmured and let her hands drop as he turned back to her. His eyebrows rose when he saw what she’d done.

"That was fast, and you look as perfect as you did this morning. Wel done," he praised and then pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose before turning back to open the carriage door.

Christiana stared after him with amazement as he got out of the carriage. The compliment was nice, but the kiss on the nose had seemed . . . wel , it had been the affectionate sort of thing her father would have done when she was younger. Not that she thought Richard’s feelings toward her were in any way fatherly, but the action seemed to speak of affection.

"Are you coming, Christiana?"

"Are you coming, Christiana?"

She blinked and stared at the hand Richard was holding out to her, but then took it and descended from the carriage, noting that there appeared to be something in his expression that could have been affection as wel . Or perhaps she was just imagining that because she wanted to believe it was there, Christiana acknowledged on a smal sigh.

"Is something wrong?" Richard asked, apparently having heard the sigh.

Christiana shook her head at once. "No, no. Everything is fine," she assured him glancing around to see the other two carriages had drawn to a halt behind them and everyone was disembarking.

"Come, let’s get you inside and find you something to eat," Richard said, taking her arm to lead her toward the inn.

"What about the others?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

"They’l fol ow. I’m more concerned with you. You skipped breakfast this morning in favor of packing and I suspect you didn’t eat much of the tray I had sent up to your room last night when you didn’t join us at the table."

"I was helping Grace pick out what we should bring," she explained.

"I know, and I understand, but you’re looking a bit pale now and a good meal wil probably set you to rights."

Christiana fel silent and merely al owed him to lead her inside, but her thoughts were not silent. George had always been nagging at her about eating, using it as an opportunity to force her to eat unpleasant things she didn’t care for when he was annoyed with her. She didn’t deliberately skip eating. The problem was she’d been so miserable this last year she hadn’t real y felt like doing anything, even eating. That wasn’t what had happened last night and this morning, though. Her forgetting to eat then had just been because she was so busy. But Richard wasn’t nagging at her and using it as an opportunity to berate and insult her as George had always done. Instead he was being sweet and understanding and even concerned. It made her feel . . . cared for.

"Here we are." He settled her at a large table where everyone could join them and then glanced toward the innkeeper and back before asking, "Is there anything you don’t like?"