His Christmas Countess

Beside him Kate stirred. He curled his arm around her and pulled her round to face him. She mumbled sleepily, eyes still closed, hair tousled, but she did not resist. Grant tightened his grip and bent to kiss her. ‘Good morning, Lady Allundale.’

If she seems the slightest bit reluctant, then we’ll have to talk... But Kate’s lips opened under the pressure of his and her arms came up around his neck, her fingers sliding into the hair at his nape in a way that made him shiver with anticipation. It was a start. Make love to her until she’s dizzy, he told himself, inhaling the scent of warm, sleepy woman. That would be no hardship.

* * *

Kate woke, stretched, blushed. She was alone in her bed, but Grant was still a powerful presence in the room. Her body ached pleasurably in the most intimate places, the musk of their lovemaking was heady in the air, the bedclothes were a tangle and, when she turned her head to look at the pillow where his head had rested, there was a single dark brown hair that curled around her finger when she touched it.

So, last night had not been a dream. They had made love twice and Grant had seemed to be very satisfied with the result. She most certainly was—physically satisfied, that was. Mentally she felt happy, guilty, confused and apprehensive. Happy, because to take that much pleasure in one’s husband’s arms must be a blessing—and the greatest good fortune. But she did not understand how it could be that she could do so. She did not love Grant and he did not love her. Would this last, or had it been a fluke? She wished she could talk to him about it, but how could she?

The conversation would be impossible. I am overwhelmed by how good it is to make love with you. But why did I not feel like that with the man who took my virginity? Is it always going to be like that? Am I very ignorant and unskilled? Will you become tired of me soon? Am I disgracefully wanton?

What if he agreed that, yes, she was lacking skill and sophistication, yes, the experience had been nothing out of the ordinary for him? ‘I would sink with shame,’ she murmured.

‘My lady?’ Wilson had entered from the dressing room with her usual quiet efficiency. The mistress of the household might have had the most wonderful and confusing night of her life, but the routine continued as usual.

‘Nothing.’ Kate cast a despairing glance around the bedchamber as the curtains were drawn back and light flooded in, revealing the wrecked bed, the sash of Grant’s robe, her own nightgown tossed to the floor. Wilson merely glided around, gathering things up. She folded the sash neatly and set it aside.

‘Would you care for breakfast here in your room, my lady? Or will you be taking it in the breakfast parlour?’ That was where Kate normally took it, along with Charlie and his tutor.

‘His lordship—’

‘His lordship rode out about an hour ago, my lady. I understand from his man that it is his usual habit when in residence here.’ There was not the faintest suggestion in her voice that his wife might be expected to know this. But of course, Grant had spoken of it last night and she had forgotten. For the past few months she had felt in control of herself, of this household. Now the arrival of one man meant, it seemed, that she could not even recall last night’s conversation.

‘I will take breakfast as usual in the parlour, after I have seen Lady Anna.’ And Grant had suggested that they meet at ten to discuss practical matters. That had seemed an excellent idea at the time, now she could not imagine producing one coherent word when she had to face him again.

* * *

The harmless meeting still did not seem anything but an ordeal to be survived when she tapped on the study door on the stroke of ten.

‘Come in!’

She pushed the door open and Grant came to his feet behind the big desk. ‘My dear Kate, you have no need to knock.’

My dear Kate. ‘Thank you.’ She made herself meet Grant’s eyes and smile. She at least felt rather more composed now she was dressed and had made a neat list of things to talk about. It was amazing how clothes made a barrier to hide behind. Last night she had been naked with this man, clawing at his muscled back, revelling in the hard thrust of his body.

Kate took a firm hold on her imagination and forced herself to be practical. This was broad daylight. She was the mistress of the house, coming to discuss harmless domestic matters. She should not feel awkward—after all, up until yesterday she had not needed to knock on any door in this house. Except for the one Grant kept locked. Bluebeard’s chamber. Madeleine’s rooms. She took the seat on the other side of the expanse of polished oak. ‘I have several things I would like to discuss.’