His Christmas Countess

‘You were not expecting me, quite. And it is Lady Allundale now, Claridge. There is no need to announce me, I know my way.’ Strangely she felt confidence flooding back as she smiled at the butler. She was here to fight dragons, defeat them for the sake of her love and her happiness. She lifted her chin, set back her shoulders, lifted her imaginary sword.

‘Yes, miss. I mean, my lady.’

He stepped aside, jaw working as though he was searching for words, and went along the familiar panelled hallway, past the foot of the stairs and the great carved banister rail she used to slide down on her tummy when she was a child. They passed the door into the sunny front parlour, where she would sit and sew with her sister-in-law, and up to the door to Henry’s study, not a place in which the women of the household were welcome.

‘Make Miss Wilson comfortable if you please, Claridge.’

She entered on her knock and almost stopped dead in surprise. The old gloomy study Henry had inherited from their father had been swept away. Now it was freshly painted and boasted a handsome mahogany desk and chairs in the latest style, new bookcases and an array of books in fine leather bindings. The window had been converted into French doors leading out on to the rear terrace, and as she came in, she saw Henry standing there, the door ajar, apparently letting some chill fresh air into the stuffy room.

‘Madam?’ He blinked at her and she realised that for a moment he did not recognise her with her smart clothes and the gemstones winking in her earlobes. ‘Catherine?’

‘Good afternoon, Henry.’ She sat down in the chair opposite the desk, laid her reticule and tightly rolled umbrella on the glossy new leather surface and smiled warmly at him. ‘What a handsome study, it must have cost you a pretty penny.’

‘What are you doing here?’ He stalked from the window and stood clutching the back of his chair. ‘Where in Hades have you been?’

‘Oh, living my life.’ Kate pulled off her gloves, slowly, finger by finger, as she looked around. ‘While you have been accumulating the pretty pennies, it seems. What else have you been spending the money on, Henry? Oh, and I would love a cup of tea. And perhaps one of those delicious scones Mrs Hobhouse always used to make.’

He was so taken aback that he yanked the bell pull without arguing. Claridge must have been standing right outside the door. ‘Sir?’

‘Tea. Scones.’ Henry flapped a hand at him and sat down. ‘What are you doing here? And where did you get those clothes and those jewels?’ He flung himself back in the chair and laughed. ‘Oh, I see. You’ve found yourself a cosy little niche as some man’s ladybird, have you? You’re cleverer than I thought if you’ve fallen on your feet that way. Or should I say, on your back?’

‘Don’t be coarse, Henry.’ Kate took the little silver case from her reticule and tossed a card across the desk to him. ‘My husband would not appreciate it.’

He picked up the card and stared at it, the pasteboard creasing in his grip. ‘Lady Allundale? Lady Allundale? How the devil? He knows about the brat?’

‘What brat would that be, Henry? My husband’s daughter?’

He stared at her. ‘You couldn’t have convinced him it was his, you were too far gone when you ran off.’

Claridge came in, placed a tray on the desk in front of Kate. ‘Thank you, Claridge, that will be all. Tea, Henry?’ she asked sweetly as the door closed.

‘Damn the tea.’ He watched, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, while she poured herself a cup, taking her time. She pretended to hesitate over a choice of scones until he demanded, ‘What do you want?’

‘I’ve come about the blackmail, Henry. It has to stop.’

‘What blackmail?’ He tried to look haughty and affronted.

‘Don’t pretend, Henry. You have been extorting money from Lord Baybrook. It is immoral, illegal and probably dangerous. His father-in-law won’t live for ever and when he dies Baybrook is going to be a very rich man.’ She took a sip of tea and was proud that her hand was rock-steady. ‘Rich enough to take revenge on you in any way he chooses. Legal or illegal.’ Was it her imagination, or had Henry gone pale?

‘What do you want?’

His immediate move to negotiation made her wary. She had expected counter-threats, or, at the least, bluster. ‘For you to stop demanding money. Write to Baybrook, tell him that no more will be asked.’

‘Is that all?’

Of course it was not all. He was still being too accommodating, too calm. ‘And you will return all the money you extorted.’ Henry’s jaw dropped. ‘Just how much did you receive, Henry? How much did you demand from Baybrook every month?’