To Tame a Countess (Properly Spanked 2)

“They dragged you all over the place, didn’t they? I suppose the reality was not as romantic as one might think.”

There was no great sympathy or tenderness in his voice. He spoke matter-of-factly and yet she felt her throat close up with emotion, that someone might understand. “They didn’t like England,” she forced out, fluttering her fan again. One sentence. One fact that had ruined her entire miserable life.

“What places did you go?” Lord Warren asked.

“Wild, horrible places in India and Africa,” she answered in a strained voice. “Hot places with insects and mud, and sickness, and violence, and people who distrusted us.”

“Your parents liked these places?”

Josephine shrugged. She would never understand what had drawn her parents to their travels, or what had fed their desire to live outside civilized society.

“And now you are back in England after all,” he said, making an obvious point.

“I wish I had died with them.” She had thought the words so many times, but this was the first time she’d actually said them. It felt good, but awful. Tears clouded her eyes. She wished she could hide back in the plants. She had to escape this room, this conversation. This man, with his intent, disturbing eyes.

She moved to stand but he grasped her hand. “No. Don’t go.”

“I must.”

“I’ve put you in a bleak mood and courtesy dictates that I cheer you up. Shall we have a dance after all?”

“I can’t. I’m in mourning.” Couldn’t he see her black gown, her somber, unadorned fan? “And I don’t like to dance.”

“Everyone loves to dance.”

“Not me.”

“Because you don’t know how.”

She shot him an aggrieved look.

He shrugged. “You don’t, do you? It’s only natural, given your history.” His noble features darkened in irritation. “Here, let’s do something about this. I can’t bear talking to you anymore through this blasted thing.” To Josephine’s shock, Lord Warren reached out and pried her fan from her fingers with all the casual insolence in the world.

“There, that’s better,” he said, setting it in his lap.

Josephine was flabbergasted. “You’ve just taken my fan.”

“I’m afraid so.” His exquisitely contoured lips curved into a smile.

She might not know the finer points of English etiquette, but she knew it wasn’t proper for gentlemen to go about appropriating ladies’ accessories at their whim.

“Give it back to me.” They were the only words she could manage in her flustered state.

He shook his head and placed it on the floor beside him. “If I give it back you might hide behind it again, and we can’t have that.”

“Give it to me, please.” She moved as if to reach for it and he took her wrist. It was the second time he’d put his hands on her. The third, if one counted peeling her fan from her fingers.

His gaze held hers. Light, and darkness. “I’ll give you back your fan if you’ll dance with me first.”

“I’ve said I don’t want to dance.” She pulled away from him, or perhaps he let her go. She could still feel his heat where he’d held her. “If this is some bizarre form of courtship, you’re wasting your time. I don’t plan to marry.”

He arched a brow. “That’s rather subversive of you.”

He mocked her. He seemed to find everything hilarious.

Josephine would have thought the situation could grow no worse, but then she glanced up and saw a horde of chattering females descending upon them, led by Lady Minette Bernard, who was the most annoyingly cheerful person Josephine had ever met.

“Oh, my dear Lady Maitland!” the woman exclaimed, leaning down to clasp her hands. “Or may I call you Josephine? Do you remember me from our audience with the queen? Well, your audience and then my audience. We certainly did not crowd before her together. Our pouffed-out skirts would have prevented it in any case.” Minette erupted in peals of tinkling feminine laughter.

Josephine heard a soft sound from Lord Warren beside her. He had stood politely at the approach of the women and now regarded Minette with an exasperated expression that echoed what Josephine felt. Minette chattered on, oblivious.

“But how elegant you look tonight in your black. I must know your dressmaker. And when you come out of mourning, what a sparkler you shall be. Bold colors look ever so dramatic with dark hair. I have always wanted red hair, especially deep, dark auburn red hair like yours. It’s so striking, and it makes one stand out, but my brother and I are blond as corn silk and always have been.” Minette made a vague gesture toward Lord Warren and her precipitate approach made more sense. This babbling young woman was his sister, which explained why she was as overbearing as him.

“I do remember you,” Josephine finally managed to reply.

“I’m so glad to hear it. Then we shall be Josephine and Minette from now on, and we shall call on each other in the mornings and be particular friends, especially now that you have made my brother’s acquaintance.”

Josephine didn’t know what making her brother’s acquaintance had to do with being “particular” friends, especially when both relationships had been forced upon her unwillingly. But she couldn’t be ungracious in front of this great group of house guests, which had swelled to include some young gentlemen.

“Of course we shall be friends,” said Josephine tightly.

Minette clapped her hands so hard that her blonde curls shook, then looked down beside her brother’s chair. “Oh, dear Josephine, your fan is on the floor. Warren, do pick it up before you trample it.” She turned back to Josephine. “It’s grown so hot in here, don’t you agree? But you look ever so splendid, as always. My hair goes wretchedly tangled in this kind of heat, but yours is smooth and sleek. Your lady’s maid must converse with mine and share her secrets.”

Josephine chose not to confess that she didn’t have a lady’s maid, since she seemed to alienate all of them within a day or two. She feared her daily care was a duty the regular household maids traded off as some kind of punitive measure.

“It has indeed grown unco

mfortably hot,” she said, standing and taking her fan from Lord Warren. “In fact, I’m not feeling well. I believe I shall retire.”

This resulted in a chorus of such feigned agony and disappointment that Josephine grimaced. She glanced at Lord Warren, who gazed back at her with laughter in his eyes and a twitch in his lips. Yes, everything was hilarious to him. She didn’t know why all the young ladies fawned over her and dragged along the gentlemen to give her soft-hearted looks. They considered her reclusive and mysterious, she supposed, when the truth was that she was miserable. Lonely, awkward, out of place, and unlikely to ever match their pretty manners and haughty miens.

“Please say you will stay and talk with us a bit longer,” Minette begged. “All of us are tired of dancing, and you have been neglected, sitting here alone.”

“I was sitting with her,” Lord Warren broke in. “Am I of no consequence?”

“I’m sure that depends on who you ask,” his sister replied with perfectly droll timing. “And anyway, Warren, I thought you only came here to drink and play cards?” This brought amused titters from the ladies and guffaws from the gentlemen.

“That, and find you a husband,” he sallied back. “If I can find anyone brave enough to take you off my hands. Gentlemen?” He turned to the assembled young men. “Anyone?”

More laughter as Minette waggled a finger and glared at her brother. Josephine watched this curious exchange. She’d always been an only child, so their bantering and bickering fascinated her. Charmed her.

She did not wish to be charmed by him.

“Thank you for your company, Lord Warren,” she said, breaking into their repartee. She looked around at the other guests. “I wish all of you a pleasant evening.” Before they could complain or cajole any more, she walked from the ballroom and hurried down the hall, where the constriction of panic in her heart and the beating in her temples finally began to ease.

*** *** ***

Warren watched for Lady Maitland the entire next day, even checked for her among the house plants. He wanted to be sure he hadn’t ruffled her too badly in the ballroom, but the baroness was nowhere to be found. At least he knew she wasn’t with Stafford, since the man dogged him at every turn, even inviting him out to a local flagellation parlor. Warren might have agreed to go if the invitation had come from anyone else.