His Christmas Countess

‘You want me to show you around? But you have been here for months, running the household. Charlie must have dragged you all over the grounds, Mrs Havers will have covered the domestic side of things.’

‘Yes, but it is your home, you grew up here. Now I am your wife I need to understand it as you do, if that is possible.’ Grant still seemed surprised. ‘It will help me understand you, too.’

‘If that is what you would like, then of course.’ He sounded merely polite, but Kate thought he was pleased. ‘You realise that you will be undermining the main complaint of husbands everywhere—my wife does not understand me?’

‘Is that what you men say to each other in your clubs to justify lurking there, drinking and gaming, or is it what you whisper in the ears of ladies who you hope will take pity on you and share their favours?’

Her relief at the change of mood between them had carried her into dangerous waters. Grant raised one dark brow and was suddenly no longer the amused, slightly flirtatious husband of a moment ago. ‘Are you asking me if I am faithful to you?’

Kate slid from her perch on the desk. It was no longer the time and place to sit swinging her feet, behaving like a milkmaid with her swain. She must remember that she was a countess. ‘No, I am not asking you that question and I do not think I ever would. But if you are asking if I wonder about other women, then, yes, of course I do. I know that men are not designed to be celibate, even the best of husbands.’

‘I keep forgetting that you do not know me,’ Grant said and she saw from the set of his mouth that she had managed to insult him again. ‘I take marriage seriously. I may not have made vows to you in church, but I will act as though I have. I will be faithful to you and I have been since we wed, if you are wondering about a mistress in London, or even less reputable arrangements.’

‘Thank you...’ Kate managed. Her sister-in-law, Jane, had confided that no man could be trusted to be faithful, that it was in their very nature to seek out new excitements, new women. She had shrugged in the face of Kate’s shocked disbelief and incoherent protests about honour and love matches. Men, Jane maintained, were all tomcats by nature and male honour did not preclude infidelity. Either her sister-in-law was wrong, or Grant was telling her what she wanted to hear. She trusted his honour, she realised. Grant would keep his vows.

‘And I am sure I do not need to say that I do not subscribe to any fashionable tolerance in regards to my wife.’ He waved a dismissive hand when she opened her mouth to protest. ‘I am sure you will be as faithful as a wife can be, Kate. I am just saying, for the record, that I will call out any man who lays a finger on you—and do my damnedest to kill him. And if your Jonathan had abandoned you and not drowned, then I would go after him and kill him, too.’

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Kate said, slowly, ‘You may trust me with your honour and mine and I trust you in the same way.’ She would never betray him with another man—but the pit was gaping at her feet. She had lied to him, she continued to lie to him, and if he realised that her lover was alive and was being blackmailed by her brother, she did not know what he would do.

‘Enough of this serious stuff.’ Grant’s sudden grin caught her off balance as it had done every time he had surprised her with it. ‘What is the first place you want to explore with me?’

‘The water garden.’

‘We do not have a water garden,’ Grant pointed out.

‘I know. I think we should, don’t you?’ He need never find out. She forced herself to smile and found it was real. Tomorrow might never come, Christmas was a long way off and, for now, they were happy.

Chapter Twelve

Grant came with her to visit Anna, who delighted him by smiling and gurgling and gripping his fingers. He picked her up, despite the nursemaid’s warnings about babies who had recently been fed, and tossed her up to make her laugh.

‘Never mind, my lord,’ Jeannie said consolingly, ten seconds later. ‘I’m sure it will sponge off.’

By the time Kate had found her bonnet and cloak, Grant had surrendered his milky coat to a silently disapproving valet and changed to a battered old shooting jacket and well-worn boots. ‘I have a suspicion that water gardens mean bogs,’ he said as he joined her on the steps down to the rear garden. ‘At least the sun is shining.’