Chapter Seven

T he day of the dance in the village dawned grey, with a drizzle to go with it, forcing Ophelia to stay inside when she'd planned to go through the barns scattered in Ramsgate's lands. Instead, she sat in the library with a book. Which would all be good if there were not so many chores to do. The weather improved only by mid-afternoon, by which time she could have accomplished too little. That prompted her to call for a lengthy bath. Her maid had said that the Earl had closed himself in the study just after breakfast, he too confined by the weather.

They had not seen much of each other since their encounter in the orchard the previous day. Ophelia had not avoided him, not exactly. But she did not make it a point to meet him, as she had no idea how she would face him after she'd gone all wild with his kiss. More than that, she could not put it out of her mind. It had been fire and tenderness wrapped in one messy memory.

But she would rip it out from where it'd lodged itself, she decided with firmness as she sprang from the tub and rolled a towel around herself. Naked in the bath and thinking about those moments in the orchard did not build resistance against the man.

As Ann helped her get ready, she chose a simple dress of sea-green, unwilling to stand out in the gathering or rubbing too much of her privilege in those people's faces. Over the years, she'd done whatever sat in her power to minimise the tenants' and servants' plight, aiming at making their life a drop easier than usual. That brought esteem from them, even if attention had not been on her list of accomplishments. Vanity seemed to be such a useless trait. But the friendship and loyalty they gifted her with had come as a balm in those lonely years. Gratefulness filled her for it. Glad about the prospect of spending the evening with those who really mattered, she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, celebrating that the weather had given, and a vivid sunset coloured the horizon.

When she descended the stairs, she saw her husband had thought the same and dressed in simpler clothes, though his grey breeches and great coat emphasised his broad and tall frame. Again, her cheeks turned pink at the image of his bare skin glued to hers. It might have been better to remember those too-short moments in the orchard instead. Or neither if she prized herself as a sensible woman.

Their eyes met, causing lightning-like jolts to run through her. Those dark irises assessed her with an intimacy that had to be improper between a lord and a lady. With a bow, he greeted her and offered his arm. Ever feathery, she rested her fingers on his sleeve and found it hard not to register the taut muscle beneath. She plastered a pleasant grin upon her lips as he led her outside to the waiting cabriolet. The short distance and the balmy weather did not require more than that.

At the spot they would gather, Ophelia had barely left the conveyance with her husband's help when the tenants surrounded her with cheerful greetings. The Earl stood aside as she strived to give attention to all of them, but she might have imagined the glint of admiration surfacing in his gaze.

"Our dance has gone blazing bright with you here, my lady." Mrs Foster did not hold back on her welcoming enthusiasm as the others nodded in agreement.

"It is a privilege to be your guest," the lady answered as she looked at everyone in turn.

A couple walked towards them and as they entered the firelight, she recognised the steward and his wife. Timothy and Alice Gregson had been among her few allies when she took the managing of the estates into her hands. Gratefulness coated her face as the Gregsons neared them and curtsied.

"My lady, it has been a long time." Her welcoming smile left no doubt as to her allegiance to the Countess.

Ophelia reciprocated the smile. "Too long, I will say, Alice." The women held hands. "It is good to see you."

"And you," she replied.

"Lady Ramsgate," Timothy greeted with admiration in his eyes. "My lord."

"Good that you and your missus came for a spot of fun," Leonard replied by way of greetings.

"We were not about to miss it," the steward grinned. "Since the lady made all the improvements here, my job has become less hard." He tilted his head. "With less conflict with tenants and villagers, it runs much smoother."

"And that is how it should be, Gregson," agreed the Earl.

"Say, my lord," Mr Hodge, the cook's husband, interjected. "Care for some ale?"

Leonard gave the man a wide grin. "How did you guess I am thirsty?" Not a trace of disdain came to his voice, something that surprised the Countess. He and Timothy followed the men to a huge table with earthenware and an abundance of food and drink.

Someone pressed a cup of ale in Ophelia's hand, as the women went on chatting with her. As her hand guided the beverage to her lips, she risked a glance at her husband. And found his falcon eyes dead set on her. Lucky that the sun had already gone and did not denounce the flush that invaded her cheeks. Her lashes lowered while she made herself return her attention to the surrounding conversation.

"My lady must come and see this," Jessie said, nearing her.

Ophelia turned her head to spot the little girl in her Sunday best. "What is it, little one?" she asked, already going in her direction.

The countess followed the waif as the girl ran towards a cluster of trees receiving faint light from the lanterns lined in the gathering area. There, lying on a fluffy bunch of grass, a kitten of no more than five weeks, perhaps, saw Jessie and greeted her with a faint mew.

If Ophelia admitted her heart melted, she would be lying because all of her melted at the sight of such a lovely creature, her expression morphing into one that hid nothing. Both woman and girl lowered to the ground. "Methinks it lost its mother," Jessie commented as she put out her hand and the fluffy thing climbed onto it.

The fur ball sat and directed its enormous eyes to the countess. Then it moved into her hand to nestle in her palm as though it had been born there. "Oh, my goodness. Aren't you a darling?" She exclaimed and stroked its velvety ears. As they moved closer to the light, she saw its ginger colour.

"What seems to be the problem?" Her husband's tenor washed over her senses.

Her head swivelled to the man standing a few feet away, braced legs, hands hanging on his hips, eyes inspecting every inch of her.

"My lord," Jessie greeted. "We found this kitten."

Leonard flicked his dark eyes to the furry form in her hand and back to her. "Where is its litter?"

"We do not know," the girl answered. The feline chose that moment to lick Ophelia's finger. "I believe it is about to adopt her ladyship."

"And is her ladyship amenable?" the lord rasped.

Up to that moment, Ophelia had strived to keep her attention on the adorable creature in her palm. His question caused her to snap her gaze to him. The intensity of his scrutiny made her mind bog as she stood in the middle of the dimmed space and their eyes locked. For a moment, her eyes stared a blank expression at him before she forced her mind to kick into gear. "I—"

"Say yes, my lady." Came Jessie's hopeful voice.

Ophelia looked at the child and offered an affectionate smile. "The poor dear deserves a chance."

"Yay!" Jessie jumped. "I will put it in a basket for you to take it home when you leave." With care, she took the kitten from her and walked towards the big table where several baskets lay. In one, she put a dish with scraps of food and a cup of water to accommodate the kitten.

That made the Earl and Countess remain in the dimness, alone, the din of the dance infiltrating in between them in faint notes.

"Is the lord entitled to a minute of the lady's scarce time?" Then he took a few steps towards her.

"We came together, did we not?" Her eyes widened on him, looming not three feet from her.

"Sure." His arms rounded to his back. "But everyone is keen to spend their evening with you."

"Is that a problem?" She did not ask that in a defiant tone, just a way of knowing how he felt about it.

Countless husbands resented that their wives became more popular than they were. Those women paid dearly for the men's jealousy. But the Earl did not appear to be in this group.

"Not at all." His firmness left no room for doubt. "Could I perchance claim a small share of it now?"

"Of course," she blurted as she tried to cope with the onslaught of sensations that his proximity unleashed.

He put out his arm. "Walk with me." His rumble fell between them, only to bloom a wave of heat over her nerve endings.

She looked at his arm and then back at him. "We are to play the happy reunited couple, then."

"For the sake of reassuring the people you care for with your admirable kindness."

At last, she rested her gloved hand on his sleeve as they started their stroll around the gathering. Long minutes elapsed with them going about in silence, tenants and servants smiling at them and raising their cups in their direction.

"I am given to understand that it is not your first time here." The Earl started at a certain point.

She glanced at him and then back to the path ahead. "I used to attend when I happened to be in residence." Her head gave a slight tilt.

"When were you last in our seat?" He nodded at the people who passed by them.

His use of the pronoun that encompassed both was unexpected. In a legal light, nothing here inked her name, only his. And she remembered that it was not the first time he'd done it. He'd referred to the townhouse as theirs, too. He used the wrong language to be sure. They treaded a temporary agreement here.

"A few years ago," she responded with the truth. She waved at the children who ran by them.

"Years?" he did not hide his astonishment.

"My presence would not be required after the estate fell back on track." She issued the comment in a breezy voice, even if her feelings on the matter were anything but.

"I see." He did not. But she abstained from elaborating. "You preferred the shops and functions of town, I suppose."

Yes, let him think of her as that frivolous woman. She did not harbour a drop of a will to disabuse him of it. What would be the point? Her focus should be on the future she wished to build for herself.

The strings of a violin announced a lively folk tune in the circle where the dance would start. Men, women, and children took Leonard and Ophelia's hands to pull them into the fray. Suddenly, Ophelia saw herself amid cheering dancers. The women to one side, the men to the other, they danced close to pair with one another. Not a chance in the blazes of her pairing with anyone other than her husband. They were engulfed in a lively quadrille-like style that involved much more touching than the subdued version practised in the lofty ballrooms in London.

Up to the moment, the men pulled their women flush to them as they spun and hopped around. Her husband followed suit while she plastered a smile on her face. Even with all these layers of fabric, she registered every inch of his taut frame, rubbing against her. She became breathless, and it held little to do with the physical demands of the steps. Following the others, he spun her round and round until she felt light-headed.

When the music stopped, Ophelia and Leonard froze in the middle of the floor, lanterns floating on lines above their heads. His hands held her waist, hers clung to his broad shoulders. She failed to resist risking a look up into his eyes. And found them fast on her, and blazing. Quick breaths left her lips and met the ones he released. Everything disappeared but his solid presence.

She could not tell how long they stayed immersed in each other. But it seemed like a lifetime. Then his rasp brought her back. "I think we should leave."

Leave? How on earth would she un-root her feet from the ground? His large hands slid from her, and the sense of loss had the power to suck her back to her surroundings. Unable to speak a word, she only nodded. In common accord, they headed to the cabriolet, where Jessie had already placed the wicker basket sheltering the kitten. They had the presence of spirit to wave to the people watching them with unblinking curiosity. Leonard pulled at the reins and the conveyance jerked into movement.

She sat under the hood where a faint lantern glowed as the country road rolled beneath them. Her heart raced with her husband's proximity just a few inches from her, with only the little basket between them. The delicate hands lay on her lap as the earl's arms moved to drive the conveyance. She discerned the ripples of muscles on his neck and the scent of him. The fingers clutched at each other as the silence between them felt more jarring than anything she'd ever experienced in her life. Except for what he did to her in the last few days. Her nostrils took in a shuddering breath in the dim light.

His head gave an abrupt turn to her. "Are you alright?" Goodness, did he always have to use that rasp that fogged the air in the cabriolet at that moment? The air and her brain, to be more precise.

Their gazes merged over the basket while she took a minute to organise a reply. "Yes," she breathed.

Those powerful arms pulled at the reins, the horse stanching at once. He'd not even looked at the road. His large hands got rid of the reins. "Come here." Was his only sign of what he did next. In a blink, one arm snuck under her legs, the other around her shoulders. They pulled her to his lap and his mouth found the exposed skin on her throat to slide up and down with maddening slowness. But his hand proved to be less idle as it found her breast over the dress. He defeated her resistance before it even made an appearance. A sigh filled the night as her fingers meshed his hair, causing his hat to fall to their feet.

Instead of going for her mouth, he lowered to explore the delicate skin over her demure neckline as though he could not get enough of it, of her. The arm around her pulled her closer as the hand over her breast grew more restless by the second.

It could only be madness, utter madness, them, stationed in a cabriolet in the middle of a remote country road as their dusty fabrics collided with their dusty emotions in this muddy entanglement they were in. But Ophelia did not care. More, she did not mind any of that, as long as Leonard did not stop; never, ever.

As if he'd heard her thoughts, his mouth slanted to hers at last, and she did not shy from responding to his hungry, desperate kiss full of excruciating urgency. While their tongues danced, he groaned, and she moaned indifferent to the crickets singing their nocturne around them.

When he came up for air, his mouth tracked a way to her earlobe. "Damn it all to hell, woman!" His rumble heated the fine skin. "This… thing is driving me insane." He meant what lay between them, no doubt.

Ophelia, however, wanted more show than tell, so she used both hands to frame his bristled face and bring his mouth back to hers. He did not protest. Rather, a knowing chuckle filled the air as their kiss escalated to a rapacious devouring that did not placate their hunger. Her hand found a route inside his coat with the explicit intention of tearing it from him.

In the back of her perception, something disturbed her plans. Her hand froze. That sound repeated, and she opened her eyes. Said sound came again, and she identified it as a mewl from inside the basket. The awareness that there was a defenceless little fur ball in need of care made her body freeze as the surroundings returned to her consciousness.

As if on cue, both disentangled from each other. Careful not to overturn the basket, Ophelia resumed her seat. Now that the moment had passed, she wondered how the man by her side had managed to get her on his lap without even touching the wicker container sitting in the middle of the bench. Neither looked at each other, but she heard him picking the reins again as he shook it to impel the horse. The cabriolet lurched forward with the solitary lamp to guide them. A fortunate fact that they knew the way like the back of their proverbial hand.

With nothing to do to cover her embarrassment, Ophelia picked up the basket and peered inside at the wide-eyed feline, then scratched its neck to calm it down. Reassured, the kitten went back to sleep. And she wished she could do the same, if only to hide away from her churning feelings.

It did not take long for them to park at the manor's entrance. Without looking at her husband, she accepted his help to disembark before she walked straight into the house towards the kitchen, where she found a safe and warm place for the new resident.

Leonard kicked his bedchamber door shut as he strode into it, a hand raking his dark strands. That he almost ravished his wife in the middle of nowhere on an open cabriolet did not shock him as much as the fact that the little beast's interference frustrated him more than he felt ready to admit. He'd never acted in such an impulsive manner in his life. Not even as a lad of sixteen, for pity's sake!

His gaze funnelled on the connecting door, and he had to lock his muscles not to head there with all the finesse of Atila, the Hun marching to the Byzantine gates. The urge to go to her expanded in him in the least civilised way. With the same speed he'd turned to the wooden panel, he swivelled away from it, nostrils flaring with the intake of air.

On the opposite side of his chambers, a jug and basin sat on a sideboard. He reached them and poured the cool water to splash it on his face. In all honesty, he should call for a cold bath, but he would not hassle the servants at this hour, and anyway, most of them had not returned from the dance yet.

As he dried the droplets with a towel, movement in the other chamber had him stropping to listen like a statue in a museum. The Elgin's marbles had nothing on him. A door closed, dainty steps on the muffling carpet. He stared in that direction. And then nothing.

Damn it all to the blazes! He seemed to be acting like a stalking bastard!

Granted, as the earl of all he surveyed, the law allowed him to bestow his attentions on his wife whenever the mood took him, and in any manner he wished. But that was not his style. He preferred his bed partners willing and engaged in the whole affair. Just like she'd been on that unforgettable night. And again tonight. Even so, he felt quite certain she'd had no plans to succumb to him the way she did on both occasions. The notion made him conclude that he'd better not impose himself on her only for the sake of their agreement. So, he forced himself to change into his nightclothes to lie in his bed and stay put, even if sleep came in fragmented patches during the night.

When dawn broke at last, he requested a bath before preparing for the day.

As he stepped into the morning room, he saw his wife already sipping a cup of tea at the table. He almost froze on the spot at the sight of her in a simple morning dress of a cream shade. The hot beverage must have had an effect on her lips because they looked rosier and moist. They evoked explicit images that arrowed right into his unmentionable parts, making them hard and eager.

"Good morning, wife," he greeted as the footman placed a cup of coffee in front of him on the table.

Her eyes knifed him as though she aimed at turning him inside out. "My lord," she murmured, as her attention returned to her tea a little too quickly.

A faint meow filled the air as a tender smile drew his wife's mouth when she looked down at something on her lap. Her hand came up to scratch two ginger ears peeking from beneath the table. Something stung in him, and he had no other option than to recognise it as a spike of jealousy. Of an orphan feline, no less. What did it say about him?

"So, the little beast had a good night's sleep," Leonard commented, envying what he did not accomplish.

"And ate loads, too," she said, her hand caressing its spine. "I bathed Autumn before breakfast."

Leonard could not suppress a chuckle at the smart name. "Autumn, is it?"

Her head tilted as her gaze met his. "Suits him, does it not?"

He was about to agree when Jones neared him with a silver tray. "A letter just arrived, my lord." And bent to deliver it.

Thanking the butler, he picked it up and broke the seal to read the sparse, direct lines. "Brunswick summons me to town." He informed the countess. In reality, the news was worrying, to say the least; he would not break it to his wife.

Her head snapped to him, brows pleating. "I will go with you in this case," she retorted. "I have a few things to sort there myself." Then narrowed her gaze on him, daring him to say otherwise.

Leonard did not want her around while he went about his business, thorny as they might become. He deemed it unwise, however, to raise any suspicion in her. She distrusted him too much already for that.

"It is your call," he drawled, burying his misgivings beneath a nonchalant veneer.

Resting both hands on the snowy tablecloth, she stabbed him with a hard stare. "It has always been."

"I do not see you too resentful about that," he said, uncaring that the footmen roamed around. His disappearance and her table-turning were no secret in the whole of England.

"I learned to make the best of poor circumstances." As she spewed the words, she took a ladylike sip of her tea.

"And came out with flying colours, I should say." If he planned to take the wind off her sails, he had only a miserable failure to show for it. Her detached expression did not change an inch.

A faint smirk pulled her lips. "I thank you, even immune as I am to flattery." She drained her cup. "If you will excuse me."

"We leave at first light," he warned.

"I will be ready." Were her parting words before she gave him her back and exited the morning room with a content Autumn clinging to her.

The next morning, he came down to trunks already loaded on the carriage assigned to take them back to town. Along with his wife entering it with the help of a footman.

The first wisps of light zinged the sky as Leonard took his seat across from her to witness a book open on her lap. By her side, he spotted a wicker basket. His mouth watered at the prospect of the snacks the cook provided. A faint mew disabused him of the notion.

"You are taking Autumn with us." He did not need to frame it as a question, self-evident as the answer was.

Her head snapped up as her gaze inspected him in a manner that made him uncomfortable and aroused at the same time. How intriguing that a woman—his wife, on top of it—could do that to him with no effort at all.

"I adopted him, so I am duty-bound to care for him." On the book, her thumb strolled up and down in a distracted trajectory that made him wonder if she would do that were they lying sated in bed. But then, he would not have the answer, as she'd expelled him from her chamber as soon as the deed had been done. Pity.

"I am glad to hear that," he drawled. "It means you will be a hands-on mother."

"Unlike the… hands-on husband you have been." Then went back to her reading.

By Jove, but her barbs had the power to intensify his arousal to breaking point. Were he sure she would not shun him, he would pounce on her here and now. Not even animals did that with their mates. Every species on the planet had its mating ritual. The perception caused him to lock his muscles and turn his attention to the dawn outside the carriage.