The Countess by Catherine Coulter

refused to do that first day we met in the park. I

have some Spanish blood in me, something my father abhorred, but he fell in love

with my mother, Isabella Maria, you see, and so I was born. I wonder what he

would think of me now, so unlike a pure-blooded Englishman, all pale and pink-cheeked,

were he still alive.”

“Well, that does explain it,” I said, nodded to him, and added, “Good day,” and

walked away. I wasn’t really surprised when the rain suddenly came down thick

and hard, because, after all, it was England. What I hadn’t realized was that he

was just behind me, the umbrella now held over my head.

Well, no hope for it. I turned again to face him. “Thank you for keeping me dry.

What are you doing here?”

“I saw you buying a book inside. It’s raining. You don’t have an umbrella. I

plan to protect you from the harsh elements, see you to wherever you wish to go,

and thus earn your undying gratitude.”

“Excuse me,” I said, looking up at that iron-gray sky. “Harsh elements? Are you

mad? This is England.”

And he threw back his head and laughed. He’d laughed at what I’d said. I tried

to frown at him. He took a step closer, but I wasn’t worried. There were at

least a dozen people either hurrying through the rain or setting their umbrellas

over their heads.

“Where may I escort you, Miss??”

I prepared to walk away again. He lightly touched his hand to my arm. I stopped

dead, didn’t move, just stood there, waiting to see what he’d do.

“Very well,” he said slowly, eyeing me, and I knew he wanted to pull the veil

off my face and stare me hard in the eyes. But, of course, he couldn’t. He said,

“I had hoped that George would prove a suitable chaperon and acquaintance to

vouch for me that first time in the park. But he wasn’t then, and he isn’t,

unfortunately, here now. If not a dog, then I must find a human acquaintance to

introduce us properly. You are obviously a lady of rigid social code. Do you see

anyone you know and trust walking by who would perhaps pause to introduce us

properly?”

The urge to laugh was strong, too strong. It was wrong to want to laugh now,

very wrong. Grandfather had been dead only a month. No, no laughter.

I stared at his beautifully fashioned cravat, then worked my way up to his chin.

He had a dimple in that stubborn-looking chin of his, and he was still smiling

down at me, all white teeth and good humor. Since the rain was coming down at a

fine clip now, I didn’t step away from him. I didn’t trust him an inch, nor that

winsome smile of his, but I wasn’t stupid. I didn’t want to get soaked. “What do

you want?”

“I want to know who you are so that I may meet your parents and all your

siblings and the rest of your pets, and assure them that I’m not some devil-may-care

rogue bent on ravishing their fair relative. I’d like take you for an ice at

Gunthers. I’d like to take you riding. I’d like to make you laugh again.”

All that, I thought, and knew it was impossible. “I have only one sibling?actually

he’s my cousin?and he’s in Paris. He would shoot your head off if he saw you

bothering me like this.”

The man stopped smiling. “You mean bothering you as in keeping you from getting

soaked down to your lovely slippers?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“That’s a beginning. Now, you’re in mourning, deep mourning. Does that mean that

everyone you chance to meet must be long in the mouth and sigh and prepare to

hand you a handkerchief?”

He was hard with muscle, just like Peter. I recognized that even though he was

dressed elegantly in riding clothes, which meant, of course, tight buckskins, a

frilled white shirt, a jacket no man could get into without a lot of help, and

highly polished black boots that came to his knees. A fine figure of a man, my

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