His Countess (Victorian Decadence Book 3) Page 4

  The other man’s jaw dropped.

  “If you are quite finished here, perhaps you might give me a moment with Victoria?” Gideon asked, earning an even more stupefied look.

  “Get out, Harold!” Victoria’s sharp, hard eyes never left Gideon’s face. They both waited while Harold moved with clumsy haste, neither of them speaking until they heard his feet clattering down the stairs.

  “Ladies first, sweetheart.”

  Victoria blinked her huge brown eyes and took a hesitant step toward him.

  “No,” he said raising his hand. “I think you’d best answer me from there. I’m not sure I could behave like a gentleman if you came within arm’s reach.” It amused Gideon greatly that she’d not pulled up her bodice—a temptress to the end. Well, he had no objection to eying what he’d already paid a great deal for.

  “You left me here, Gideon.” Her long dark lashes fluttered and her eyes began to glisten. “I was so lonely—and bored. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Read a book? Stitch a cushion cover?”

  Her plump, kiss-bruised lips parted. “But—”

  Gideon smiled. “You’re right, my darling, of course you couldn’t do those things.”

  She brightened, her full mouth curving, hope tinging her alabaster skin a fetching shade of pink.

  “I see now I should never have taken you from your happy position at the Birch Palace. Never fear, when I leave here today, I shall speak to Madam Dumas about taking you ba—”

  She rushed at him and grabbed his upper arms, tears sliding down her cheeks, her eyes imploring. “But I thought you liked seeing me with other men.”

  He stroked her sweet, rounded jaw with the back of his fingers. “Yes, darling, but I like to pick the men and I also like to make sure I’ve been invited.”

  “Please don’t send me back, Gideon. I promise—I shan’t do this again. Really. I just—”

  Gideon removed her hands from his arms and set her at a distance. “Have your maid pack a few things, Victoria. I’ll have Mrs. Loring send along the rest of your belongings tomorrow.”

  Her hand moved like a flash, but Gideon was faster and caught her wrist in a viselike grasp. “Now, now, sweetheart. Let’s not become ugly.”

  She spat at him and then stepped back, her eyes wide at what she’d done.

  Gideon chuckled as he took his handkerchief from his pocket, smiling at her while he wiped spittle from his chin, mouth, and cheek.

  His mild reaction seemed to incite her and she sneered at him. “This house is mine and I shan’t let you take it from me. Everyone knows you give houses to your mistresses like other men bestow bonnets. If you believe I’ll allow—”

  “You might wish to read the agreement you signed, Victoria.” He carefully refolded his handkerchief. Now,” he said, tucking the white square back into his pocket. “I’m off. I’ll send my coach around this evening at six. Do be ready for it, my dear, or you’ll have to engage your own transportation.” Gideon turned and strode from the room.

  “I always hated you! Did you know that? I only pretended to enjoy your vile, disgusting touches.” Her voice rose the farther away he got. “There’s something dreadfully wrong with you—some part of you is warped or missing. You might be attractive on the outside, but inside you’re ugly and twisted.” She was screaming, now. “Every moment your hands were on me was a misery—and I’m not the only one. It’s just your money women crave, Gideon, nothing but your money!”

  He paused at the head of the stairs, his anger beginning to slip from its tight moorings as he listed to her rant.

  “I’m glad I shan’t have to tolerate your loathsome prick any longer! If you didn’t have so much bloody money, you’d always be alone.”

  Gideon opened his mouth to say something pettish and cutting, but then closed it and began to descend the stairs.

  Victoria was saying everything she could think of to hurt him, but that didn’t make it any less the true: it was his money that brought women flocking to him. For all his handsome looks, he knew few women would tolerate his abrasive, selfish personality for long without the money.

  He smiled grimly as he took his hat and cane from Loring. Well, he was bloody lucky then, wasn’t he? Because he had piles of money. More than he could spend, in fact; enough to buy all the affection he would ever need or want.

  Chapter Three

  Alys saw no reason to prolong her visit to London or to Lord Taunton’s uncomfortable house. With his assurance—no matter how grudgingly given—that she was welcome to remain at Foxrun for the foreseeable future, she was eager to get home.

  Before she left, however, it seemed only proper to strip the house of personal effects. There was nothing of hers, of course, but Sebastian had been quite a clothes horse.

  Alys instructed her maid, Thursby, to give every last stitch away to an orphanage or workhouse—wherever there might be boys old enough to wear any of it.

  “And I shall be very displeased if you sell it, Thursby,” Alys told the habitually frowning woman, her grumbling making Alys realize that was exactly what the older woman had planned to do.

  Alys spent one full day going through the library, selecting a trunk of books to take along with her. Why not? She wasn’t stealing them as they would only be going from the earl’s London home to his country estate. She’d read everything worth reading in the Foxrun library twice over. Besides, she didn’t get the impression that the new earl was a great reader.

  In addition to the packing, she’d supervised an overall cleaning of the house so that it would be ready for his next inspection. The last thing she wanted him to think was that she was the sort of woman who wasn’t grateful.

  The cleaning took longer than she’d expected with the stripped-down staff, so it wasn’t until ten days later that she was standing on the platform at Paddington Station.

  All she had was one trunk, her portmanteau, and a smaller bag containing daily essentials. She’d purchased first class tickets for both herself and Thursby, not liking the notion of the older woman being jostled in the crowded third class car, even though that meant Alys had to spend the trip sitting next to her bitter, gin-smelling servant.

  Thursby was loudly directing the porter exactly how to stow Alys’s baggage when somebody behind them said, “Well, what a surprise! And a pleasant one, at that.”

  Alys recognized his voice, but it was still a shock to turn and see the gloriously handsome Earl of Taunton. He wore navy today, a color which contrasted flatteringly with his fair hair, hyacinth eyes, and pale skin.

  “Good morning, my lord,” Alys said in a tone that was cool but not unfriendly; she had no desire to make him her enemy, but she could not force herself to say she was glad to see him.

  His lips pulled into a mocking smile and she knew he was fully aware of her omission.

  “I have to admit it was not such a surprise,” he said. “I had it from Bingle that you were leaving today.”

  “Oh?” Her eyebrows shot up at this information.

  He shrugged, the fingers of one hand smoothing the perfectly fitting black leather glove on his other hand. “You must allow me to be interested in the comings and goings in my own house, my lady.”

  “I’ll allow you to have an interest in anything you please, my lord. I’m merely surprised you should possess an interest in me. And where are you bound today?” she asked with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  He displayed white, even teeth that enhanced his perfection. “Why I’m bound for Foxrun, of course.”

  ☐ ☐ ☐

  Gideon knew he shouldn’t tease her, but it was simply too difficult to resist.

  “Ah,” she temporized, quickly masking her dismay. “I wish I’d had a few days to prepare an appropriate welcome,” she said, her pale cheeks flushing in a way that was bloody adorable. He knew she’d been married to the last earl for eight years, so she had to be in her mid-twenties, but she looked no older than eighteen to his jaded eyes.

&n
bsp; “Oh come now, my lady—surely I don’t need to stand on ceremony in my own establishment?”

  Her eyes widened slightly and Gideon knew he’d communicated his meaning: that she should never forget just whose house it was. It was small and mean-spirited of him, but he didn’t care.

  “I would have expected business to hold you in London,” she said.

  Ah, I daresay you wished it had.

  “Beeky says I’m likely to receive a special writ a few weeks into the session.”

  She bit her lower lip, as if to stop it from quivering—or perhaps curving. “Beeky?”

  “Is that bad of me?” Gideon asked.

  This time she didn’t try to hide her smile and its effect on her features was breathtaking.

  “It is very bad of you,” she said. “Although I daresay he will bear a pet name if it means improvements to Foxrun, rather than encumbrances.”

  Was that a slight—very slight—tone of praise in her voice? Gideon refused to be flattered.

  Her servant, a crabby looking woman with an alarmingly red nose, came from the direction of the first-class car. “Everything is stowed, my lady.”

  Lady Taunton nodded before saying to Gideon, “It appears we are about to board so I will take my leave for now.”

  “Don’t be silly, my lady, you must travel with me—in my car.” He gestured to the private railcar they were standing beside.

  Her expressive gray eyes widened and she stared through the window of the car almost as if expecting to see something scandalous going on inside. He snorted. He supposed his detractors—who were legion—would’ve wasted no time telling her about his sexual exploits.

  “This car belongs to my syndicate,” he explained, amused when her pursed lips eased slightly—as if that meant it couldn’t possibly be a rolling palace of debauchery.

  Good thing she knew nothing about Gideon’s associates.

  “Please,” he said, “I insist you join me. I shall rattle around like a pea in large pod otherwise.” That was a blatant lie. He’d actually planned to make thorough use of the railcar’s master bedroom, which was equipped with all manner of delightful items—including two “chambermaids” he’d brought along for his amusement.

  Gideon decided he’d much rather have the delectable countess’s company for the journey, although she’d likely—and tiresomely—insist on remaining fully clothed.

  He waited for her response.

  Lady Taunton nodded slowly, clearly understanding it would be bad form to sneer at a courtesy from the man to whom she stood in such debt.

  Gideon should have felt like a heel for exerting such pressure, but he didn’t.

  Instead he gestured to the Friday-faced maid hovering beside her. “Your woman will, I’m sure be comfortable in her first-class compartment,” Gideon said when it looked as if her maid thought to join them. Oh no, that wouldn’t do at all.

  It took him only moments to detach Lady Taunton from all that was familiar and install her in the luxurious private car. Gideon smiled at the glares he received from Lucy and Susan—his now-disgruntled playmates—as Jackson, his valet, led the two women toward another car.

  A trip in first class would not kill the two whores and might actually encourage them to display more gratitude in the future. Besides, they were employed for his pleasure, and they would do well to recall that.

  Thinking about women and ingratitude made Gideon’s lips tighten as he mounted the steps to the car. Victoria had only been the first of his mistresses that he’d discharged.

  He’d found no similar breaches of contract with either of his other, older and wiser, mistresses. What he had found, however, was that Lydia had become so reliant on gin these past months that mounting the stairs to their bedroom had left her red-cheeked and winded. While Gideon enjoyed liquor as well as any man or woman, he drew the line at that which was unhealthy.

  He’d known—even before arriving at his third mistress’s house—that he would discharge Theresa, as well. Not because she’d committed any infraction, but because he was fatigued by the entire process of keeping women for his pleasure.

  He’d vowed to never employ another mistress. It was too much bother for too little return. You’d think they’d enjoy a little liberty from him, but instead, they got up to mischief like Victoria had, or merely sat at home drinking their heads off, like Lydia. While it was true that Theresa had neither been fucking other men nor drinking, he’d kept her for almost five years and had been bored with her for at least four and a half of them. And so he’d decided she’d earned her retirement.

  He’d not even been bothered to have one last night with her before turning over the appropriate papers to her small but smart townhouse, complete with furnishings and a generous allowance.

  Once he’d divested himself of three mistresses and two properties, he decided it was the perfect time to visit his most recent—albeit involuntary—acquisition: Foxrun.

  Jackson returned to the railcar as Gideon was pulling off his gloves. “Are the ladies happily settled?” he asked, his gaze on Lady Taunton, who’d taken a seat in one of the plush leather club chairs and was gazing around the luxuriously appointed coach in some wonder.

  Jackson took Gideon’s gloves and hat and then helped him with his coat.

  “They are settled, my lord. But not exactly happily.”

  Gideon chuckled, amused by the thought of the two girls stewing away in first class when they’d hoped to get up to antics in the private railcar. They’d become spoiled, and it was all his fault. He’d taken both on several trips recently in his private railcar—which was currently in for refurbishing as he’d come to dislike the red and gold interior that he’d allowed Lydia to choose several years ago—and now the two whores had developed expectations.

  Lady Taunton looked up when he joined her. “This is magnificent, my lord.”

  Gideon found her obvious admiration more than a little pleasing, and her smile set off a strange thumping in his chest; Lord but she was lovely when she wasn’t judgmental and starchy.

  He lowered himself into the chair across from her. “You’ve not been in a private car before?”

  “I haven’t, but I’d heard about them from my husband. Taunton often travelled with Lord Hastings, who keeps his own car.”

  “The Marquess of Hastings?” Gideon asked, and then wanted to bite out his own tongue for asking such a gauche question.

  But she appeared not to notice. “Hastings was Master of the Quorn until a few years ago and Taunton was a Melton man, through and through, so the two often travelled up from London together.”

  Whatever the hell all that meant.

  “Do you hunt, my lord?”

  “I do not,” he said, unable to keep the irritation from his tone. Fucking fox hunting. Oh, he wasn’t against it in principle. No, he hated it because he’d never be invited to hunt with the bloody Quorn even now that he was the Earl of Taunton. Not that he was a good enough rider in any case. Riding had been, Gideon had to admit, the least of his priorities once he’d begun to make money. Although that would have to change now that he owned a great country estate. He smiled at the thought of inviting his business associates out for a hunt party. Why not?

  “I’d like to give a hunt party.” His announcement was as much news to him as it was to the startled woman across from him.

  “I see. Er, at the beginning of the Season?” Her amused tone told him that his whim was an odd one. Well, what of it? She’d better become accustomed to his whims or she could find herself some other free place to live.

  “The people I’ll invite don’t order their lives by the Season, my lady.”

  She stiffened at his chastising, superior tone, no trace of her smug little smile remaining on her lips. “We’ve not done much entertaining in recent years,” she said, and then added hesitantly, “I’m afraid there will be nothing with the local pack until the autumn, my lord. But I daresay your friends will discover that the surrounding areas have other pleasur
es.”

  Gideon had no idea what to say to that.

  “How long were you married, my lady,” he asked, although he already knew the answer. He could see by her pinched expression that she found his question excessively forward.

  Good.

  “A little over eight years.”

  And no children. Gideon had looked into Taunton before leaving London and learned the man hadn’t kept a mistress. He’d asked Smith about him, but Smith didn’t even recall fucking the man.

  “You’re a slattern, you know that?” Gideon had accused him. “It can’t be every day you bugger an earl, Smith. I find it difficult to believe you can’t recall it?”

  “Are you offering to do something to jog my memory, Gideon?” Smith had asked, amused by his insulting words rather than offended.

  “Not bloody likely,” he’d muttered. “You won’t be enjoying a second Earl of Taunton.”

  Gideon had played with Smith a few times in the past, but the older man was too bloody rough and wild, even for his tastes. It irritated Gideon that his business partners were always pointing a finger at him when Smith was a far worse whoremonger.

  But that was neither here nor there.

  Without Smith’s help, he’d had to do his own prying into Taunton. The main thing he’d learned about the dead earl was that he’d enjoyed the tables and the ponies.

  Gideon let his gaze flicker over the widow’s threadbare traveling suit; it was clear that’s where all his money had gone.

  He looked up and met her chilling stare—so, she’d noticed his inspection? Not that he’d gone to any pains to hide it. Gideon smiled, enjoying her displeasure. That was another thing she’d better become accustomed to—how much he liked to look.

  “Do you have family near Foxrun, my lady?” Again, he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her speak. She had a lovely voice.

  “My brother lives outside the village of Hawkesley. He is married and the father of seven children. My parents are both deceased but there is the usual assortment of relatives scattered here and there, nobody I am particularly close to.”

  Gideon was impressed by her dismissive attitude. He wouldn’t have been able to resist puffing off about being a marquess’s daughter, having a marquess for a brother and “assorted” relatives that included a duke. Her blood was as blue as it could be, yet she didn’t appear to give a toss. Gideon reminded himself that some blue blood also flowed through his own veins, but the reminder was less than convincing.