His Countess For A Week. Sarah Mallory

‘This could prove an interesting evening.’

      ‘Perhaps I should come with you, my lord. In case there is trouble.’

      ‘I do not anticipate needing your help, my friend. You stay here and make sure the sheets on the bed are properly aired. It was made up in a hurry and I don’t want to catch my death of cold.’

      ‘After everything we’ve been through, it would take more than a damp sheet to carry you off, my lord,’ muttered Joseph, as he opened the door for his master to go out.

      Meon House was situated just a few miles from Beaumount Hall, but Randolph’s coachman was unfamiliar with the territory and took a wrong turn. It was therefore nearly nine o’clock before the carriage arrived at its destination. Light poured from every window and the number of carriages he could make out on the drive suggested there was something more than a quiet dinner in progress.

      It had started to rain and Ran hurried up the steps to the door, which a servant was holding open for him. In the hall a cheerful fire burned and Ran could hear the buzz of voices coming from the rooms beyond. The footman looked a little bemused when Ran gave him his name, but a lady, crossing the hall, stopped and came forward. By the way she dismissed the servant, Ran guessed this was Lady Meon. She was on the shady side of thirty, but taking in the voluptuous figure sheathed in gold satin and the glossy dark curls piled on her head, she dressed to advantage. She was an attractive woman, he thought, and she was well aware of it.

      ‘Lord Westray, this is indeed a surprise.’ The smile on her full red lips and the appraising look in her dark eyes suggested it was not an unpleasant one.

      ‘Yes, I am Westray.’ He smiled at her. ‘I beg your pardon for coming unannounced, but I have just arrived at Beaumount and learned my wife is here. I hope I have not interrupted your dinner?’

      Ran took her outstretched hand and bowed over it, then worried that perhaps it would be considered an old-fashioned gesture. To his relief, the lady was clearly charmed. Her smile grew.

      ‘No, no, we are quite finished and everyone is in the drawing room. I shall take you in myself. That is—’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Have you dined, Lord Westray? If not, I am sure we can—’

      ‘I dined at Beaumount, ma’am, thank you.’

      ‘Ah, good.’ She tucked her hand into his arm. ‘Come along, then, my lord. Let us go in. But I must warn you, it is only a little party, just a few neighbouring families, which is all the society this isolated place can provide. Lady Westray was eager to meet her neighbours and I was delighted to oblige her. Heavens, how pleased she will be to see you!’

      ‘Not nearly as pleased as I shall be to see her,’ murmured Ran.

      He accompanied his hostess into an elegant drawing room full of glittering light from the chandeliers and the jewels that adorned the necks of the ladies present. It might be a small party, but it was clear the guests considered it an important occasion.

      There were only about a dozen persons gathered there, but from the level of noise in the room Ran thought the wine had been flowing freely. Two elderly matrons conversed on a sofa by the fire and an aged gentleman dozed in a chair. Everyone else was gathered by the large window bay. Lady Meon led Ran across the room towards them. The group consisted of three ladies and double the number of gentlemen, their attention fixed upon a lady who had her back to the room. She was talking in an animated fashion that set the skirts of her red silk gown shimmering.

      As they approached, Ran took the opportunity to observe her. Even from the back the view was attractive. She had an elegant figure and her shoulders rose in smooth, creamy slopes from a low-cut bodice. Her graceful neck was adorned with a diamond collar and above that fair curls were piled artlessly upon her head. They glinted with her every movement, like newly minted sovereigns.

      Ran glanced at the two other females, both matronly and grey-haired. Too old to be his Countess. His lips twitched and he felt a sudden kick of pleasurable excitement as they drew closer. By heaven, surely this vision in the red gown could not be...

      Lady Meon reached out and lightly touched one scarlet sleeve.

      ‘Well, well, Lady Westray, you do not know how delighted I am to be the bearer of good tidings, for here is your husband, arrived in Devon this very night and come to find you!’

      The lady turned quickly and Ran was dazzled by her smile of delight. It quickly faded as her lips formed a little ‘oh’ of surprise. She regarded him with a shadow of fear in the depths of her emerald-green eyes. His own smile grew.

      ‘Well, my dear, I believe I have surprised you.’

      He reached for her hand, but even as he clasped her fingers she collapsed into a dead faint.

      Ran did not hesitate. He scooped her up, the red silk skirts sliding with a whisper over his arm.

      One of the matrons laughed. ‘There now, no one can doubt her astonishment! Poor little thing. Take her somewhere quiet, my lord, until she has recovered herself. We will happily wait for the pleasure of an introduction!’

      ‘Yes, yes, this way,’ cried Lady Meon, leading him away from the group. ‘There is a little room across the passage. Here we are.’ She opened a door and Ran stepped into a comfortable sitting room, where candles were already burning and there was a small fire in the hearth. ‘Lay her on the sofa, my lord. I shall send for her maid.’

      ‘No. No need for that.’ Ran put his burden down gently and sat on the edge of the sofa, beside her. ‘I shall take care of her now.’

      ‘Ah, of course you will. Who better to do so than her own husband?’

      His hostess looked on with approval as he began to chafe the little hands and Ran shot her a smile.

      ‘No need for any fuss, Lady Meon. Her pulse has already grown steadier. Pray go back to your guests and assure them my lady has merely fainted. We shall join you again very soon.’

      ‘Very well, my lord. I shall leave you to look after your wife. I can see she is stirring. Good, good. But you must ring if there is anything you need, anything at all.’

      Lady Meon departed, leaving Randolph alone with his lady.

      Arabella surfaced from the dead faint, but kept very still, afraid the pain behind her eyes would be worse if she opened them. Someone was rubbing her hands, and a deep voice, rich with amusement, was speaking to her.

      ‘Gently now, my lady. You are safe.’

      Safe! Her heart began to pound as memory returned. She was at Meon House and had been regaling her new acquaintances with some tale. Then Lady Meon had said her husband was there. For one brief, blissful moment she had forgotten that George was no longer alive. She had turned eagerly, only to find herself looking into the face of a stranger. That had been a cruel blow. Shock, heartbreaking disappointment and alarm had combined to render her senseless, but now she was awake and all too aware that she was in trouble.

      The pain in her head had faded and she risked opening her eyes. The stranger was still there, holding her hands in a firm, sustaining clasp. He was nothing like George. He was older and his hair was fair, not brown. It was lighter than her own and, unlike George in those last months, this man positively glowed with health and vigour.

      He smiled and something twisted, deep inside. She wanted to smile back at this handsome stranger, to lie still and enjoy his ministrations for a little longer. She quickly closed her eyes again. Heavens, what an alarming thought!

      ‘We are quite alone,’ he said. ‘There is no need for pretence.’

      ‘My fainting was no pretence,’ she told him crossly as she struggled to sit up. ‘Who are you?’

      ‘I am Westray,’