Courting the Countess by Barbara Pierce Page A

her husband, but his need to control her bruised that gentle spirit. On reflection, I can see my error. I was too forceful.” Lord A’Court turned to Mallory in horror. “Mayhap I reminded her too much of Lyon?”
    Only if fate was generous, thought Mallory. Well, now he knew it was A’Court’s proposal rather than his appearance that had astonished her. “An intolerable quandary. I do not envy you, sir. If I may offer a suggestion?”
    “I would welcome your counsel, Mr. Claeg.”
    “Grant her the patience denied her in marriage to your cousin,” Mallory suggested. “Go slowly. Let her set the pace.” If he interpreted the countess’s quick escape correctly, her pace would be a snail’s shimmering glide into never.
    “You have offered sound advice. I thank you, sir.” Lord
A’Court inclined his head. “The day Lady A’Court accepts my proposal, it will be you, Mr. Claeg, whom I will praise for the success of our tender courtship.”
    He smiled and accepted the earl’s appreciative pat on the back. Guile was akin to betrayal and Mallory had mastered both at an early age. He did not feel a twinge of guilt for his interference. A’Court would not be the first man who had lost the lady he coveted to Mallory’s charming subterfuge. Although he had thought he had outgrown it, the skin of a rogue fit him perfectly.

Chapter Eight
    Mallory Claeg was up to mischief. Brook could not shake the nagging suspicion, even though his behavior was irreproachable at Loughwydde. Ham had been unconcerned about the artist’s daily presence when she had mentioned it to him. The morning he had departed for London, he had commented that it eased his mind that a gentleman was nearby to check on them. She had managed quite well on her own these past two years and she had not needed or wanted Mr. Claeg’s lauded presence.
    “Countess, have you fallen asleep again at the window?” Mr. Claeg winked at May, who giggled. Brook winced, wondering for the hundredth time how a pretty young woman could have developed such an obnoxious laugh. “I can hear your soft snores from here. Are you having difficulty sleeping at night?”
    She did not bother to acknowledge his teasing with an irritated glare. The man was immune to them. “I sleep quite adequately, thank you. Grandmother Byres must have fallen asleep again.” Brook checked on the elderly woman and she had indeed nodded off in her chair. “Sleeping like that cannot be good for her.”
    “Let her be,” he ordered. “Her back is troubling her again.”
    “How do you know?” she asked, annoyed that he had been included in the intimate dealings of their family.

    “She told me,” he said, peering over his sketching book at her. “That particular chair is comfortable. She is bothering no one by sleeping in it. Now why do you not tell us what is so troubling that you have spent the past hour sulking about it in silence?”
    May, who had been sitting in the same position, risked Mr. Claeg’s wrath by stretching her stiff arms. “Perhaps, she is pining for my brother.” She closed her eyes and concealed a yawn with her hand. The young woman was unaware that her explanation had put frowns on both of her companions’ faces.
    “I am not sulking, nor am I pining for your brother, May,” Brook argued, her crossed arms and frown noticeably belying her statement.
    “Ennui, then,” May suggested. Poised on a chair, she had chosen a white muslin dress with an orange band around the waist for the afternoon. A matching orange ribbon was threaded through her curly black locks and tied into a jaunty bow on the left side of her head. She represented youth, beauty, confidence, and ingenuousness. She had everything Brook felt she lacked. The chasm of their ages seemed to span decades instead of a mere two years.
    “Maybe,” Brook said, not really interested in pursuing the source of her agitation. She had figured out the answer days ago. Nothing short of torture would gain a