The Reluctant Countess by Wendy Vella

love to her in a carriage like some young irresponsiblefool? “Because you believed Timothy to be her child,” he answered himself. And because only with her could he lose all control, only she was able to destroy his ability to think straight. He stilled as he noticed a few spots of red on his thighs. What kind of hell was Sophie going through at this moment? Her first experience with a man and he had taken her, forced himself into her and caused her pain.
    For the first time in a long while Patrick was disgusted with himself. Many years ago, he had vowed to care for and protect those who were vulnerable, whenever possible. He was not foolish enough to believe he could protect them all, yet he would do his damnedest to watch over those who came within his sphere; and now he had hurt Sophie. Buttoning his jacket, Patrick leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. He didn’t fight the memories that filled his head as he usually did—this time he let them come. He deserved a bit of torture for what he had just done, and memories of his childhood would certainly do that.
    The previous Earl and Countess of Coulter had thought of their only son as a necessity, a regrettable must-have if the Coulter line was to continue. Patrick had learned this as soon as he was old enough to understand. He was raised as his parents had been raised—by servants whose only concern was to see him fed, tutored, and clothed. Patrick was an only child, therefore he spent all his time alone. No one picked him up when he fell or hugged him when he cried and so he had grown up without love and comfort, but more importantly, he had learned to be what his parents wanted, cold and indifferent. On the rare occasion people visited them, Patrick was cleaned and clothed appropriately and trotted out so they could fawn over him, which he had to endure or he would receive a lecture when the visitors left. Consequently, he could mask his feelings no matter what went on inside his head.
    The late earl had treated servants with disdain. In fact, anyone of inferior birth, as his father put it, was not worthy of his interest. His mother had continually reinforced in Patrick the idea that he was never to be like
them
, the lower classes, and because of this he had begun to nurture an irrational need to protect them. When he first arrived in London after his parents’ deaths, Patrick had spent endless nights on the streets looking for and helping children in need. Stephen, however, had soon put a stop to this.
    “You can help them more by fighting for reform, Patrick. Doing what you are, going out each night, you will only exhaust yourself and probably end up with a knife between your shoulders. Fight for them in Parliament, fight for them using your title and wealth, and the results will have a bigger and more far-reaching effect.”
    He had done what Stephen suggested, and though the going was slow he had made progress, and every time he won a small victory, he would think of his parents and smile. In the end he had won, not they.
    Looking around the interior of his carriage, he felt again the weight of what he had just done to Sophie. A woman should not be subjected to a man’s lust inside a carriage. Guilt made him want to turn the carriage around and seek her out to ensure she was all right, but he knew she would not receive him. He could still feel her in his arms, the texture of her skin and the lush swell of her breasts in his hands and dear God, his body began to respond to the memory of how she had encased him like a glove as he drove deep into her.
    “I will find all your answers, Sophie, Countess of Monmouth,” Patrick vowed as his carriage pulled to a halt in front of his town house. “And then you will be mine.”

CHAPTER SIX
    “Sophie, are you in there, dear?”
    Taking a deep breath, Sophie opened the door to her bedroom. “Yes, Letty,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face.
    “Poole said you were asking after me,