Page 5 of A Countess Never Tells

With a mental sigh, Ash turned back to Miss Fitzhugh, whose parents apparently didn’t know his reputation or, even better, didn’t care. Her mother had greeted him warmly and actually encouraged his conversation with her daughter. Many matchmaking mamas had welcomed him with open arms in the past, their eyes set on the prize of making their daughters his countess. For once, he welcomed their attentions and prayed for short memories.

For the past fifteen years, Ash had had no intention of marrying. At least not anytime soon. As men could sire children into their dotage, he’d assumed he could live a cracking good life as a bachelor well into his fifties. His twenties had proved so filled with pleasure, why on earth would he wish to shackle himself to one woman for the rest of his life? He had fully intended to polish his reputation as a notorious rake until the mere mention of his name would make women sigh while their fathers or brothers barred the door.

But that had been before an encounter in Italy that had turned his life upside down. Near-death experiences changed a man. Hopefully for the better.

“Are you ready, my lord?” The fresh-faced Miss Fitzhugh looked at him eagerly, as though impatient for him to offer his arm.

It was exceedingly difficult to switch from a rakish assessment of a young lady to a suitor’s, but he was getting used to it. He instinctively understood he’d have no problem luring the lady into some dark corner or out on a verandah. If the shadows were deep enough, she might even allow him to spill her charms over the top of her bodice and sample their sweetness. An excellent prospect for a rakish gentleman.

Less so from the perspective of a future husband. Still, he liked spirit in a woman and a little flirtation might help him find the woman he wished to marry.

At last, he offered his arm to his partner. “Let us hurry, my dear. Before we miss the set.”

He and Miss Fitzhugh, who was rather pretty in a dark-haired, pleasingly plump sort of way, joined the longways set for “Grimstock,” the bottom couple of a set of three. Miss Fitzhugh’s cheeks were an alarming shade of red already, with the dance yet to begin. Pray God the lady did not see fit to swoon.

The tinkling strains of the music began, and Ash stepped toward his partner, meeting her in the middle of the set then back. Not his favorite dance by far, not enough time to commune or flirt as the couples must constantly move. They’d finished the first group of dance steps and now began a series of movements up and down the set, weaving in and out with the other couples. His own partner seemed to be enjoying herself immensely—a mark in her favor. He wanted a lively companion in all things.

As they began to step forward and back from their partners, Ash glanced at the three couples beside them and found himself grinning at a very startled Miss Tate. She and her partner were the lead couple for that set and so stood or danced right next to Ash and Miss Fitzhugh.

Miss Tate, whose cheeks were now blood red, flashed him a smile that took Ash aback then turned to her partner—old Quatford, who must be more than forty now—and danced away down the set.

Bewildered by that smile, Ash shook his head then became involved in his set’s movements, although because of their positions, he could watch Miss Tate’s enchanting figure as she and Quatford went through the steps. Her bodice was low, and she’d forgotten or lost her fichu, if indeed she’d had one, so the tops of her breasts appeared about to overflow the garment. The dark contrast of the black bows next to her pure white skin stirred Ash’s groin as he wondered if her nipples were dark as well—a perpetual contrast between the parts of her flesh. Lord, he really should not let his rakish thoughts get the best of him.

Ash had to jerk his attention back to Miss Fitzhugh and their set as they wove in and out once more. His hopes for a chance to dance with Miss Tate again rose, although he still had doubts about it.

Perhaps she was one of those crusading ladies who’d ignore what her friend told her and persuade herself she was the lady to make him reform his rakish ways. Those were the ladies he used to enjoy seducing most. They’d always looked so surprised afterward, as he was buttoning his fall and taking his leave. He hoped Miss Tate would prove one of those. For totally different reasons now.

Chapter 3

The repast at Lady Sutherland’s supper left something to be desired, in Ash’s opinion. The beef was overcooked, the sauce for the vegetables tasteless, and the crust of the savory pie soggy. Then again, perhaps it was simply the company that wasn’t palatable. He kept a perpetual smile on his face while conversing about banal topics with Miss Fitzhugh, but his gaze and thoughts tended to drift over to Miss Tate, sitting two tables away with Lord Quatford dancing attendance on her.

“Don’t you think so, Lord Ashwood?” The laughing face of Miss Fitzhugh came back into focus—round but pleasant, to be sure, with pink cheeks, a turned-up nose, and a merry mouth.

“Of course, my dear. How could you even ask such a thing?” Ash had only a vague idea of what he’d agreed to, something having to do with the likelihood of a carriage horse winning the Derby. With a sigh, he turned his full attention back to his supper partner. Better that than inadvertently agreeing to another dance with her this evening.

“That would be a foolish wager indeed, my lord.” Colonel Fitzhugh broke into their conversation, a welcome diversion.

“Which is why I would never make such a one, I assure you, sir.” Sipping his wine, Ash suddenly wished he’d not asked Miss Fitzhugh for the supper dance. She was pretty enough to tempt him to dance, but a little of her company went a decidedly long way. Better to have asked Lady Grace Abbot or Miss Humphries. They were longstanding acquaintances who might have entertained him better than Miss Fitzhugh’s eternal twittering—pity neither could be considered possible marriage partners. Lady Grace was already betrothed, and Miss Humphries had flatly turned him down when he’d asked her upon his return earlier this month. He’d soon be adding the name of his supper companion to the list of those who “would not do,” for the young lady had not stopped talking since he came to claim his dance almost half an hour ago. Now he was counting the minutes until the musicians struck up again and released him to seek out a new partner and a new prospect.

And after that one, Miss Tate.

Another glance in her direction showed her deep in conversation with Quatford. What on earth could they be talking about so avidly? The man had the depth of mind of a pigeon, so the lady must be bored to tears. Too bad he and Miss Tate couldn’t console one another about their unsuitable partners. Ash sighed and finished his wine. Not much longer now, and he’d be free to pursue someone else—anyone else at all would do at the moment.

“Lord Ashwood, will you come shooting with me in August?” The colonel nodded agreeably to him. “I’ve a mind to get up a party to go to Scotland for the Glorious Twelfth.”

“You have property there, Colonel?” Ash might give the matter serious thought if the party were well organized.

“Uh, no…I don’t have property myself.” Colonel Fitzhugh looked uncomfortable.

“An acquaintance with access to land, then?”

“Not exactly. There’s someone in my regiment—he’s Scots, you know—who’ll assist me in planning the party, I’m certain.” The colonel lifted his wine glass and took a long draft.

“Well, do let me know if you’re able to make it up.” Not a serious shooting party, then. More of a ploy to keep him interested in Miss Fitzhugh. Sadly for the colonel, that was not to be. The young lady was comely, but too young and talkative to keep his attention long enough to pursue even an acquaintance, much less a marriage. Regretfully, he’d already invited the whole family to Vauxhall tomorrow night, so he’d have to endure another evening’s prattling.

If only the musicians would take their places, he could escape one unfortunate association and continue the chase of another.

His gaze slid over to Miss Tate’s table, to admire her pleasing figure and animated manner. Oh, yes, the chase for her was most definitely on. Seeing her flirting with Quatford had sealed her fate. Ash was determined to have that second dance now so he could plead his case.