The Christmas of a Countess (The Holidays of the Aristocracy Book 1) Read online

  “Truly.” When Milton realized his wife didn’t really believe him, he added, “Despite this past year’s unfortunate weather, I am still rather rich, Adele. A result of careful investments made by my cousin, Gregory, on behalf of the earldom, and because the Torrington earldom does rather well, despite where it’s located.” Northumberland might seem a desolate wasteland by those who didn’t know better, but the Torrington earldom was quite rich from its coal. He paused a moment. “And even if I wasn’t rich, your inheritance would allow us a more than adequate living.”

  Reminded of her late husband’s fortune—Samuel Worthington’s involvement with the early steam ships had paid off handsomely—Adele finally relaxed a bit. Although the assets could have been claimed by Milton upon their marriage, he had instead insisted the money remain in her name. You may keep it or spend it or divest it as you see fit, he had told her on their wedding day. I did not marry you for your fortune.

  Despite his words, she was quite sure he was glad when she didn’t give it all to her favorite charity.

  “I am relieved to hear it,” Adele murmured, turning her attention to her soup.

  Milton merely nodded, rather glad to assuage her concerns so easily. After swallowing a spoonful of soup, he decided to mention his plans for Christmastide. “I was thinking we could go to Torrington Park for the holiday. Just the two of us.”

  Adele’s soup spoon clattered a bit before landing on the table, and the countess lifted her head to regard him warily. “Northumberland?” she repeated in alarm. “Without benefit of servants?”

  Her husband blinked, and he blinked again before giving his head a shake. “Oh, there will be servants. We will take my valet and your lady’s maid, of course. Torrington Park always has a small household staff. And a butler,” he explained, the last said as if there weren’t usually any butlers in Northumberland. “I was just thinking I wouldn’t invite anyone else to join us. So that we might... ” He paused, realizing he was about to admit he wanted her all to himself for two or three weeks.

  Wanted her undivided attention.

  Most of all, he wanted her in his bed every night.

  Truth be told, he wanted her in his bed all day as well.

  Why the hell am I so randy these days?

  “So that we might...?” Adele prompted, a shiver of excitement racing down her spine. Memories of what he had done to her the night before had her breasts swelling.

  Milton allowed a shrug. “Spend more time in each other’s company, I suppose,” he said sheepishly.

  Given his sudden temerity, Adele narrowed her eyes, intending to tease him. “Are you suggesting you wish to spend more time...?” She clamped her lips shut when the footman reappeared with the first meat course. The sudden silence between them had her giving her husband a beseeching look.

  With the servant’s attention on dishing up a serving on each of their plates, Milton took the opportunity to pantomime kissing, but he was forced to change what he was doing with his lips when the footman glanced up and asked if he wished to have more on his plate.

  Stifling the urge to giggle, Adele simply waved a hand to indicate the amount on her plate was adequate when the footman looked her way. When he set down the plates and finally left the dining room, she allowed a smile of embarrassment. “Milton!” she admonished him. “You’ll scandalize the servants.”

  Her husband wasn’t about to inform her they were well past being scandalized.

  “I cannot help myself,” Milton replied, stabbing his fork into his beef with a bit more force than was necessary. “There are times I want you so badly, I cannot think straight.”

  Adele’s eyes widened, his words giving her a thrill she had never experienced with her first husband, and certainly not with the man’s brother.

  Whatever had she done to have Milton Torrington lusting for her so?

  They were married. Had been for nearly seven months. She had feared that by now, his supposed thirst for her would have been slaked, his attention captured by some other woman.

  Instead, he seemed more beholden to her than ever before.

  He hadn’t been this way with her at the beginning of their relationship. His initial overtures had been tentative, made during a rare event at Lord Huntington’s townhouse. Adele knew of Milton’s reputation, of course. He was famous for choosing a different widow every Season and squiring her about to the various entertainments the ton had to offer. If there wasn’t a ball or a soirée, there was the theatre and musicales.

  Then, at the end of the Season, when most aristocrats left the city to return to their homes in the country, he would bestow his latest paramour with a bauble from Stedman and Vardon, wish her well, and go about his life until the following Season when he would do it all over again with a different widow.

  He never felt enough affection for any of the widows to propose marriage—that is, until he had spent just a month in Adele’s company—before last year’s spring events had even started, in fact. Indeed, the manner in which he had approached her after Lord Huntington’s dinner party had her thinking he was merely being polite. A bit of small talk, a question as to how she was faring after the death of her husband, and the mention of her broken engagement with Weston seemed to have set the stage for him to make his move.

  Except he didn’t.

  He did ask if he might pay a call on her the following day. Join me for luncheon, she had suggested, sure her sudden blush was apparent to the earl.

  I thought you would never ask, he responded before lifting her hand to his lips to kiss the back of it. He didn’t stop there, though. He also kissed her on the corner of her mouth, as if he was completely oblivious to the others who milled about in the vestibule until Huntington’s footmen had their coats and mantles draped over their shoulders. Then he escorted her to her town coach, helped her inside, and followed her in.

  Although she had half a mind to put voice to a protest, Adele knew it would come off as false. She wanted the earl’s company as much as he seemed to want hers.

  Once at Worthington House, she noted how he ignored the disapproving frown Bernard bestowed on him as he assisted her with her mantle. Then, when it appeared as if he would be taking his leave of the house—as if he had only ridden with her in the coach to ensure she arrived safely at Worthington House—she placed a staying hand on his arm and invited him to stay for a drink. I have a bottle of my younger brother’s very best scotch, she said with an elegantly arched brow.

  Of course Milton would be familiar with Donald Slater’s scotch. The Devonville marquessate benefitted from the sales of the golden fluid, her older brother, William, having funded the enterprise back when he first inherited. Before that, their father hadn’t considered the distillery a means to earn an income.

  I would be honored, Milton had replied, placing a hand over hers and leading her to the library. How he had known where to go, she had no idea. As far as she knew, the earl had never been in Worthington House.

  Once inside the library, he had shut the door, saw to it she was settled on the small divan near the fireplace, made his way to the silver salver on which stood a bottle and several crystal tumblers, and poured them both a finger’s worth.

  Although she rarely drank the Devonville scotch, Adele did on this occasion. There was something about the earl that had her feeling nervous and excited and ever so vulnerable just then. Despite knowing him nearly her entire life, she had never known him like this. Never thought she might be the focus of his attentions.

  The focus of his intentions.

  Emboldened by the fiery liquid, she leaned against the back of the divan and watched him drain his scotch in a single gulp.

  I’ve a proposition for you, he had said then, setting his tumbler on a library shelf before joining her on the divan, one of his thighs suddenly pressed against hers.

  Oh? she had replied, amazed at the thrill that shot through her body just then.

  Do an old man a favor by allowing me to escort you to this
Season’s events.

  Do an old widow a favor and help me host my musicale, she countered, rather shocked at how bold she sounded with her rejoinder. But it would be the true test of how serious his intentions might be, Adele figured.

  I would be honored.

  Adele had blinked. Her surprise at hearing his response must have showed, for Milton gave a slight shrug before kissing her on the cheek. When she turned her head toward him, he kissed her on the lips. The slow, sweet kiss had her lifting a hand to his head so that she might spear her fingers through his graying hair. The move, interpreted as an invitation to continue, had him pulling her body atop his lap, one hand slipping beneath her skirts to push them up along her stockinged calves, along her bare thighs—

  “I do hope whatever you’re imagining includes me,” Milton commented from the other end of the table, his wine glass held aloft as he gazed at his wife. “You look as if you’re in ecstasy.”

  Adele gave her head a quick shake, as if to clear it of the memory of the first time Milton had ever made love to her. “I almost was,” she murmured, managing to keep a mewl of disappointment from sounding. “Forgive me. I was... remembering the night you put voice to your proposition.”

  Intrigued, the earl set down his wine glass and regarded his wife. “Fondly, it would seem,” he ventured.

  “Indeed.” She allowed a teasing grin and may have colored up a bit at having been discovered reminiscing.

  Milton suddenly rose from his chair, toppling it in his haste to get to her end of the table. He jerked her chair from beneath the table and scooped her up from the seat.

  Momentarily stunned—she actually felt a bit of fear as his arms lifted her bottom onto the table—Adele couldn’t help the rush of excitement that passed through her body as one of his hands pushed her gown up one leg, couldn’t help but assist by gripping the other side of the red silk to pull it up her other leg. When the fabric was nearly to her hips, Milton was suddenly between her knees, the placket of his breeches already unbuttoned. She couldn’t help the thrill she experienced at hearing his growl of satisfaction as he impaled her. Or the secret delight she experienced when she heard his sigh of contentment as his face pressed onto the mounds of her breasts above the edge of her bodice. And, finally, she couldn’t help her own cry of pleasure as one of his thumbs pressed at exactly the right place to set off the orgasm she had almost imagined in her memory of their first night together. His own release followed, leaving him nearly unable to remain upright.

  “I probably should apologize,” he started to say as he finally lifted his head from her breast.

  “Oh, don’t you dare,” Adele countered just before kissing his forehead. “But if you must, you may do so when we share a bed this evening.”

  He allowed a murmur of agreement. “Given how cold it is every night, I should think we shall be sharing a bed for the remainder of winter,” he murmured. “And at Torrington Park?” he added, his voice tinged with hope.

  Adele gave a nod. “And at Torrington Park,” she finally agreed.

  It seemed a trip was in her future.

  Chapter 2

  Pondering a Trip

  Later, in Adele’s bedchamber

  Wondering what might have happened should the footman have reentered the dining room during her husband’s sudden fit of passion, Adele had to suppress a giggle. Ever the gentleman, Milton had seen to putting her gown to rights before reseating her at the table. Then she had watched as he made his way back to his carver, buttoning his breeches as he did so.

  The rest of dinner would have been boring except for his enthusiastic words about what they might do when up at Torrington Park. By the time the dessert course was served, Adele found she was looking forward to the trip to Northumberland.

  Remembering his comment about how it had been snowing, she moved to the bedchamber’s only window and pulled aside the drapes. At first only able to see her reflection in the wavy glass, she leaned forward and gave a start as something white flitted past. She cupped her face with her hands so she could better see what was beyond the cold glass.

  There it was again. A snowflake, twirling about in the slight breeze as it made its way down from the dark gray gloom above. Angling her head in an attempt to make out the gardens below, Adele allowed a gasp.

  There were no gardens. The entire area she could see behind Worthington House was covered with snow!

  Adele angled her head the other way, wondering if she was merely seeing a reflection of something else. But, no, everywhere below appeared white. Or light gray. It was hard to be sure, since the sun had never made an appearance on this or for several days prior. The eclipse on the eighteenth had completely blacked out what little sun there was, blanketing London in a twilight that seemed to last far longer than two minutes.

  This entire day had been gray, the city of London shrouded in a kind of perpetual gloom. Snow had begun to fall just before dinner, the flakes starting out as large, wet globs of crystals that dropped from the sky. When the temperature suddenly dropped, the flakes were smaller, more likely to get caught in the air currents between buildings so they danced about before finally making their way to the ground.

  Adele tried to remember a time when snow had blanketed the city and could only recall this past February as well as a few days in her youth. Back then, the white snow had quickly turned dark gray, soot having covered it shortly after it fell. At the Devonville country estate in Wiltshire, the snow would stay white for the entire time it was on the ground, making it possible to create delightful ices and snow ice cream.

  Adele rather doubted the Worthington House cook would be doing anything with this snow, though. By morning, it, too, would be as gray as the clouds and fog.

  She grinned at the thought of snow ice cream, wondering if her brother, William Slater, Marquess of Devonville, was thinking about snow ice cream over at Devonville House.

  Probably not. He was probably in bed with his younger wife, Cherise, thinking more carnal thoughts. The woman, a widow, had been on her brother’s mind since well before her husband’s death over a year-and-a-half ago. Why, the marquess had made sure he was the first to court Cherise the very day after she was out of mourning!

  It was no surprise they were married only a couple of weeks later.

  Adele couldn’t help but grin in remembering that her brother had at least waited to marry until after marrying off his only daughter, Hannah, to Henry Foster, Earl of Gisborn.

  She suddenly wondered if they were experiencing this same sort of snow up in Oxfordshire.

  Despite the huge crop losses across England, Milton had assured her he could afford the bauble he had purchased for her birthday. Adele fingered the bracelet on her left wrist, wondering how much the earl had spent. Stedman and Vardon will have a very happy Christmas, she thought with a wry smile. They had no doubt had a happy spring given the diamond and sapphire ring Milton had bestowed on her the day they wed. And later that night, when he wrapped her neck in a matching necklace as well as the following day when he wrapped her wrist in diamonds and sapphires.

  Your man of business must be rolling his eyes, she remembered saying in a scolding tone.

  Perhaps. But he knows I have good taste and the funds to back the purchase, he had replied proudly.

  Good taste, indeed. Although Adele wasn’t the first to be bestowed with jewels from the Earl of Torrington, she would be the last. The man had proposed at the end of February, claiming to have fallen in love with her.

  Having been left a widow when her first husband, Samuel Worthington, died, and having learned her next likely husband, William Weston, merely wanted her for her fortune to pay off gambling debts, Adele accepted the Earl of Torrington’s suit.

  No one had ever claimed to love her before.

  Despite having developed a rather hardened heart from her experience with Weston, she wasn’t positive Milton’s words were heartfelt. Not back then.

  She knew better now, though.

  M
onths of having been worshipped in either his bed or hers had quickly changed her mind.

  The thought had a shiver racing up her spine. And it wasn’t from the cold that permeated the glass pane in front of her.

  Adele glanced about her bedchamber, wondering if she would be spending the night here or in the master suite.

  She rather hoped it was the master suite. This room was rather chilly and growing colder by the moment. Daring a glance in the direction of the fireplace, she realized why.

  A fire hadn’t yet been lit. There weren’t even any lumps of coal in the bucket next to the fireplace.

  Adele allowed a sigh of disappointment.

  Simpkins obviously hadn’t paid a visit to the mistress suite during dinner. Nearly cursing her lady’s maid’s oversight, Adele moved from the window and made her way to the vanity.

  Although Simpkins would be joining her shortly to help her undress, she had half a mind to send the slightly older woman away. Simpkins had been her maid for nearly twenty years, so time had allowed the servant to put voice to her opinions more freely than would be allowed in most households. Adele found those opinions more and more annoying these days, and once Simpkins learned what she and Milton had discussed during dinner, Adele was sure the maid would complain.

  Bitterly.

  Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, had proposed a trip.

  The idea hadn’t surprised Adele. Indeed, despite the weather, she’d been expecting he would be announcing some kind of travel. They hadn’t been away from the capital except to attend the Duke of Chichester’s wedding in Sussex followed by their wedding trip, a short excursion to a Torrington estate in Kent. An especially chilly early spring was followed by a Season full of entertainments, including her annual musicale. She and Milton attended any number of balls and soirées, and they simply hadn’t had a chance to get away from the city during the summer.