Read Online A Notorious Countess Confesses (PG7) by Julie Anne Long - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Julie Anne Long
Ads: Link
life of nearly everyone who lived in Pennyroyal Green. With the notable exception of his cousins, of course.
“Do either of you know her origins?”
The Irish accent was the missing piece of the puzzle.
“Seems to be a bit of a mystery surrounding that,” Ian told him, catching Polly’s eye and gesturing with his chin for more ale for all of them. Which she brought straightaway, gifting Adam with a glorious smile which, in his distraction, he failed to notice, breaking her heart for the thousandth time. “Never gave it much thought.”
“Mmm,” was all Adam said.
He had no trouble believing that the countess was scandal incarnate.
A wayward little surge of protectiveness—toward her, and toward himself—made him keep this notion, and their encounter on the downs, and the Irish accent, to himself. “Why do you suppose she was doing in church this morning?”
Colin shrugged. “Belated concern for her immortal soul? Craving a new experience? I daresay when another man she deems worthy of her favors comes along, she’ll be gone. Until then, I doubt anyone will receive her should she deign to call. Nor will anyone call on her. Unless it’s the town vicar, of course. Out of, oh, say … parish duty.”
A fraught little silence followed. It contained both challenge and warning.
For unlike his cousins, Adam had never had the option of flinging himself into gleeful debauchery. He’d hardly led a joyless existence, but to do debauchery properly—gaming hells, horse races, bawdy theater, the very idea of courtesans—one must have plenty of money and time.
Whereas God willing, neither of his cousins would ever administer last rites to a baby as it drew its last breath, then comfort the sobbing mother.
In other words, though it hardly mattered much of the time, there was a gulf of experience and privilege and obligation between them. Adam was both more and less innocent than the two of them.
Not to mention the countess.
And now, ironically, his entire way of life depended on behaving faultlessly and standing before his parishioners and reminding them of the perils of behaving, in essence, like the Everseas.
Or like the widowed Countess of Wareham.
Adam would be ruined if his name became linked to the countess in any way. Whereas if Ian, for instance, wanted to pursue her, there was very little stopping him. One would almost expect it of him.
All three of them knew it.
Courtesan. His imagination sank deeper and deeper into the word as if it were comprised of dense furs. He couldn’t seem to extricate himself. For the very word conjured exotic realms of pleasure.
He was far too long overdue for pleasure. That was the trouble.
And once again, his fingers tightened around his ale.
“I suppose I could pay her a visit. Perhaps crawl up the trellis to her balcony. Isn’t that how one normally pays visits to countesses? Or should I go in through a window?”
Colin had once plummeted from a trellis leading up to the balcony of a married countess. Ian had once been ignominiously sent stark naked out the window of a duke’s erstwhile fiancée and forced to walk home in one boot.
Both of them hated to be reminded of those two little episodes.
“Get married, Adam,” Ian suggested, not unsympathetically. “It solved the problem of … Colin.” As if Colin’s oat-sowing was a contagion stemmed by matrimony. “And virginity grows back if you go too long between.”
Adam rolled his eyes.
A raggedly tipsy cheer went up then; Jonathan Redmond had apparently just won another game of darts. They turned toward the sound just as man sitting across from them looked up. His eyes were dark; his nose was bold, his chin square. Not an elegant face, but a face with character. He raised a glass and nodded politely. Adam and Ian and Colin returned the greeting with similar nods.
Colin lowered his voice. “Lord Landsdowne. Every day for the past fortnight he’s sent flowers to Olivia. A subtly different bouquet every
“Do either of you know her origins?”
The Irish accent was the missing piece of the puzzle.
“Seems to be a bit of a mystery surrounding that,” Ian told him, catching Polly’s eye and gesturing with his chin for more ale for all of them. Which she brought straightaway, gifting Adam with a glorious smile which, in his distraction, he failed to notice, breaking her heart for the thousandth time. “Never gave it much thought.”
“Mmm,” was all Adam said.
He had no trouble believing that the countess was scandal incarnate.
A wayward little surge of protectiveness—toward her, and toward himself—made him keep this notion, and their encounter on the downs, and the Irish accent, to himself. “Why do you suppose she was doing in church this morning?”
Colin shrugged. “Belated concern for her immortal soul? Craving a new experience? I daresay when another man she deems worthy of her favors comes along, she’ll be gone. Until then, I doubt anyone will receive her should she deign to call. Nor will anyone call on her. Unless it’s the town vicar, of course. Out of, oh, say … parish duty.”
A fraught little silence followed. It contained both challenge and warning.
For unlike his cousins, Adam had never had the option of flinging himself into gleeful debauchery. He’d hardly led a joyless existence, but to do debauchery properly—gaming hells, horse races, bawdy theater, the very idea of courtesans—one must have plenty of money and time.
Whereas God willing, neither of his cousins would ever administer last rites to a baby as it drew its last breath, then comfort the sobbing mother.
In other words, though it hardly mattered much of the time, there was a gulf of experience and privilege and obligation between them. Adam was both more and less innocent than the two of them.
Not to mention the countess.
And now, ironically, his entire way of life depended on behaving faultlessly and standing before his parishioners and reminding them of the perils of behaving, in essence, like the Everseas.
Or like the widowed Countess of Wareham.
Adam would be ruined if his name became linked to the countess in any way. Whereas if Ian, for instance, wanted to pursue her, there was very little stopping him. One would almost expect it of him.
All three of them knew it.
Courtesan. His imagination sank deeper and deeper into the word as if it were comprised of dense furs. He couldn’t seem to extricate himself. For the very word conjured exotic realms of pleasure.
He was far too long overdue for pleasure. That was the trouble.
And once again, his fingers tightened around his ale.
“I suppose I could pay her a visit. Perhaps crawl up the trellis to her balcony. Isn’t that how one normally pays visits to countesses? Or should I go in through a window?”
Colin had once plummeted from a trellis leading up to the balcony of a married countess. Ian had once been ignominiously sent stark naked out the window of a duke’s erstwhile fiancée and forced to walk home in one boot.
Both of them hated to be reminded of those two little episodes.
“Get married, Adam,” Ian suggested, not unsympathetically. “It solved the problem of … Colin.” As if Colin’s oat-sowing was a contagion stemmed by matrimony. “And virginity grows back if you go too long between.”
Adam rolled his eyes.
A raggedly tipsy cheer went up then; Jonathan Redmond had apparently just won another game of darts. They turned toward the sound just as man sitting across from them looked up. His eyes were dark; his nose was bold, his chin square. Not an elegant face, but a face with character. He raised a glass and nodded politely. Adam and Ian and Colin returned the greeting with similar nods.
Colin lowered his voice. “Lord Landsdowne. Every day for the past fortnight he’s sent flowers to Olivia. A subtly different bouquet every
Similar Books
