Read Online The Cruel Count (Bantam Series No. 28) by Barbara Cartland - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barbara Cartland
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withdrew from the room in the light of the candle, that he was smiling unpleasantly.
She had forgotten her hatred of him while they had been eating the dinner she had cooked. But now it returned with a new force.
She was quite certain he was gloating over the fact that she would never have seen a room that was quite so unpleasant or horrible as this one.
It smelt of dust, dirt and the sweat of those who had used it. She was quite certain there would be fleas in the bed, if nothing worse!
The woman put the candle down on the table.
“Good night,” she said.
She was smiling and she even dropped an awkward curtsey.
“Good night and thank you,” Vesta replied.
The candlelight cast strange shadows on the ceiling. Vesta looked at the bed with horror. Then she crossed the room to the basin and washed her hands and face in the cold water.
It was only when her face was already wet that she looked apprehensively for a towel, and having seen it decided nothing would induce her to use it.
Instead she drew her handkerchief from her pocket and was wiping her face when there came a knock on the door.
“Who is it?” she asked nervously.
“I have brought you your things from my saddlebag,” the Count answered. “I thought you must have forgotten them.”
“Oh yes, as a matter of fact I had,” Vesta said. “Thank you for bringing them.”
She opened the door and took the bundle from him.
“Good night, Ma’am,” he said with a little bow, “I hope you sleep well.”
“I hope, Count, you also enjoy a good night,” she replied sweetly.
She shut the door and heard him go into the room next door. She held her little bundle containing her pretty nightgown and brushes closely in her arms.
She had no intention of undressing in this squalor. She was also aware that it was growing cold.
She could hear the Count moving about next door and suddenly she came to a decision. She sat down on the edge of the bed, but fearing the dirt of it would mark the skirt of her riding-habit, she put her black cloak under her.
She waited for what seemed to her a long time until there were no longer any sounds from the next room. Then she slipped off her small kid boots which undid at her ankles, and picking up everything she possessed including her brushes and nightgown she very quietly opened the door.
With her boots in her hand, fearful of every creak of the stairs, she moved as softly as she could down to the front room with the fire.
It was still burning because the Count had put a lot of wood on it. Vesta set down her possessions on one wooden settle and lying on the other covered herself with her black cloak.
It was uncomfortable not to have a pillow and after a moment she rose to put more wood on the fire, moving very quietly in case someone should hear her.
Then she slipped off her smart white braided jacket and rolled it up to make a pillow for her head, and lay down once again.
The seat was hard under her body, but the fire was warm and she suddenly realised she was very tired.
She had been through so much. The worry over her arrival, the agony and fear she had experienced on the ride, her battle, with the Count, had all taken their toll.
She felt her eyelids closing and then almost before she was aware of it she was fast asleep.
A log falling in the fire brought Vesta back through layers of sleep to consciousness.
She opened her eyes and she saw she was not alone.
Sitting on the wooden settle on the other side of the hearth was the Count. He was looking at her and she felt hazily it was perhaps the penetrating look in his dark eyes which had awoken her.
She stared at him for a moment and then drowsily still half asleep she said:
“I ... thought ... you were an ... eagle but you ... saved ... me.”
“An eagle?” he questioned in a deep voice.
“I was ... falling,” she murmured.
Then her eyes closed again and she went back to her dreams.
Chapter Four
Vesta awoke and saw light percolating through the
She had forgotten her hatred of him while they had been eating the dinner she had cooked. But now it returned with a new force.
She was quite certain he was gloating over the fact that she would never have seen a room that was quite so unpleasant or horrible as this one.
It smelt of dust, dirt and the sweat of those who had used it. She was quite certain there would be fleas in the bed, if nothing worse!
The woman put the candle down on the table.
“Good night,” she said.
She was smiling and she even dropped an awkward curtsey.
“Good night and thank you,” Vesta replied.
The candlelight cast strange shadows on the ceiling. Vesta looked at the bed with horror. Then she crossed the room to the basin and washed her hands and face in the cold water.
It was only when her face was already wet that she looked apprehensively for a towel, and having seen it decided nothing would induce her to use it.
Instead she drew her handkerchief from her pocket and was wiping her face when there came a knock on the door.
“Who is it?” she asked nervously.
“I have brought you your things from my saddlebag,” the Count answered. “I thought you must have forgotten them.”
“Oh yes, as a matter of fact I had,” Vesta said. “Thank you for bringing them.”
She opened the door and took the bundle from him.
“Good night, Ma’am,” he said with a little bow, “I hope you sleep well.”
“I hope, Count, you also enjoy a good night,” she replied sweetly.
She shut the door and heard him go into the room next door. She held her little bundle containing her pretty nightgown and brushes closely in her arms.
She had no intention of undressing in this squalor. She was also aware that it was growing cold.
She could hear the Count moving about next door and suddenly she came to a decision. She sat down on the edge of the bed, but fearing the dirt of it would mark the skirt of her riding-habit, she put her black cloak under her.
She waited for what seemed to her a long time until there were no longer any sounds from the next room. Then she slipped off her small kid boots which undid at her ankles, and picking up everything she possessed including her brushes and nightgown she very quietly opened the door.
With her boots in her hand, fearful of every creak of the stairs, she moved as softly as she could down to the front room with the fire.
It was still burning because the Count had put a lot of wood on it. Vesta set down her possessions on one wooden settle and lying on the other covered herself with her black cloak.
It was uncomfortable not to have a pillow and after a moment she rose to put more wood on the fire, moving very quietly in case someone should hear her.
Then she slipped off her smart white braided jacket and rolled it up to make a pillow for her head, and lay down once again.
The seat was hard under her body, but the fire was warm and she suddenly realised she was very tired.
She had been through so much. The worry over her arrival, the agony and fear she had experienced on the ride, her battle, with the Count, had all taken their toll.
She felt her eyelids closing and then almost before she was aware of it she was fast asleep.
A log falling in the fire brought Vesta back through layers of sleep to consciousness.
She opened her eyes and she saw she was not alone.
Sitting on the wooden settle on the other side of the hearth was the Count. He was looking at her and she felt hazily it was perhaps the penetrating look in his dark eyes which had awoken her.
She stared at him for a moment and then drowsily still half asleep she said:
“I ... thought ... you were an ... eagle but you ... saved ... me.”
“An eagle?” he questioned in a deep voice.
“I was ... falling,” she murmured.
Then her eyes closed again and she went back to her dreams.
Chapter Four
Vesta awoke and saw light percolating through the
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