An Unlikely Countess Read Free Page A

to the sword of Damocles struggled to form, and failed.
    He sniffed at the brandy. Not good stuff, but perhaps not atrocious. He poured half an inch into one glass and pushed it over to her. He poured the same into the other. He’d normally take more, but even half an inch might be enough to send her under the table. He didn’t want her sozzled, only loose tongued.
    And in his arms?
    No, he had no place in his life for folly like that, but he’d help her if he could.
    The spaniel appeared at his knee, whining again, but this time begging for attention.
    “Away with you, coward.”
    “Don’t be cruel,” she said. “Toby, come here.”
    The dog slid away and only then did Cate notice that it was missing a hind leg. Devil take it, a lame dog to add to a lame duck—though falcon seemed more worthy for the goddess. He picked up his glass and drank, knowing he should leave before he was entangled.
    She sipped and grimaced. But then she sipped again, thoughtfully. A woman willing to explore new experiences. Another hook in his heart.
    “Will you give me your name, ma’am?”
    “No.”
    “I’ve given you mine.”
    “Then I’ve forgotten it.”
    He hesitated, for the Burgoyne family home, Keynings, was less than twenty miles away, but he preferred honesty.
    “Castesby Burgoyne, at your service.”
    She cradled the glass as if it might warm her. “An odd name, Catesby.”
    “My mother’s family name. Yes, the line of Robert Catesby who led the papist Gunpowder Plot to blow up King James the First and take his Parliament with him.”
    “The Guy Fawkes affair? A strange heritage to pass on to a son.”
    “I’ve often thought so, but she sees the name as representing one who stands firm to his principles.”
    “Are you papist, then?”
    “No, and nor is she, or her parents or grandparents.”
    Her lips twitched, and humor sparked in her heavy-lidded eyes. Another hook. Or rather, two. A ready sense of humor and striking eyes. Would she laugh during the passion her eyes promised? That too was what he liked.
    He toasted her. “I didn’t claim my mother was a rational woman. Does your name have such grisly connotations? Judith, perhaps, who cut off the head of invading Holofernes? Boadicea who led her armies against the Romans?”
    She merely smiled.
    “You hold your silence? Then I christen you Hera.”
    “Wife of Zeus?”
    “Queen of the gods.”
    “By virtue of marriage, however. I would rather be Judith, who acted on her own.”
    “There’s a man you wish to behead?”
    She merely sipped more brandy, but all humor had left her as she contemplated the knife.
    “Your brother, perhaps? A lawyer—and a gamester?”
    She looked at him, startled. “What made you think that?”
    “Poverty.”
    “Aaron’s not poor.”
    “Then he’s unkind.”
    She took another sip of her brandy. She’d be swigging it soon, but it hadn’t loosened her tongue. He poured a little more into her glass and topped up his own.
    “I have a brother,” he said to encourage her, “but he’s a prince among men. A tender son, a devoted husband, a loving but firm father.”
    “You’re fortunate, then.”
    “I’m sure I am.”
    She cocked her head. “He’s not all that he appears?”
    “He is.”
    “But you resent it. Because you are none of those things?”
    As sharp as her knife, damn her, but it added to his admiration.
    “Your brother?” he insisted. “How can he see you in this state? You were clearly born to better things.”
    “He doesn’t see me. He doesn’t visit. Not since Mother died, and we lived elsewhere then.” She drank more brandy and then cradled her glass, staring at the play of candle flame on spirit. “I thought him a tender son. A good brother.”
    The brandy was doing its work at last. Cate could dimly remember when such a small amount had made him babble. Long, long ago.
    “Until?” he prompted.
    “Yesterday. Yesterday, I still clung to hope. Today I received his letter.” She looked at an