Free How I Met My Countess by Elizabeth Boyle Page B

I was.” But then Malcolm’s interest turned to more immediate concerns. “Bloody hell, I’m starved and parched. I don’t know which I want more.”
    Clifton agreed but didn’t say it aloud. The house was eerily silent—for much to his surprise, he found he’d gotten used to the nearly constant cacophony of the Ellysons, which made the silence all that much more unnerving.
    And it was that stillness that made their stealth all that much more imperative, for one misstep could awaken Ellyson, who had finally dozed off in his chair by the fire.
    If the man awoke, the earl wouldn’t put it past the fellow to rise up with another long list of “must knows” and “have we gone overs.”
    No, this was the opportunity Clifton and Malcolm had been waiting for, and, after sharing a glance that spoke volumes, they had made their escape the first moment the man snored.
    Demmit, I hope that innkeeper still has a pot of soup on the fire.
    Clifton nodded. And a good bottle of claret.
    If they were lucky, the earl thought. He was exhausted enough that more than likely half a bottle would put him into a deep, sound sleep, where worries over coming home alive wouldn’t compete with visions of Lucy and her luscious, kissable lips.
    For in those moments, as they’d ambled up the lane, her capable hand on his sleeve, her witty repartee challenging him to think beyond the usual limited subjects one had to draw from to converse with a lady, he’d found himself … well, not captivated, certainly not that, but something else …
    Just as he didn’t understand whatever had compelled him to think of kissing her. Well, the fact that she was a pretty bit of baggage might have had a hand in that.
    A fiery, passionate, beautiful woman lurking beneath her fierce bravado.
    So Lucy, have you ever been in love?
    No. Most certainly not.
    It wasn’t just the denial in her voice that still resonated through him but the challenge behind her words as well.
    As if she dared him to try. To try and seduce her, to uncover her secrets, unlock her lips and ignite the passions lurking beneath her unfashionable gown.
    Not to just let her be his faux mistress in this deception but to actually take her to his bed and make her his mistress by deed.
    With his heart and his body.
    Clifton took a deep breath and did his best to shake off that notion, but when he opened his eyes and took a glance down the rest of the steps, who but Lucy herself stood there in the foyer, waiting for him.
    Tray in hand, that wry, challenging look on her face, and her glorious black hair tumbling from its pins.
    “Well done, gentlemen,” she said. “Am I to surmise that you are practicing an escape and found the right moment when Papa finally fell asleep?” She glanced over her shoulder at the mantel clock.
    “Yes, and right on schedule. He usually does doze off about now. Have a care as you come down the stairs, the last one is a bit uneven,” she said with that saucy air of importance of hers, “or you’ll be eating your dinner from the floor.”
    “According to your father,” Malcolm said, “that may be the best we can hope for in the days to come.”
    “Frightening you with tales of starvation, is he?” she asked. “ Tsk. Tsk. He usually doesn’t start scaring recruits with stories from Egypt until the end of the second week.”
    “We are not easily frightened,” Clifton told her.
    “You would be if you had any sense,” she shot back. Her gaze flitted up and just as quickly glanced back down at the tray in her hands. “Besides, you have no worries of an empty stomach tonight. I’ve seen to that.”
    “Is that what I think it is?” Malcolm asked, elbowing past Clifton and reaching out to take the tray from her, relieving Lucy of her burden.
    For which he was rewarded with one of her rare, bright smiles.
    Clifton cursed himself for not thinking of it first.
    But then again, good manners didn’t seem to come right to mind when she was in front of him—for