Free Dreams of Desire by Cheryl Holt Page B

harass Esther, you’ll take all the fun out of my visit.”
    “I mean it, Barbara. You’ll behave, or you’ll leave.”
    She smiled a slow, seductive smile. “I’ll be as good as I can be. You won’t even know I’m here.”
    “Now that I doubt.”
    She leaned down and placed a tender kiss on his cheek, then she sauntered out, and he was all alone in the austere, somber room. His heart was beating so hard that he wondered if it might simply burst from his chest.
    His hands shaking, he grabbed the decanter, filled a glass to the rim, and finally had the drink he so desperately needed.
     
    “WILL that be all, Lady Barbara?”
    “Yes, Peg, but I’d like you to come back in an hour to dress my hair. Since my son has arrived, I want to look especially grand when I join him for supper.”
    “Yes, milady.”
    The girl curtsied and tiptoed out, being so deferential and polite that Barbara might never have been away a single day.
    The door shut behind her, and Barbara slumped in her chair, weak with relief that she’d bluffed her way into staying, that John hadn’t sent her packing as she’d absolutely feared he might.
    She’d been in Italy, flat broke and suffering through Giorgio’s lengthy demise, and she’d assumed she would continue on in the foreign country after his death. But once he’d passed away, his villa had been so quiet, and creditors had begun circling, so she couldn’t remain.
    Yet where was she to go? She’d burned all her bridges.
    She’d been married at fifteen and had been much too immature to deal with the very demanding and much older Charles Middleton. When she’d foolishly fled, she’d been suffocating on his rules and criticisms. She shouldn’t have run off, but she had, and that fact couldn’t be changed.
    If John ever learned the truth of how she’d struggled, perhaps he wouldn’t be so smugly derisive. Her life had been horrendously difficult, romance and security fleeting.
    She’d let her army captain convince her that Charles would forgive their impulsive flight, that funds would be provided to tide them over, but they hadn’t been. Six months of poverty and bickering had doomed the amour.
    After he’d abandoned her, she’d engaged in a series of torrid affairs with Europe’s most eligible bachelors, but at age forty-six, she was destitute and exhausted. England had called to her in a manner she hadn’t supposed possible.
    She’d been notified that Charles was dead, that John was the earl, but she hadn’t been able to predict how he would react to her return. A brazen appearance had seemed best, and she’d chosen to make it at Penworth Castle. It was far from London, so if he’d spurned her, gossip would have been minimized, but mostly, she’d come because she’d always cherished the wild spot.
    In her short tenure as countess, she’d visited many times. She’d curried favor with the servants, and they still adored her. Nary a one had suggested she wasn’t welcome, and all of them were happy to complain about Esther and how the family had never been the same after she had taken Barbara’s place.
    It was a small solace, but comfort nonetheless.
    She sat at her dressing table and gazed in the mirror. Her hair and face were still beautiful, but there were tiny wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Where had the years gone? Could she get some of them back?
    She had to try.
    John was the only person on earth who might ultimately exhibit the least amount of concern for her. She had to make him love her again, and she was determined to wear him down until he relented and she earned his pardon.
    Footsteps marched up the stairs, heralding the encounter for which she’d been waiting. She poured a glass of wine and went to relax on the sofa in front of the fire. The door was flung open, a bevy of servants hustling in. Esther followed behind.
    “Put my trunks in the ...”
    Esther stumbled to a halt and gaped at Barbara, not understanding what she was seeing. It was the