The Countess Page 0,73

didn't make her feel that way.

"I am surprised you do embroidery," Richard said suddenly. "From al Langley has told me it sounded as if you were more into horseback riding and other physical pursuits while growing up."

"Yes." She smiled faintly at the thought of her childhood, and explained, "Robert was often at our home while we were growing up, and we were always running, jumping, riding and whatnot. I fear my sisters and I were never real y interested in the more ladylike pursuits such as" - she glanced down at the cloth in her hand and grimaced - "needlework."

"And yet you do it now," he pointed out.

"Dicky - I mean George - "

"You can cal him Dicky if you like," he interrupted gently. "I don't mind so long as you never cal me Dicky again. That was George's nickname for me and I always hated it."

Christiana nodded, but simply said, "He insisted I learn embroidery and other more ladylike pursuits. He said I was far too unruly and needed to learn discipline and needlework would teach it to me."

"Control ing idiot," Richard snorted with disgust, and suddenly leaned across the smal space and snatched the cloth from her.

"Richard!" she cried with surprise, and then half rose from her seat to try grab it back. "Give me that back."

He merely held the cloth behind his head and asked, "Do you enjoy it or do you only do it because he said you should and it has become a habit?"

"I - wel . . ." She frowned and muttered, "It would not hurt me to learn to be a proper lady. Mother died shortly after Lisa was born and I fear Father let us run a bit wild. We didn't learn what most girls do."

"That does not answer my question. Do you enjoy it?" he repeated, grabbing her arm to steady her as they hit a rut in the road.

"No," she admitted on a sigh. "I do not like it at al ."

"Just as I thought," he said dryly. Richard opened the window and tossed the embroidery out. Christiana gaped after the fluttering bit of cloth, and then turned to peer at him in amazement. "I cannot believe you just did that."

"Believe it," Richard said solemnly. "You do not need to do embroidery if you do not like it. I wil not try to change you. You can be yourself with me."

She stared into his face for a moment and then swal owed a sudden lump in her throat and shook her head. "You do not know me. What if you do not like me once you do? Dicky said I was - "

"My brother was an idiot," he assured her solemnly. "He was selfish and self-absorbed and lacked the capacity to care about anyone but himself. In truth, I suspect al those efforts to try to control and change you were based in envy."

"Envy?" Christiana asked with surprise.

Richard nodded. "You have something he never possessed and never could.

You appear to have a basic optimism and joy in life. I've seen it. Oh, I'm sure you worry when trouble strikes and can have a sad day like anyone else, but you can also just as quickly shed your fears and worries and smile and enjoy life once those worries pass. I do not think George enjoyed a single day in his life. I do not think he ever felt hope, or happiness. Perhaps he was afraid that if he did find happiness it would be snatched away, but whatever the case, he just did not have it in him. I suspect that is why he liked to take it from others." Richard peered at her solemnly.

"From what I can tel he spent the last year trying to browbeat that happiness out of you."

"And he tried to steal it from you by having you kil ed and taking your name and position in society," she said quietly. "And yet as you say, he wasn't happy."

"No, he wasn't," Richard agreed, but his voice was distracted this time, his gaze suddenly fixed. Christiana raised her eyebrows at the change in both his expression and the sudden tightening of his fingers on her arm, and then glanced down and saw what had caught his attention. She stil stood in the half-bent position she'd taken when she'd tried to grab back her embroidery. It left her slightly bent at the waist, and her chest directly before his eyes with the neckline gaping to reveal a good