by Eva Leigh
“But that’s all on the morrow,” he said cheerfully. “For now, I bid you all a very heartfelt good night.” He held out his hand, ushering his family and Lady Daleford toward the door.
As everyone began to file out, grumbling, Tamsyn stepped close to whisper in his ear, “They think your behavior to be scandalous.”
He sent her a lopsided grin. “What’s one more scandal?”
“Indeed,” she said with a mischievous smile.
Ah, damn, I think I truly like this woman.
Finally, after receiving one last affronted glare from his father, they were gone.
“There’s always the possibility that we’ve disappointed them,” Tamsyn said wryly.
His smile didn’t waver. “A third son is always a disappointment, even if he becomes an earl.” He ran a placating finger down her cheek, and the softness of her skin roused him.
Soon.
Coming back to himself, he continued brightly, “Now that we’ve liberated ourselves from our oppressive guests, the celebration can happen in earnest.”
“Truly, though,” she said, laying a hand on his arm, “you didn’t have to send your family away on my account.”
The spontaneous touch of her hand upon his sleeve sent a jolt through him. Their kiss formalizing their union had been quick, chaste—a far cry from the heat that had risen up between them so quickly days earlier—yet the feel of her now stoked the furnace of his growing desire.
“They’ll recover from the indignity,” Kit said optimistically. “In time, when I’m generating more wealth than my father, everyone will come to an accord.”
“Nonetheless,” she said, smiling, “your gallantry on my behalf is appreciated.”
He pressed a hand to his chest and executed an extravagantly old-fashioned bow. “Your servant.”
His reward was the trill of her low, husky laughter. The sound trailed heat into his chest and traveled lower.
Since when did virgins laugh like sophisticated, earthy women of pleasure? There was more to Tamsyn than he’d first realized.
“We need to improve the atmosphere in here,” he declared, then strode to the musicians. “Enough of elegance,” he said to them. “Play something more festive and lively.”
At once, the musicians struck up a sprightly country tune.
“A fine improvement,” Kit proclaimed. He made his way back to Tamsyn, who watched with amused interest. “Come.” He offered her his arm. “Let us attend to the other guests.” He guided them toward Langdon, Greyland, and Lady Greyland.
Tamsyn whispered with a hint of awe, “You’re truly friends with a duke? And a duke’s heir?”
“Lord Langdon and I were at university together,” Kit explained. “After, he and I had a few years subsequently of knocking around London until I joined the army. When I came back, Langdon introduced me to the duke, and the three of us have been wreaking havoc over the city. Well, Greyland has always been a bit, shall we say, sober. And since his marriage to Lady G., he’s become as sanctimonious as a parson. Wouldn’t you agree, Greyland?” Kit added once they’d joined the others.
“I pray for Blakemere’s soul,” Greyland confirmed with a wry tilt of his lips, “but it comes to nothing. He’ll surely burn in the afterlife.”
“But I’ll be there, too,” Langdon added, “so at least we’ll enjoy our time in Hades.”
“I’d add my prayers with yours, my darling,” Lady Greyland said sardonically, “but I’m afraid my avowals of righteousness hold no weight.”
“Love,” her husband answered, “where you go, I follow. Paradise would be a dark place indeed without your light.”
Langdon rolled his eyes. “My God, the two of you.”
Greyland’s hand curved over his wife’s waist. “You’re jealous because, unlike you, when my woman professes her devotion to me, no money changes hands.”
Kit couldn’t hold back his laugh. “A hit, a very palpable hit.” He glanced at Tamsyn, who watched the interplay with amused fascination. “Forgive us. The habits of long familiarity must seem appalling to you.”
“Oh, no.” A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “It’s rather like going to the zoo, only better, because the animals are not caged.”
For a moment, everyone was silent. An expression of horror crossed Tamsyn’s face as she clearly regretted her humor. But then everyone began to laugh, and not only did her face brighten, but the little knot of anxiety wrapped around Kit’s chest loosened. He didn’t need to worry how well Tamsyn would fit in with his friends.
That would presume, however, that there would be interaction between them beyond tonight.
As Langdon chatted with Greyland and Lady Greyland, Tamsyn turned to Kit. “How did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That once Lady Daleford and your family left, things would get better?”
He said lightly, “I learned in the army that you can’t build a decent campfire with too much kindling. The fire won’t breathe if there’s too much fuel. Take a little out and”—he waved his hands—“you have a cheerful blaze.”
“A ship can’t float with too much ballast,” she agreed.
He motioned for a servant and flourished his arm. “We have our music, and now some liquid cheer.”
The footman stepped forward with a decanter full of dark amber liquid.
“Ah, perfect,” Kit exclaimed. “A glass for everyone in the company.”
“Is this . . . brandy?” Tamsyn asked, peering into the goblet that was placed in her hand.
“So it is,” he said with good humor. “All the way from Cognac. You needn’t drink it if you don’t care for spirits.”
As the words left his mouth, she tilted the glass back and downed the contents in one swallow. Then she held out her goblet for more. The footman refilled it immediately.
Well. Every day with Kit’s new bride would be a surprise.
A peculiar expression crossed her face, as if, in the most unlikely place, she recognized someone after they had been absent for a number of years.
“Where did this come from?” she asked the duke.
“It’s perfectly legal,” Greyland assured her. “I’d never serve Blakemere anything that wasn’t strictly aboveboard.”
“Why is that?” Tamsyn wondered.
“For all his wild reputation,” Langdon drawled, “Blakemere doesn’t look kindly on criminals.”
“I didn’t see good men die to protect their country,” Kit said grimly, “only to have the rule of law in England sneered at. Felons and offenders deserve whatever punishment is meted out.” His jaw hardened as he felt anger rise.
Color drained from Tamsyn’s face.
“You seem distressed.”
“Not a bit,” she said at once, but the merriment in her eyes had faded.
“I’m about to stun myself by cautioning that we shouldn’t overindulge tonight. Tomorrow afternoon, we go to the solicitor’s office and finalize the transfer of Lord Somerby’s fortune. You’re the Countess of Blakemere now, but in less than twenty-four hours, neither of us will be poor as church mice.” And he’d be so much closer to building the pleasure garden. So close to fulfilling his dream and finding peace.
Tamsyn’s expression turned thoughtful. Kit tried to decipher her countenance—was she forming plans for his money, or did the thought of possessing any fortune bewilder her?
“To the bride and groom,” Langdon said, lifting his glass. His look was practically devilish. “May the marriage be as fruitful as it is prosperous.”
Greyland and his wife lifted their own glasses and said, “To the bride and groom.”
Everyone merrily drank. Then Greyland pulled the duchess into his arms and waltzed her around the room, as Langdon tapped his foot and Tamsyn clapped her hands in time with the music.
Kit couldn’t tear his gaze from her. Despite the stressors of the day, she glowed with a radiance he’d seldom seen before, and it drew him like a wolf edging closer and closer to a we
lcome fire.
She was his wife now, and whatever the future held, tonight belonged to them.
The clock chimed midnight.
Chapter 7
“Good night! Good night! Try not to make the morning newspapers!”
With these questionable words, Lord Langdon, Lord Greyland, and Lady Greyland waved Tamsyn and Lord Blakemere—Kit, she reminded herself—off as their carriage pulled away.
She’d married a man who hated lawbreakers. Good God.
Not only that, soon, she and Kit would spend their first night together. By morning, she’d no longer be a virgin.
Tamsyn tried to grasp the fact that she was now a married woman, with a wife’s duty to her husband in the home, and in bed. Everything in her life had changed. She was no longer Tamsyn Pearce, but Tamsyn Ellingsworth, the Countess of Blakemere, and inside half a day, she would be wealthy—well, her husband would be wealthy, but she’d likely be given a substantial allowance.
She had plans for that money and knew precisely what to do with it. But when it came to the mysteries of the nuptial bed, she had little experience. Men wanted to marry virgins but they preferred a courtesan in the bedchamber—or so she’d been told. Almost everything she knew about sex was relayed to her by the women of Newcombe. Fortunately, the village women were outspoken and opinionated.
Through her lowered lashes, she studied Kit. They had never been truly alone until this moment. He wasn’t an especially big man, but he was strapping and hale and irrefutably masculine. Nothing buffered the small space between them, and each breath felt shallow due to his nearness.
He filled the silence and darkness of the carriage with easy conversation.
“Greyland’s cook turned out a repast that would put Prinny’s banquets to shame,” he said idly. “I think my brother Franklin ate a dozen seed cakes. He never had to be coaxed into cleaning his plate. I wouldn’t have been surprised if his wife filled her reticule with sugared fruit. Pamela is parsimonious to the point of agony. You wouldn’t believe she stood to become a viscountess upon the passing of my father. Given the long lives enjoyed by Ellingsworth men, I can see the point of her concern.”
“They must have been proud of you today,” she replied.
He wryly quirked his lips. “Relieved of their responsibility, more like. I’m not certain if pride is quite the feeling they’ve ever had where I was concerned.” He sounded fatalistic about being dismissed by his kin, as though he never expected otherwise.
There was no affection between Tamsyn and her aunt and uncle, yet when her parents had been alive, she had been treasured and loved. She clung to memories of their care, using it to sustain herself in darker moments.
But to never have had that—as Kit seemed to—seemed lonely and cold.
“Surely they felt pride when you were given an earldom for your service,” she objected.
“They thought my role in the army was merely decorative,” he answered. “No one in my family has any idea what war is like.” The brightness around him dimmed as memories seemed to swarm behind his eyes.
“Did you fight in many battles?” There had been men in Newcombe who’d gone off to fight. Either they hadn’t returned, or many of them bore terrible injuries. Few had been willing to talk about what they’d seen. Katie Davis told Tamsyn that her husband came back without any visible scars, but he couldn’t sleep in a dark room, and often woke Katie with his nightmare-induced screams.
He shrugged. “A few.”
“You were decorated,” she recalled.
He waved that aside like an invisible insect. “They dole out medals with a liberal hand.”
His modesty intrigued her. Most men would savor the opportunity to extol their own virtues.
“You cannot say the same about your earldom,” she noted. “Not many received the same honor. Clearly, your heroics deserved approbation.”
He glanced away. “Lord Somerby was a good man. It was only because of his efforts that I was given the title.”
His unwillingness to discuss his commendations tugged at her. Was he being modest? Were his recollections too horrific to speak of? Would he ever entrust her with his memories?
She reminded herself that she couldn’t afford to have her and Kit reach that point of trust and intimacy. The more they were apart, physically and emotionally, the easier it would be for her to keep her secrets safe.
However, she wondered, perhaps Kit slept with a light burning, too. Maybe his dreams pulled him back to bloodstained battlefields. Yet she would never know, because she would never let them grow that close.
“It’s our wedding night,” he said, clapping his hands together, “and I won’t bore you with tales of the War. Let’s talk of something more pleasant. You wanted to see more of London’s amusements, and now you shall, loosened from the yoke of Lady Daleford’s aversion to frivolity. Let’s start right away with Vauxhall. Sadly, Ranelagh closed years ago, but it was said to rival Vauxhall for spectacle.”
“We had traveling fairs come through Newcombe,” she said with a smile. “There were games where we could win ribbons or toys, jugglers and acrobats, and pig races.”
“Ah, you see! You know the joy that can only be felt at such places. Though,” he added drily, “I’ve not yet experienced the bliss that is pig racing.” He reached across the narrow space of the carriage and took her ungloved hand in his. Eyes bright with humor, he added, “Perhaps someday we can share in that delight together.”
She tried to share in his droll humor, but the feel of his touch made her breath scarce and head light. With just a brush of skin against skin, her senses flew into disarray.
Having heard the blunt and earthy talk of the village women, Tamsyn understood that the first time would likely be uncomfortable or even painful. But then it got better—provided a husband was attentive enough.
The way some women back home talked, having sex was the greatest pleasure they’d ever experienced.
It would soon be hers. He would be hers.
But what if she liked sex with Kit so much she wanted him all the time? Even more alarming, how would she stand it when he left her bed to find satisfaction with another woman?
“Perhaps,” she said, trying to keep her voice sounding as light and easy as his.
He let go of her hand, yet his heat continued to linger in her flesh. “Tomorrow morning,” he said, “we’ll tour our new home. It’s temporary until we can find a permanent residence in London. The Blakemere estate in Northumberland is rather in need of attention, but you’ll have free rein to renovate and improve it.”
She wasn’t certain how to broach this important topic. Best to just say what she thought and get it over with. “Cornwall is where I’d like to spend most of my time,” she ventured. “At my family home.”
The interior of the carriage was dim, so she couldn’t quite make out the look on his face, but his words showed his surprise. “You won’t stay in London?”
“I’m a country girl,” she said, spreading her hands. “For all its pleasures, I don’t know if I will ever be comfortable in this city.”
He fell into a stunned silence.
Oh, blast. They hadn’t worked out the details of where each of them would live, and now they had to tackle the logistics of how to make their marriage work. She could evade customs men while timing the tide on a moonless night, but the particulars of being married eluded her.
Finally, he said, “How about this—once you’re pregnant, you can live in Cornwall as long as you like.”
That would mean being away from Newcombe for what could be a long while. Could they manage without her? When she bought the house, she’d place Nessa in charge. At least until Tamsyn got with child.
“Ah, here we are,” Kit said eagerly, peering out the window as the carriage rolled to a stop.
The streets were utterly silent at this late hour. A chill mist obscured the sky and clung to the pavement.
A liveried footman opened the vehicle’s door and helped
Tamsyn alight. Kit followed, and together they crossed the threshold of a large and elegant building.
She had a brief impression of rich fabrics and stylish furnishings in the empty lobby before a neatly dressed balding man rushed forward to meet them.
“Ah, Lord Blakemere and his new bride!” The man bowed. “I am Chapman, the night manager of our fine establishment. Welcome, my lord and lady, and felicitations. We have everything on hand to ensure you have a most pleasant night.”
“Much appreciated,” Kit answered politely, yet she could sense waves of impatience emanating from him as his gaze moved restively around the hotel entrance.
“You have a lovely establishment,” Tamsyn added.
The night manager beamed. “If you’ll follow me, I will show you to your rooms.” He waved them toward the stairs adorned with gilded railings and covered with plush deep red carpeting.
She tried to take in the details of the hotel. She’d never stayed in anything finer than an ordinary coaching inn, so to spend the night at one of London’s best hotels was a privilege she didn’t want to waste. The crystal lamps sparkled and the thick floor covering dampened the sound of her footsteps.
Kit didn’t appear to notice or care. He kept looking at her as though she was a sweetmeat he wanted to devour.
Her stomach fluttered in response.
After climbing two more sets of stairs, they at last arrived. Mr. Chapman unlocked the door and said, “We have smaller chambers nearby for your valet and maidservant. And, of course, our staff is available at all hours to accommodate your every need.”
Kit nodded distractedly, his mind clearly on something else.
Mr. Chapman opened the door and waved them inside. Kit waited as Tamsyn slowly entered, then he and the night manager followed her into the room.
It was a spacious chamber, the walls covered in floral wallpaper that surely came from France, and a row of curtained windows. A fire burned merrily in the grate, and candles had been lit in anticipation of Tamsyn and Kit’s arrival. Other furniture occupied the room, but all she saw was the substantial four-poster bed. It towered as large and looming as the Colossus of Rhodes.
