by Eva Leigh
Gently, she slid her hand out of his grip.
“Chei Owr isn’t much to look at,” she warned him. “Over a decade of neglect has taken its toll. It’s drafty, the fireplaces smoke. And there are bats.”
His expression brightened when he realized that she was inviting him to stay. “Much as I appreciate a warm bed and the absence of flying vermin,” he said lightly, “good company more than compensates for the lack of luxury. Speaking of which, I haven’t done this yet.”
He leaned close, and as her heart wheeled in her chest like a kestrel, he lowered his mouth to hers. She opened to him immediately, tumbling recklessly into sensation. Heat exploded between them as the kiss grew ravenous and urgent. His tongue slicked against hers and she moaned at the delicious exploration. All the while, her heart cried out, Yes. Yes, he is what I want, what I need.
“Tamsyn,” he growled when he finally pulled back. “Wife. I need to have you.”
Desire and a need for closeness with him leveled her. “I want nothing more. But they’re expecting me at home.”
“The hell with them,” he rumbled.
She smiled ruefully. “Yes. And I need to get back.” She had to confirm that everything was in place for tomorrow’s run.
His growl sent a thrill through her. “Very well. But depend on it, my lady, we will ravish each other.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, and licked her lips. Every part of her, from her body to her soul, yearned for him.
“Careful,” he rumbled, “or I’ll drag you out of that saddle and make good on my vow.”
Reluctantly, she leaned back, putting necessary distance between them. “We need to go.” She cradled the astrolabe to her chest—a precious gift she would treasure all her days—while her other hand tugged on Jupiter’s reins to turn him toward home.
“I can’t vouch for the company at Chei Owr, either,” she said wryly. “Not while the current baron is master of the house.” She nudged her horse into a sedate walk.
Kit followed on his mount. “Everyone finds me charming,” he said with assurance.
“My uncle barely looks up from his food. His idea of pleasant dinner conversation consists of grunts. And my aunt likes nothing more than to slander the neighbors.”
His confident smile flickered, but he rallied. “Facing the baron and baroness can’t be worse than Bonaparte.”
“If only I could exile them to some distant island,” Tamsyn said on an exhale. “Preferably a Patagonian archipelago.”
“I have friends in the Navy. Something can be arranged.”
For the first time in many days, she found herself genuinely smiling. “Thank you.”
“It’s just a little kidnapping,” he answered. “Hardly any trouble.”
She shook her head. “I mean, thank you. For this.” She held up the astrolabe. “And for coming after me.”
Their gazes held and fiery awareness poured through her. “You’re worth fighting for.”
In silence, they continued on toward the house, the only sounds coming from the distant beach and the horses’ hooves. She shot him furtive glances, watching his expression as he took in the landscape. His gaze was never still, as though he was assessing the geography. The habit of searching out defensible positions and hidden dangers would likely always be a part of him. With his stubble and the slight disorder of his clothing, he looked less polished than he did in London, more like a man on an adventure or expedition.
I’m the quest.
But she wasn’t much of a prize, not when she continued to deceive him.
“What’s that structure there?” He pointed west, toward a stone shed standing alone in the middle of a field.
Her stomach leapt. He couldn’t ever learn of the shed’s purpose or what it concealed. “Only an old storage outbuilding. A notoriously favorite place for spiders to build nests.”
“Woke up once in Portugal with a tarantula sitting on my chest.” He gave a slight shudder. “Not an experience I’m eager to repeat.”
She silently exhaled.
Soon, they drew closer to Chei Owr. Sunlight glinted off the west-facing windows, and the brick facade glowed warmly. But there were dark spots in the walls where the window glass was missing, and untended vines clung to the bricks. Familiar dismay filled her at the sight. She chanced a look at Kit, who saw her home for the first time. A small frown creased between his eyebrows. Surely with his soldier’s sight, he didn’t miss the neglected and careworn condition of the house. The closer they got to Chei Owr, the more its disrepair showed—holes in the roof, leaning chimneys, and weeds choking the once-pristine grounds.
“How long has it been since your uncle took possession of the house?” Kit asked.
“Ten years,” she replied. “He maintained it for the first year.”
His jaw clenched. “And let it fall to pieces after that.”
“Jory always said it wasn’t worth throwing money into a place that should just be razed. Besides, he was always more interested in going to the gaming houses in Falmouth or Truro.”
“But it’s your home,” Kit said in a tight voice.
“I didn’t warrant much attention.”
“I like most everyone,” Kit growled. “But, hell, I have no love for your uncle.”
“Which warms my heart,” she said sincerely. “We’ll take the horses to the stables and see to them ourselves. If we wait for a groom, we’ll be cooling our heels for hours.”
They approached the stables and dismounted in the yard. Even though Kit had been in the saddle for days, he moved with a sleek economy. Leading his horse, he followed her to the stalls. They didn’t speak as they tended to the animals—but watching him move with such muscular fluidity made her long for a time and place where they could explore every inch of each other, and speak of all the things lovers did in the aftermath of passion. Their time together in London had been too brief. She wanted to delve deeper to absorb his very essence.
When they had finished, they strode up the rear path toward the house. His saddlebags were slung over his shoulder, and she tried to take comfort in the minimal possessions he carried with him. Perhaps he wouldn’t stay long, much as she wanted to have him close.
She walked to the back door and, still holding the astrolabe, put her shoulder to the warped, age-swollen wood. After giving Kit an apologetic grimace, she gave the door several shoves before it finally creaked open. She waved him in. “Welcome to Chei Owr,” she said with false cheer.
They emerged in a small room that joined with a long gallery. Dusty tapestries hung on the walls, and a scattering of chairs were shoved to one side. “I used to run here on rainy days,” she explained as they walked farther into the chamber. “The footmen and I would have races.”
“Did you win?” he asked with a grin.
“I did—or else they let me win so they could keep their jobs.”
“Let’s pretend that you were the fastest girl in Cornwall.” He eyed the length of the gallery. “Shall we put you to the test? See if you’ve still got your speed?”
She shook her head. “Gwen hates the sound of running on wooden floors.”
The moment Tamsyn mentioned her aunt’s name, Gwen and Jory appeared in their path. While Jory looked suspicious, his wife eyed Kit with interest, noting his military bearing and the quality of his clothing despite its rumpled state.
“Who’s our guest, dearest niece?” Gwen trilled.
Tamsyn frowned at the never-before used sobriquet. “Kit, this is my aunt, Lady Shawe. Gwen, this is my husband, the Earl of Blakemere.”
Her relatives’ eyebrows shot up at the word earl. Belatedly, they bowed and curtsied. “You are most welcome to our home, my lord,” Jory said with syrupy obsequiousness.
“Thank you, Lord Shawe,” Kit answered coolly.
Gwen moved to press herself close to Tamsyn, wrapping one arm around her waist to hold her with uncharacteristic affection. “We were glad you were able to spare our Tamsyn so soon after yo
ur wedding. Can’t do without her. The very light of our lives, she is.”
Tamsyn plucked Gwen’s fingers from her waist and nudged her aunt away. “Yes, that’s precisely why you wouldn’t buy me a new gown for two years.”
Her aunt forced out a shrill laugh. “Oh, you’re such an imp with your jests.”
“Lord Blakemere will be staying with us for . . .” Tamsyn looked at Kit.
“For as long as it takes,” he answered firmly.
Her pulse raced and her heart leapt at the resolve in his voice.
“If there’s anything you need, my lord,” Jory said deferentially, “you have only to ask.”
“I’ll be sure to let you know,” Kit replied, his words icy.
Both her aunt and uncle hurried out of the chamber. Doubtless, after talking to the cook, Gwen would write many letters to let her friends and family know that she had a genuine earl and hero staying in her home. Jory would hide himself away in his study and bask in Kit’s reflected glory.
Once her relatives had gone, Kit let out a low growl. “An obsequious pair,” he muttered.
“It’s not an average day at Chei Owr that sees an earl crossing the threshold,” Tamsyn answered. “They’re less . . . hospitable to blood relations.” She grimaced.
His look darkened. “Damn them both.”
“Better to be neglected than be the object of their scrutiny.”
He didn’t look cheered by her information. “I’d still like to flay them.”
She patted his cheek. “I am most cheered by your bloodthirstiness.” Which she was, in truth. She’d never had a champion before and the prospect elated her.
Tamsyn walked toward the door leading to the main hall, and the staircase that lay just beyond. “Shall I find you a room?”
She spun to face him when she realized that he had stopped walking.
“I thought the married couples in this house slept in one bedchamber,” he said with a small frown. “Your parents, your aunt and uncle. And now—us.”
What she wouldn’t give to share a bed with him. To make love until they were as weak as fledglings. To feel his solid warmth beside her all night and wake in his arms.
Yet if he stayed with Tamsyn in her bedchamber, sneaking out before midnight to conduct the smuggling operation would be nigh impossible. “The bed in my room is far too narrow for two people.”
“There’s got to be other, wider beds.” His voice was flat with enforced patience, yet there was a distinct sultriness and need in his gaze. “I’m so hungry for you, Tamsyn. I’ll tear this house down to have you.”
Heat curled through her, robbing her of thought.
Yet she glanced at the broken panes of glass in the windows. “You’ve seen the condition of this place. There’s only one other chamber that could accommodate two people, and the wind cuts right through the gaps in the walls. The mattress is hosting a family of mice, too,” she added.
“Then we stay at an inn.” He took her hand, and the contact of skin to skin was drugging.
She shook her head. “I’m needed in the mornings to help in the village. The nearest inn is too far away.”
He exhaled and looked down at their joined hands. His thumb stroked over her wrist, causing liquid heat to pool between her legs. She recalled with fevered clarity the night they had made love, the way he’d touched her, the pleasure they had created together. All of it came back in a flood of desire and a longing for closeness.
When he looked up at her, a sly, sensuous smile curved his lips. “There’s something to be said for clandestine assignations outside of the bedroom.”
“I know I can count on you to find the positive angle,” she answered.
“I can show you many positive angles,” he said with a leer. “There’s so much we haven’t tried. So much for us to discover. All the ways I can adore you.” He narrowed the space between them and brushed his lips over hers. He smelled of wind and warm male flesh. “God, I missed you, wife. Your taste, your feel. The brilliance of your very soul.”
She sank into him, into his kiss, and all that he offered. He pulled her close, his body radiating strength and purpose. Pressing her yielding body to his, feeling the sculpted muscle beneath his clothing, she felt both submerged in desire as well as powerfully alert and alive. Pleasure and joy suffusing her, she let her hand roam over his torso as she greedily drank in the sensations of his strength beneath her fingers.
They fit together as though hewn from the same rock. In him, she felt her perfect complement. Apart, they were strong, and together, they were unequaled.
Perhaps they had a chance. Perhaps this marriage had a possibility at survival.
Yet, tomorrow night loomed in her mind, keeping her from losing herself completely in his kiss and the hope of a better future. Heaven help her, but she had no choice.
She had to keep deceiving him.
Chapter 24
Kit had seen abandoned homes in Portugal and Spain that looked better than this crumbling old brick house.
Years of neglect showed in the warped, water-damaged floorboards, in the vermin that freely traversed the corridors, and in the sunlight stabbing through holes in the roof. If ever the manor was the pride of the region—it was a baronial estate, after all—those days were long past.
Alone, he now ambled through a picture gallery. Dusty squares revealed where paintings had once hung, and he could only guess that the ancestors who’d built the house and worn the title were now gazing out on the parlors of newly rich merchants. He searched in vain for a portrait of Tamsyn or her parents. It seemed as though the painting of the late baron had been sold off.
Barring her possessing a miniature of her mother and father, Tamsyn likely had no images of her family. Nothing to hold on to besides memories.
Red fury hazed his vision as he strode from one empty space on the wall to the next. It was fortunate that neither Lord nor Lady Shawe crossed his path, because it would have been far too easy for Kit to chase them off the property with his pistol, no matter how they flattered him and plied him with blandishments.
Last night’s dinner had been an exercise in discomfort. Lady Shawe had pressed him over and over again for London gossip, while Lord Shawe had boasted about his own youthful exploits as well as the influence he had as one of the area’s few titled gentlemen.
Tamsyn had said very little at dinner, seemingly preoccupied. But when he pressed her later for some reason behind her quiet, she’d claimed exhaustion. He’d been uncertain about going to her bedchamber last night. So he’d lain awake in his uncomfortable bed, in his uncomfortable room, his mind full of her, his body urging him to action.
After leaving the gallery, he paced through the echoing corridors in search of her. All he encountered was the occasional apathetic servant. It was as though he’d become a ghost, haunting Tamsyn’s home, forever trapped in the mire of her past.
He moved now, heading toward the stables so he could check on Empress, then stopped abruptly on the path leading to the outbuilding when he saw Tamsyn hurrying toward him. She wore a dark green dress that turned her hair as bright as a blaze and brought out the rosiness in her complexion.
Her gaze was downcast, her brow furrowed. She didn’t seem to notice him until they nearly collided.
“Good morning,” he said to her as she glanced up in surprise. “I trust you had a productive morning.”
Her face went blank for a moment before she answered. “I was the picture of industry. Busy since the sun came up.”
“We’ll make a print of you and sell it at shops throughout the northern mill towns,” he said soberly. “To inspire them.”
“I can see it now,” she agreed with a nod. “Armies of redheaded workers laboring away, turning England into a global giant. At least,” she added, “where collecting eggs and sweeping stoops are concerned.”
“Didn’t know barons’ daughters gathered eggs or did any sweeping,” he noted.
“Samantha Markham and Lucy Temple are
advancing in years. They don’t move quite as nimbly as they used to.” She lifted a shoulder. “Everyone else is so busy in the mornings it’s hard to find someone to look in on Samantha and Lucy. So I do it.”
He shook his head in admiration of her thoughtfulness. Many young women of her rank might deliver baskets of food to poor or elderly tenants, but wouldn’t stoop to manual labor. Not his wife.
“They must have very clean hens,” he observed, glancing down at her hands. “Not a speck of grime on you.”
She tucked her hands into the pockets on the front of her apron. “I washed up before heading home.” She gave him a smile that verged on being too bright, too forcefully cheerful. “Have you broken your fast?”
“I ate a moderate amount of toast and jam but my hosts force-fed me platters of compliments,” he answered, which merited him a quick smile. “Tamsyn.” Placing two fingertips beneath her chin, he stroked her soft flesh.
He peered closely at her. Shadows darkened beneath her eyes and brackets of strain surrounded her mouth. Something about being here clearly troubled her. Whatever it was, he couldn’t wait to spirit her away from this manor.
Touching her was a sweet agony as awareness traveled through the length of his body. Last night had been tormenting, knowing that she was so close but being unable to go to her. Even if they hadn’t made love, he simply wanted her beside him, near him.
At his touch, her pupils flared and her lips parted. He couldn’t wait another moment—he had to kiss her.
She recognized his intent as he lowered his head, meeting him halfway. They kissed with a hot desperation, both of them too long denied the taste of the other. He cradled the back of her head, his other hand low on her back, urging her closer. She pressed tightly to him, and he felt all her sweet, yielding flesh beneath layers of clothing. He went fully hard within moments.
With her fingers threading through his hair, holding fast to him, he grew drunk on the flavor of her, on her very essence. He wanted to pull her down to the ground, to have them both lost to pleasure as he worshipped her, heedless of where they were or who could see.
