Counting on a Countess

by Eva Leigh

  “I am not afraid,” he said with a show of wounded pride. “I am extraordinarily cognizant of my surroundings.” He laid his long body down on the blanket, propping himself up on an elbow and looking the picture of a gentleman taking his ease. “So you came here alone.”

  “Even when I was very small.” She handed him one pasty. “My mother and father used to tease me and say they needed to tie a kite to my back so they could find me when I wandered away. I did that quite a lot,” she admitted. She ran off more after her parents’ deaths, seeking the comfort she couldn’t get from Jory and Gwen.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about being born with wanderlust,” he declared airily, then grinned. “When I asked for a commission, no one in my family was particularly surprised. It was said that two things were my main attractors—the scarlet uniform, and the chance to go abroad.” He took a bite of pasty and made a sound of pleasure.

  She also took a healthy bite. After chewing and swallowing, she said, “You must have looked very dashing in your uniform.”

  He gave a small shrug. “The most I could hope for was that I didn’t dishonor it.”

  “Clearly,” she pointed out, “your country thinks you didn’t. Gave you an earldom to thank you for your service.”

  “That was Lord Somerby’s doing,” Kit demurred, running his hand back and forth over the blanket. He’d touched and held her tenderly with those hands, and she longed for the feel of them on her.

  “Lord Somerby knew hundreds of officers,” she noted, “and he didn’t petition the Crown on anyone else’s behalf. Just you.” Gently, she asked, “Do you miss him?”

  Kit was silent for a moment. “It’s not as though I felt neglected by my father,” he said contemplatively. “Third sons are usually afterthoughts, yet I wasn’t overlooked or ignored. Even so . . .” His gaze turned inward. “Somerby was the first person who saw my potential.” He took a sip of ale—with fascination, she watched the strong movement of his throat—and handed the flagon to her.

  His touch lingered longer than necessary to hand her the flagon, sending quills of awareness spinning through her. “I believe you could do anything you set your mind to.” She drank and set the ale down.

  Kit looked at her for a very long time, his gaze unblinking. He came up onto his knees. “That’s precisely what I think about you.”

  Warmth and agony twisted through her in a mystifying whirl. He gave her so much, and she repaid him with dishonesty.

  “Tamsyn.” His voice was low and searing.

  A hot thrill shot along her body. She looked up and was ensnared in the naked desire in his eyes.

  He moved with sleek fluidity, closing the distance between them. Her heart beat fiercely as he knelt beside her, cradling her head between his hands and tilting her face up. She let her eyes drift shut, holding herself in suspension, waiting. Wanting.

  His lips found hers. With a soft purr, she arched up into the kiss. His tongue licked at hers, and she eagerly lost herself in the passion they stoked so quickly. Kit kissed her as though he’d been starving for her taste—despite their kiss that morning. She devoured him, too, feeling the liquid surge of need everywhere in her body, wanting the profound intimacy that two lovers shared.

  They fell back onto the blanket, his body partially covering hers. As they continued to kiss, she stroked over his taut back, feeling the shift of his body beneath his clothing. When he raised up enough to pluck at the buttons of her spencer, she took advantage of his position and pushed his coat down his shoulders. Awkward with impatience, they worked to shed layers of garments—his coat and neckcloth, her spencer—until he was in his shirtsleeves and the front of her dress was spread open.

  His hand slipped under her open bodice to cup her breast. She gasped as he found her tight nipple and stroked it. With each caress, sensation built, gathering between her legs. She shifted restlessly with growing desire. Against her thigh, she felt the thick ridge of his erection, and there was some comfort in knowing he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  At least her desire was honest. She could give him this. She could give them this.

  He trailed his lips down her neck and found the bare flesh of her upper chest. But then he rose up, back onto his knees. She’d never seen him look so intent.

  “Kit . . . ?”

  “I want something, love.” His hand stroked up her leg, slowly gathering up the fabric of her skirts. “I want to taste you.”

  She widened her eyes. At the Orchid Club, she’d seen people doing just that, but never had she thought she’d experience it for herself. “Here?” she whispered, excitement pulsing beneath that one syllable.

  “It’s only the trees and us,” he answered. His lids lowered and his voice deepened. “I’ve dreamed of your taste for so long. And the look on your face when you come.”

  His candid, erotic words undid her. She went feverish everywhere.

  In answer, she gave a small nod. He inhaled sharply, then leaned forward to capture her mouth for a long, deep kiss. When he finally pulled away, they both panted, their shared breaths hot and urgent.

  As she lay back, resting on her elbows so she could watch him, Kit positioned himself between her legs. He removed her shoes, then reached up under her skirts and swiftly did away with her drawers, leaving her naked from the waist down. With both hands, he pushed up her skirts, baring her legs—calves, knees, thighs. Then higher.

  He growled when he uncovered her sex. Fascination kept her gaze on him as he bent close and stroked his fingers through her red curls. He made another sound, low and dark, when he traced her folds and found them swollen and wet.

  She couldn’t stop her gasp as he caressed her, discovering where she was most responsive. He looked almost solemn as he circled her bud. Then he brought his mouth onto her.

  Strength left her completely, and she had to lie back, her sightless gaze on the leafy canopy overhead while he licked and kissed and stroked her sex. His tongue delved into her, and she cried out in pleasure. He consumed her with unrelenting demand. Sensation filled each part of her, radiating out in golden rays, chasing away thought.

  He lifted his head long enough to say huskily, “Touch yourself. Your breasts.”

  She could not resist his earthy command. Lifting her hands, she found the points of her nipples and lightly pinched them. She moaned in response.

  “Yes,” he rumbled, then put his mouth on her again.

  As he lapped at her, he slowly thrust his finger in and out of her passage. Pleasure upon pleasure saturated her. She was spread out, shameless, the boundaries of herself melting away as Kit continued to devour her.

  Her release came in a fiery wave. She flung herself into it with complete abandon, her cry high and long. Yet no sooner did the wave ebb, another grew, and when it crashed upon her, she couldn’t stop herself from crying out again.

  “Oh God.” Her voice was no more than a mewl. “I want you inside me, Kit.”

  He reared back enough to unfasten his breeches and free his erection. Then he was stretched out atop her, bracing himself so that his weight didn’t crush her. Their gazes locked. The witty, sophisticated gentleman was gone—now he was pure desire, and he wanted her.

  He ran the length of his erection through her soaking flesh, coating himself in her wetness, before fitting the tip at her entrance. As he slid into her, he bared his teeth.

  “Ah, love, you’re perfect,” he said hoarsely.

  “Not perfect,” she managed to gasp.

  “To me, you are.” He drew his hips back, then thrust forward. He stroked in and out with each word. “Every. Part. Of. You.”

  She reveled in the feel of him filling her, of her surrounding him, of them together and the pleasure they made. When she canted her hips to take him deeper, he groaned. And when he shifted his position so that with every thrust, he ground against her bud, she nearly wept with ecstasy.

  Their pace increased as the frenzy took hold of them. He fucked her with single-minded purpo
se, making himself into a beautiful weapon of pleasure.

  She came with a cry that left her throat raw. A few strokes later, Kit’s body went rigid from his orgasm. After a long while, he sank down atop her, his breath rough and jagged.

  Warmth and tenderness engulfed her. She petted the back of his head and pushed damp strands of hair from his brow. He nuzzled against her neck and pressed kisses to her throat.

  Tamsyn didn’t believe anything could be flawless. It simply didn’t happen, not in nature, and not in the world of man. There was always something—a tiny defect, a slight fault—that prevented perfection.

  This moment with Kit was nearly faultless. He had made her feel treasured, protected, adored, and given her such pleasure.

  Yet nothing could take away from the fact that, by midnight tonight, she would have to lie to him. And if he ever found out about her dishonesty, there was every chance he would cut her from his life completely.

  By the time the sun set, Tamsyn’s entire body felt tight as a spring. The lovemaking had been extraordinary, and she’d wanted to luxuriate in it for as long as she could. Instead, she had taken Kit to every landmark and vista, each view and prospect. Anywhere within a decent riding distance, she had brought him, with the excuse that she wanted him to see all the places that had significance to her.

  He had to go to bed early tonight, and once he did, fall into a deep sleep without any chance of waking up in the middle of the night and searching her out.

  They rode to the stables, and she cast a look of both worry and envy in his direction. He moved easily in the saddle, a man at peace with the world. She, on the other hand, was a mass of apprehension.

  After they had dismounted and taken care of the horses, they made their way back toward the house. He laced their fingers together. Despite both the fact that they’d already made love today and her continuous disquiet about tonight, the press of his skin to hers brought forth a rosy bloom of need and an ache in her heart.

  “I’m humbled that you showed me the places that hold meaning for you,” he said warmly. “Seeing the beauty of this place and its power . . . I know you better now. Thank you.”

  Pleasure and dismay mingled within her. For all that she’d been trying to wear him out, she had also wanted to share her piece of Cornwall with him. He saw what it meant to her, and he valued that.

  He stopped walking and kissed her quickly but tenderly. But the feel of his lips was too brief, because he pulled back enough to murmur, “Ah, there’s something I meant to give you.”

  “Give me?” she said blankly. The astrolabe had been an extraordinary gift, and she’d tucked it away in the corner of her clothespress, hidden behind gowns and petticoats, in case a servant decided to claim it for themselves.

  With a smile that verged on bashful, he released her hand and pulled something from his pocket. He held it up. “You left this behind in London. I hoped to see you wear it again.”

  The necklace he’d purchased for her. Its pearl and diamond pendant oscillated back and forth, almost hypnotic.

  The urge to tell him everything hovered on her lips, to finally be done with all the lies and subterfuge and state baldly the truth of her situation.

  She pressed her hand to her chest where her heart throbbed. “Oh, Kit.”

  “Shall I put it on you?” he asked as though hoping for a precious favor.

  “If Gwen sees me wearing that,” she said ruefully, “she’ll turn chartreuse with envy.”

  “Let her turn any damn color she wants,” Kit answered. “She doesn’t matter.” He motioned for Tamsyn to turn around.

  There was nothing to do but hold herself still as he fastened the necklace’s clasp. She glanced down at the pendant, her fingers unable to stop from caressing the creamy surface of the pearl, and her chest seized with agony and joy.

  She turned back to face him. His gaze moved from the necklace to her face, his expression one of grateful pleasure. A hard lump formed in her throat.

  “It’s nearly time for supper,” she managed to say. “I’ll head inside and wash up.”

  “Washing up is a difficult and complex process,” he said gravely. “I volunteer to lend a hand, just to make certain everything goes smoothly.”

  Her lips tugged into a smile. Her husband was an irredeemable rake. “We’d likely wind up missing supper.”

  “I fail to see the problem in that scenario.”

  “I’m hungry, and the cook refuses to serve food beyond set times.” Though she craved the feel of him again, she knew that if she and Kit fell into bed together, extracting herself for tonight’s work would be impossible.

  “We’ll forage in the woods like the spyrysyon.”

  But she shook her head. “I’d rather eat a hot meal than fumble around in the dark for sour berries. I promise—another time I’ll be more than happy to have you assist in my bathing.”

  He beamed. “Excellent. Now go.” He gave her a soft nudge toward the house.

  She headed up the path leading to the back door, but stopped short when she saw movement in the window. Was someone watching? It wouldn’t be a surprise if either Gwen or Jory decided to spy on her and Kit. They had been completely disinterested in her when she’d been merely their niece, and even her elevation to being a countess hadn’t drawn their attention. But with Kit in residence—a genuine earl—no doubt they’d seek some way to turn her marriage into their advantage.

  In her room, she shut and leaned against the door. Her fingers stroked the necklace but it brought her no comfort. The world was a hard place, full of sharp edges and innumerable dangers. Even something, someone, that should have given her comfort only added to the peril.

  Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and ran down her cheeks to pool in the hollow at the base of her throat. She pressed her hand to her thudding heart.

  She loved Kit. Loved him, and that only made what she had to do all the more agonizing.

  Chapter 26

  It was useless for Kit to undress, get into bed, and pretend that he’d be able to sleep. Instead, fully clothed, he paced the length of his narrow room, sparking with restless energy and insistent thoughts.

  The house moaned and creaked like an arthritic fisherman. He winced at the squeak of the floorboards beneath his boots. But he’d learned a trick when sneaking into a Portuguese fortaleza that had been commandeered by the French, and he used that skill now as he modified the heaviness of his gait and stuck closer to the walls, where the boards were less warped.

  He ought to be splayed out in bed, sunk deep in slumber. Tamsyn had taken him from vista to castle ruin to abandoned mine, possibly determined to show him every sight within miles. Almost as though she was intentionally trying to exhaust him.

  But that was ludicrous, wasn’t it? She’d have no reason to deliberately exhaust him.

  A mouse darted from one corner of the chamber to the other, pausing for a moment to stare at him with wary black eyes, uncertain of Kit’s motivations.

  It was a novel sensation to empathize with a rodent.

  “I grant you safe passage,” Kit murmured to the mouse.

  Its whiskers twitched, and then it was gone, scurrying into one of the innumerable holes riddling the house.

  Tamsyn’s attachment to this neglected collection of bricks was understandable. It had been her home her whole life, and held the memories of past happiness. However, the presence of her aunt and uncle surely tainted those memories. He couldn’t understand why she would voluntarily put herself under the same roof, not when there were much more pleasant, less painful options.

  She’d barely eaten her supper and had hardly spoken. Lord and Lady Shawe didn’t seem to notice or care. Kit did.

  Impatience—and the demand to protect her—pushed at him, filling him with edgy force. He needed to get her away from this place. Surely he could hire some people to help the local women with their garden and chickens, thus freeing her from the callous disinterest of her relatives. He and Tamsyn could remain i
n Cornwall, if that was her desire. But they wouldn’t stay in this house.

  He’d tell her. Now. He couldn’t wait another minute—he had to keep alive the fire that burned within her, before the weight of this house and her kin could extinguish it.

  At once, he was out in the hallway, heading toward her bedchamber. He continued to stay close to the walls, careful to keep from waking the house with the creaking of his steps.

  As he neared her room, he saw motion ahead and stopped—someone was quietly moving down the corridor. He pressed against the wall and peered around the corner. If one of her relatives was about, he didn’t want to encounter them. Doubtless her uncle would try to talk to him and slather on more flattery.

  But it wasn’t Lord Shawe.

  Kit’s pulse pumped when he saw Tamsyn slipping through the shadows. She wore dark clothing and shielded the light from her candle, as if making certain no one would be aware of her presence. What the devil was she doing awake and dressed at this hour? Was she en route to his bedroom? His body leapt to attention at the thought.

  But she didn’t make the turn in the direction of his chamber. Instead, glancing around cautiously, she hurried toward the stairs leading to the lower level.

  He crept quickly down the stairs, always keeping her in his line of sight. Yet she didn’t go outside, choosing instead to go through a doorway that led to the basement. He’d discovered that door in his exploration of the house. Always curious, he’d gone into the basement but found it containing only the detritus and discards of a house. Nothing of note. He glided down the steps leading to the basement, then paused as she pulled a key from her pocket, fitting it into the lock on an old door. Kit had found that same door, but hadn’t been able to open it. Thinking it led to more storage beneath the house, he’d dismissed it and moved on.

  She opened it now and passed through into the darkness beyond, then shut and locked the door behind her.