Читать книгу Counting on a Countess: The most outrageous Regency romance of 2019 that fans of Vanity Fair and Poldark will adore - Eva Leigh, Eva Leigh - Страница 14

“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.

Once you climb in me, it promised, there’s no going back.

“Is there anything you require?” Mr. Chapman was all solicitousness. “I can have refreshments brought up.”

“We have everything we need.” Kit hastily handed him a guinea.

“My gratitude, sir,” the night manager said with a bow. “I’ll just see myself out.”

Tamsyn’s heartbeat was thick in her throat when the door closed, leaving her alone with her new husband. She tore her gaze away from the bed to find him watching her with a careful, curious expression, as though she were a doe who had wandered into a ballroom.

“My valet and your maid should be here by now,” he said neutrally. “Shall I send her to you?”

To help her undress.

“Yes, please.” She tried to discreetly wipe her damp palms on her skirts. Damn these nerves! She had no reason to be afraid. Pain was merely pain—it came and it went. She could manage that kind of hurt.

A wound to her heart, however, was more difficult to heal.

After giving her a warm, encouraging smile, Kit left quietly.

She walked to the fire and watched the dancing flames, as if their shifting light could somehow ease her mind and calm her body.

A soft tap sounded on the door, and Nessa let herself into the room. Seeing her cheerful, familiar face in this decidedly unfamiliar place was a balm, and Tamsyn walked quickly over to lay her head on Nessa’s shoulder.

“Ah, child,” Nessa said, patting her back. “Here I am. Naught to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” Tamsyn replied automatically.

“’Course you aren’t,” Nessa said in a soothing voice. “You’re a brave lass. Come on, then,” Nessa said, stepping back. “Can’t have you climbing into bed wearing all your clothes.”

Tamsyn nodded. With brisk, businesslike movements, Nessa began divesting her of her gown.

“He’s a handsome one, so it won’t be a chore,” Nessa noted in a matter-of-fact tone.

“He pleases my eye,” Tamsyn agreed. “That much is certain.”

Nessa’s fingers stilled on the fastenings running down the back of Tamsyn’s dress. “How much do you know?” she asked. “About what goes on between a man and a woman?”

“I understand the process.” Tamsyn couldn’t stop the heat that washed through her. “What goes into what and so forth.”

“That’s good.” Nessa’s fingers, well trained in the fixing of fishing nets, made short work of the gown’s fastenings. Once the silver dress had been removed, Nessa put it in the clothespress. “I was afraid I’d have to draw you pictures, and I’ve no skill with a pencil.”

“It’s one thing to understand how bodies fit together,” Tamsyn admitted. Blast, but she hated this nervousness. It wasn’t like her at all. “Another thing entirely to know what sex is truly like. What if I do something wrong? It’s supposed to hurt the first time.” It seemed like it had to, given what she’d seen of male parts. Like other girls of Newcombe, she’d spied on boys bathing in the sea—but Cornish waters were chilly, and, one girl said with confidence, that part shrank in the cold. It got bigger and harder when properly motivated.

“There’s some pain,” Nessa said plainly. She worked at Tamsyn’s stays. “Can’t be helped. But it’s not a forever pain. Remember when you fell off John Pricher’s wall and twisted your ankle?” When Tamsyn nodded, Nessa said, “That was far worse.”

“Ah,” Tamsyn said, struggling to quiet her anxiety.

Nessa patted Tamsyn’s cheek. “Oh, child, it’s not all pain. Tell me a time when something felt good.”

“There used to be a swing set my father put up in the big apple tree in the West Meadow,” Tamsyn recalled. “When I was small, I’d swing and swing, trying to get as high as I could. As though I could float away right up into the sky. I liked that an awful lot.”

“It’s better than that,” Nessa said decisively. She sighed wistfully. “I miss it, I do.”

Nessa had been married for a decade before her husband had drowned a few years back. But given the way village men circled around her after mass on Sundays, she didn’t have to be unmarried for long.

Perhaps it did feel good. Babes were born to unwed women all the time.

With her stays removed, she stood in her underthings and shoes. She kicked off her dainty slippers and helped Nessa pull off her shift.

“Ah, but you’re in an enviable place tonight, my girl. No need for fear.” Nessa clicked her tongue. “That husband of yours, he’s no stranger to bedsport.”

More heat suffused Tamsyn’s body. Men had the luxury of indulging their sexual appetites whenever they liked, without consequence. It wasn’t the same for women. Kit was relatively young, exceedingly handsome, and privileged. It stood to reason that he’d had his share of sexual experience. Even so, thinking about him bedding legions of women made her stomach feel strange and tight.

He’d said plainly that he had no intention of being faithful—and that he didn’t expect fidelity from her. Would she come to regret this agreement?

“Yes,” she said, fighting to sound sophisticated. “I know.”

“He’ll be an artist under the covers,” Nessa assured her. “Think he’d be so popular with ladies if he just stuck it in and spent without a by-your-leave? Not hardly.”

“I suppose not,” Tamsyn said. That wasn’t the most encouraging description of sex she had heard. She glanced at the bed, but it only seemed to have grown larger and more intimidating in the intervening minutes since she’d last looked at it. “A woman can lie with a man and keep her heart safe, I imagine.”

Nessa planted her hands on her hips and asked sternly, “What’s this talk, girl?”

Tamsyn considered prevaricating, but she could never withhold the truth from her friend. She said flatly, “He told me he won’t be faithful.”

“The devil he did!” Nessa looked outraged.

“In the park that day he offered marriage,” Tamsyn confirmed. “He said he wasn’t going to keep his vows of fidelity. But I was free to take a lover if I wanted—after I gave him an heir.”

Nessa’s cheeks darkened with fury and she balled her hands into fists. “I’ll give him a pummeling, I will. Earl or no, he can’t say things like that.”

“It’s not uncommon, though.” Tamsyn felt strangely obliged to defend him. “People of rank and fashion often have lovers.”

“They don’t say so when they’re courting!” Nessa fired back.

Tamsyn sat down on the edge of the bed. “Better this way,” she reasoned, trying to convince herself as much as Nessa. “If he paid me too much mind, he’d get suspicious about what we do in Newcombe.” She affected a shrug. “It doesn’t trouble me. I may grow fond of him, but I’ll never love him.”

Nessa walked to her and placed her hands on her shoulders. Her expression mingled sadness and resignation. “I know you, my girl. You can’t do anything by half measures.”

“What would you have me do?” Baffled, Tamsyn lifted her hands in supplication. “I can’t refuse him his husbandly privileges.”

“Just have a care with your heart,” Nessa answered, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Now, stand up so we can make you ready.”

Tamsyn rose and remained still while Nessa took down her hair, removing pins and ornaments. At last, her hair came down to hang in loose waves around her shoulders. Fear and excitement warred within her. She couldn’t tell if she craved being intimate with Kit, or if it filled her with dread.

Nessa cupped Tamsyn’s chin in her hand. “Remember this, my dove. If he wants to kiss you down there, by God, you let him.”

“Oh,” Tamsyn said faintly. She didn’t know people kissed each other’s parts.

A soft rap sounded at the door. “It’s Kit,” his muffled voice announced.

Instead of answering, Nessa handed Tamsyn an embroidered robe—presumably purchased with Kit’s money—before giving Tamsyn’s cheek a pat. Then she hurried out the door. Tamsyn quickly pulled on the robe, then sat on the edge of the bed, her hands tapping against the tops of her thighs.

“Come in,” she called, her voice oddly loud.

Kit entered, looking just as delicious as he had all evening. With his neckcloth gone, she could see a glimpse of his throat. He carried a decanter of wine and two glasses. “I thought we could—” He stopped, a puzzled frown on his face. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in bed?”

“There’s no hurry, is there?” she answered brightly.

Kit raised a brow but didn’t speak. Instead, he poured two glasses of wine, then sat beside her. The mattress dipped with his weight, and warmth radiated from his body. “Go slow with this.” He handed her a glass. “To make you comfortable, nothing more. No one enjoys making love with a drunken partner.”

Trying to follow his advice, she took a few sips of wine, rather than downing the whole thing in one gulp. “Damn these nerves,” she muttered ruefully.

He watched her before drinking from his wine. “You’ve been so brave about everything.”

She pushed out a laugh. “Not so courageous tonight.” After taking another sip, she spoke, her words edged in frustration. “I want to be a wife to you. Please understand that.” His frame radiated warmth, and she wanted to sink into it, and the strength he offered. While her body craved his touch, her mind and heart held back warily. “It’s all been so fast. We don’t know each other at all, and now we’re supposed to be . . . intimate.”