Page 1 of Counting on a Countess
Chapter 1
London, England
1817
Though he had been the Earl of Blakemere for nearly six months, Christopher Ellingsworth rarely entertained sober or virtuous guests in his bachelor lodgings. Today was no exception.
Kit lounged on a sofa in his parlor, a glass of wine in his hand. Warm, indolent pleasure made his limbs and eyelids heavy. His other hand beat time on the back of the sofa as Jeanette plinked out a merry tune on the pianoforte and the unlikely named Bijou pirouetted around the chamber and twirled brightly colored scarves.
“Bravo, my dears,” he murmured as the melody and performance came to a stop.
“Another, my lord?” Bijou asked breathlessly. Her French accent wavered, revealing she was more likely born in Leeds, not Lyon, but it hardly mattered. She wasn’t in Kit’s rooms to provide lengthy discussion about the philosophy of Voltaire. He’d brought them home from the Royal Opera last night—or rather, very early this morning—and they had been such good company, he hadn’t sent them away. It was nearly dusk, and he contemplated with anticipation what the night had in store for him.
“Come and join me,” he said, patting his thigh.
“Which of us shall join you?” Jeanette asked.
“Both of you,” Kit replied magnanimously.
The two women giggled before fluttering over to where he sprawled. Bijou perched on his outstretched leg while Jeanette snuggled beneath his arm. They were silky and fragrant and lively—precisely what Kit wanted.
Bijou’s fingers trailed up his torso and dipped beneath the neckline of his open shirt. Agreeable curls of pleasure blossomed on his skin wherever she touched. “I thought earls weren’t supposed to have muscles,” she said with a playful pout.
“His lordship was a soldier,” Jeanette noted, her fingers toying with his hair. “He’s had to become very hard, you know.”
“I’m much harder in peacetime.” Kit grinned lazily as the two women twittered.
“Shall we put that to the test?” Jeanette nipped at his earlobe.
Before he could answer, a smart rap sounded at the parlor door. He frowned. His staff knew not to bother him when he entertained.
“Go away,” he called.
Yet the door opened anyway and his butler’s apologetic face appeared. The servant didn’t so much as glance at the two opera dancers draped over Kit. “Apologies, my lord. I told the gentleman you weren’t to be disturbed, but he insisted you had an appointment.” He held up a calling card.
Kit disentangled himself from Jeanette and motioned for the butler to approach. Taking the card from the servant, he glanced at the name.
Herbert K. Flowers, Esq.
The Law Offices of Corran and Flowers
Lincoln’s Inn Fields
“Damn,” Kit swore softly. He had a vague recollection of a letter from Flowers, requesting to meet at Kit’s earliest convenience, as the solicitor had a matter of some urgency to discuss. “Send him in.”
“Yes, my lord.” The butler bowed before hurrying away.
Bijou plucked the card from Kit’s hand and squinted at the writing. “What’s this mean?”
“It means that this Mr. Flowers deals with tedious and exhausting matters all day,” he answered.
She made a face. “How horrid.”
“Exactly.” Surely whatever this Flowers wanted, it would be dull and require the kind of serious, thoughtful consideration Kit avoided as much as possible.
Another knock sounded at the door, and after receiving Kit’s permission to enter, the butler stepped inside.
“Mr. Herbert Flowers, Esquire,” the butler intoned.
