Page 105 of Counting on a Countess
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 thespyrysyon.”
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 genuineearl—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 Portuguesefortalezathat 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 in 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.
