Page 122 of Counting on a Countess
Fortunately, Kit’s experience taught him the benefit of delegation. Weeks earlier, he and Tamsyn had journeyed to London to interview people to manage and supervise the massive project. They had met with dozens of architects, urban planners, and engineers before finally settling on Monsieur Anselme Durand, the son of a Quebecois architect and his Algonquin wife. Monsieur Durand’s supervision ensured that Newcombe’s progress didn’t stumble.
Their work didn’t end at the village, either. The manor house was undergoing a transformation, as well. Scaffolding surrounded the aged structure as workmen labored. Kit couldn’t begrudge the noises of renovation, even if it meant he and Tamsyn were unable to spend long, leisurely hours abed in the morning.
Only today, he’d been awakened at first light by Tamsyn’s lips sliding down his abdomen, heading lower—and then the hammering outside had started. Still, a small amount of temporary sexual frustration was worth the price if it meant the resurrection of his wife’s familial estate.
He never tired of seeing her smile as she watched everything progress. She grumbled a little about the constant presence of workmen at the house, but her complaints were halfhearted.
Their guests from London didn’t object to the noise, either. They had journeyed from the capital to see Newcombe for themselves after Kit had written them full of praise. Upon their arrival, Lady Greyland had taken one look at the harbor and said, “If we don’t back this project, Alex, we’re a pair of damned fools.”
“You are no one’s fool, Cass,” her husband had replied solemnly.
They now sat down for tea on the boardwalk, having spent the morning touring all the construction sites.
“Monsieur Durand told me the hotels are already taking reservations,” Tamsyn said, then laughed in disbelief. “The foundations have just been laid, and we’re reaching capacity.”
“We’re ready to meet the demand,” Kit answered confidently. Energy and resolve surged through him. Thinking of the discussion he’d had the previous day with Monsieur Durand, he felt both satisfaction and humility.
The architect had presented him with a preliminary drawing for Newcombe’s future home for veterans. It would house two dozen severely injured men on a full-time basis, with twelve more beds for temporary guests taking the sea air. War had made him a hero and earned him a title, but at last he could give back and honor the men who’d fought and died.
He saw Tamsyn laughing at something Langdon said, and was struck breathless with gratitude. She’d given him so much—her determination, her drive, and the sheer pleasure with which she met each new challenge. Their marriage had been based on convenience. Hurried vows had concealed secrets that had shadowed the tentative bond between them. Then it had changed. Evolved, becoming stronger, deeper. And so had he.
Fighting had shaped him into a soldier. Being Tamsyn’s husband had made him a worthier man.
A man who could make love to his wife for hours, days, weeks, and never tire. He wanted more and more and more. Not just of her body, but her entire self.
She caught him looking at her with ardent carnality and blew him a kiss.
Was it possible for a man to perish from happiness and adoration? He might be the first.
Langdon’s drawl cut into his adoring thoughts. “I may need a sea cure myself after watching you two worship and fawn over each other.”
“I’m certain you can find a crab or lobster to seduce,” Kit answered. “A crustacean might be willing to overlook your shortcomings.”
Before Langdon could snap a retort, a boy ran across the boardwalk, heading toward them. He carried a folded piece of paper and fought to keep hold of it in the wind.
“Yes, Charlie?” Tamsyn asked when the child ran to her side.
“Got a letter,” the boy gasped, breathless from his run. “For Lord Langdon.”
“That’s me.” Langdon took the letter. He fished a coin out of his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Charlie. The boy grinned and clutched the coin tightly as he ran off.
“What is it?” Lady Greyland asked as Langdon unfolded the letter and perused its contents with a frown.
“I’m being summoned back to London by my father.” With a sigh, he tucked the missive into his coat. “He sent the letter with a carriage, which is waiting at the house.”
“Nothing dire, I hope?” Tamsyn asked.
“He likes to tug on my strings now and then, just to make certain I’ll dance to his tune. The price of being the heir.” He rose. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to return immediately.” After bowing over Tamsyn’s and Lady Greyland’s hands, and slapping Kit and Greyland on the shoulder, he straightened his coat. “Keep me apprised of the village’s progress. It’s a damned sight more interesting than anything happening in London.”
He strode away, and Kit wondered how long before his friend found his way back to the pleasures of the city. Despite Langdon’s words to the contrary, there was one thing in London that he couldn’t resist—the Orchid Club, and its beautiful manager.
“I think I’ll take my wife for a walk along the beach,” Kit announced. Tamsyn immediately got to her feet.
“By all means,” Greyland said, rising. “I’d like some privacy so I may seduce my own wife.”
“You don’t need to seduce me, Alex,” Lady Greyland chided affectionately. “I’m yours already.”
“It never hurts to practice,” the duke replied gravely.
