Page 31 of Counting on a Countess
“You don’t like it?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.
“I do,” she answered. “But...” Her brow knotted. She shook her head.
Kit wanted to growl in frustration. Yet he felt her uncertainty and something in his chest softened.
“It’s all right.” His voice sounded an octave deeper, and raspy. “We’re virtually strangers.” He dragged a hand through his hair, barely believing what he was about to say. “Let’s wait. Give things between us time.”
She looked so relieved, and he wanted to groan. “I’d like that.”
What an enigma she was—her strength and her vulnerability coexisting side by side.
“Time to get some sleep,” he announced. Feeling reasonably certain he wouldn’t send her into a panic by the state of his cock, he stood. “We’ve a full day tomorrow.” He strode toward the small dressing room that adjoined the bedchamber.
He stripped off his clothing, and, for the first time in years, slipped on a sleep shirt. Normally, he slept in the nude, but that wasabsolutelynot happening tonight. Or any night for the near future. Ah, God help him.
As he readied for bed, he heard her slip between the covers and struggled not to picture her satiny limbs or the soft outline of her breasts or the shadowy vale between her legs. Was her hair down there red, too? His cock enjoyed his speculation and sprang back to attention.
For half a moment, he considered doing precisely what he’d advocated for earlier. It would help dull the edge of his desire.
No, he’d just have to think of battle formations and frigid water, which he did until his erection subsided. After pulling on a robe, he exited the dressing room.
She waited for him in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. Her gaze was a palpable thing, skimming over his body as he doused the candles around the bedchamber. When the room was submerged in near darkness, he dropped his robe, and then climbed into bed.
She lay on her back, staring up at the canopy. A narrow span of bed stretched between them. It was a sizable bed, but as he shifted slightly, his arm and leg brushed hers. She didn’t pull away, yet she didn’t draw closer, either.
It was novel to share a bed with a woman without making love to her. This was a night of firsts.
Kit struggled to tamp down his need that simmered and pushed beneath his skin. Nearly a month of celibacy had been difficult—now it would be prolonged indefinitely.
He recited what he could remember of Vegetius’sDe Re Militari, but that part of his education had been a long time ago, and he kept returning to the touches of her body against his.
“I thought two in a bed would feel crowded,” she said into the darkness, “but I like it.”
“How fortunate humans aren’t covered in quills like porcupines.”
“Or scales like armadillos,” she added. She yawned. “Thank you, Kit.”
“Of course,” he answered.
Within moments, her body went lax as she slept. But then she murmured quietly and rolled toward him, her breasts snug against his arm while she rested a hand on his chest—covering his thudding heart. Her touch went straight through his body.
He gritted his teeth as though having a limb amputated. Rather than gather her close, as he longed to do, he kept his arms at his sides.
I’m not a praying man, but for the love of all that’s holy, grant me patience.
She trusted him, and he had earned that trust. Of all the awards and commendations he’d received, this one felt the most important, and the most fragile.
It wasn’t unusual for Kit to wake up alone. He seldom brought women home, preferring to have his trysts in their rooms. This enabled him to leave when he pleased and not have to face any awkwardness in the morning, when both he and his lover made strained conversation over breakfast, their use for each other gone.
This morning, he stretched in bed and encountered nothing. A moment later he realized that he wasn’t supposed to be alone.
Tamsyn wasn’t there.
He sat up quickly, the covers pooling at his waist. There was no sign of her in the room. It was as if he’d invented a bride and dreamed the whole of last night—their kisses, her uncertainty, and his offer for them to postpone the consummation until she felt more at ease.
“Tamsyn?” he called. She could be in the dressing chamber or perhaps seeing to her personal needs. But a moment went by, and there was no answer.
Hurriedly, he climbed out of bed and checked the dressing room. She wasn’t there. Her bridal gown was folded in the clothespress, but she likely brought a change of clothes. Wherewasshe?
