Page 32 of Counting on a Countess
An irrational thought leapt into his mind. What if she had decided she wanted no part of this marriage, didn’t want anything to do with him, and had fled in the night?
Kit summoned his valet, then, when Anderson appeared, he hastily washed and dressed. As he shrugged into his jacket, Kit told himself that his thoughts were ridiculous, his fears unfounded. Or so he hoped.
On his way out the door, he caught a glimpse of himself in the pier glass. Nothing out of the ordinary stared back at him, but he certainly didn’t wear the contented look of a man who’d made love to a willing woman all night.
He nodded politely as he passed other guests in the hallway, quashing the impulse to grab them and demand if they had seen a pretty redhead in flight.
As he strode through the lobby on the ground floor, a man in tidy dark clothes approached him. “My lord, I am Ives, the day manager. I hope you had a pleasant night.”
Kit resisted telling Mr. Ives that his night had been confusing and oddly humbling. Instead, he attempted a smile. “I did, thank you.”
“Lady Blakemere is in the dining room,” Mr. Ives said, gesturing to a room off the library.
“Ah, she said she’d have an early breakfast,” Kit answered. There was no benefit in telling the day manager that Kit had no earthly idea where his new wife had hared off to.
“If you care to join her, I’ll have some tea brought out to you straightaway.”
Kit nodded his thanks, then headed for the dining room. Tables were arranged throughout, while the occupants of the sunny chamber consisted primarily of couples and families with a handful of lone men dotted here and there. Few paid him any mind as he came in—including the redhead at a table for two, staring out a bow window at the far end of the room.
The pressure in his chest released as he approached. She was here. She hadn’t run away to a distant corner of England.
Sunlight outlined her clean profile, highlighting her strong features and making her glow. Her throat was a long, elegant line. An urge to run his lips along her neck and taste her flesh gripped him.
It was a positive that he was attracted to his wife. Better that than the alternative. Yet it only compounded his sexual frustration. But he’d have to endure more abstinence, at least until Tamsyn was ready. He’d be damned if he forced her to do something she didn’t want to do.
The floor was thickly carpeted, his boots making no sound as he approached. But she caught his reflection in the window and turned with a smile at his approach.
He bowed. A kiss on the cheek wasn’t seemly in public, and he didn’t want to risk her pulling away from him.
“I woke and you were gone,” he said without rebuke as he sat opposite her.
“I’ve been in London a fortnight and I cannot get used to town hours,” she admitted. “It’s an early day for us in the country. And early to bed.” At the wordbed,color crept into her face, and she covered her cheeks with a look of consternation.
He shook out his napkin and thanked the server who brought him a pot of tea. “The fashionable rise from bed before ten only if the house is on fire. Even then, if the fire isn’t in their bedchamber, it can be ignored.”
“I’ll attempt to remember that,” she said with a nod, “should a conflagration engulf our home.”
Another server brought Kit a plate of eggs, streaky bacon, and toasted bread. After taking a few bites, he said, “Which reminds me, you recall that I’ve taken a temporary home for us.” When she nodded, he continued, “I’ve leased it for six months, but the lease can be extended if we don’t find anything that suits us on a more permanent basis.”
“I do love my home in Cornwall.” She smoothed her hand over the tablecloth. “Yet after staying at Lady Daleford’s home, I’ve grown used to roofs that aren’t full of rot and floors that don’t buckle under each step.”
Kit frowned. He hadn’t realized that she lived in such terrible conditions. No wonder she’d been ready to marry him with barely any courtship.
Yet her confession seemed to catch her off guard, and she pressed her lips together in consternation. As if she didn’t want him to know of her dismal circumstances.
“That’s a pity,” he said lightly. “The house I rented is built of soggy pasteboard. It’ll blow over with the next stiff breeze.”
His teasing had the desired effect as her concern faded. “You were thinking of my needs, and for that I thank you.” The corners of her eyes crinkled, and he was relieved she shared some of his rather whimsical humor.
He continued, “At five this afternoon, we’re expected at the chambers of Lord Somerby’s solicitor to finalize the transfer of the fortune. Mr. Flowers specifically mentioned that I was to bring my new wife with me. Most likely, that’s to ensure I’m actually married.”
Without the marriage being consummated, it might still be annulled, but Kit didn’t want to mention that.
Yet it seemed that Tamsyn’s thoughts strayed in that direction, as well. She looked away for a moment, then met his gaze.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For what you did last night.”
It took courage for her to confront something so potentially embarrassing, and he nodded in acknowledgment.
