Page 48 of Counting on a Countess
“As you see,” he said, raising his arms, “I wear no apron and have no keys dangling from my belt.”
To his surprise, she gave him a thorough looking-over, from the toes of his boots to the crown of his head. His blood heated as her eyes lingered on his thighs and torso, then skimmed over the width of his shoulders.
The bold examination heightened his awareness of her—and it seemed to affect her, as well. Her redhead’s complexion couldn’t hide the flush in her cheeks.
She visibly collected herself before exhaling. “No need for concern. Lord Somerby left us an ample yearly income. Neither of us will want for luxury.” She frowned.
“That troubles you?” Kit eased closer.
“The gowns I’ve been wearing for my abbreviated Season were all generously gifted to me by Lady Daleford.” She touched the sleeve of her peach-hued dress, delicately stroking the fabric. The movement hypnotized him. “They were the first new articles of clothing I’ve had in five years.”
Coming back to himself, Kit recalled that after her parents’ deaths, her uncle had inherited the title, the house, and, apparently, the keeping of her. It appeared that the baron neglected his responsibilities—especially to Tamsyn.
Anger swept through Kit, stunning him with its speed and force. “You should buy yourself a whole trousseau.Threetrousseaus. Velvets and satins and hundreds of yards of silk.” The image of her beautifully adorned filled him with a strange sensation, one of purity and light.
It was pleasure. Not the voluptuous sort that usually filled his nights, but a simpler, richer kind. “You deserve that much,” he said, his voice low.
Her eyes went faraway and glassy, as though she imagined herself in gown after gown, but then she shook her head. “What I have is sufficient.” At his sound of exasperation, she said with a wry smile, “It’s going to take more than a day of wealth to undo years of living frugally.”
Cold shards pierced his gratification. She would never agree to financing the pleasure garden, not with such an entrenched attitude about money.
“We can work to unlearn that.” He tried to smile.
She shuffled through the papers. “My mind is dancing like a paper boat in a tempest.” She shook her head. “It seems impossible that I’m responsible for so much money. But I am.”
Sympathy tightened his chest. “This wasn’t precisely what you thought would happen when you married.”
“Quite the opposite,” she agreed wearily.
“Lord Somerby put a weighty burden on you.” He raked a hand through his hair. “And I haven’t exactly helped you, either.”
She was silent for a moment. “No,” she finally allowed. “You haven’t.”
Guilt stabbed at him. He would never abandon the troops under his command, but that’s what he had done with her.
He came closer, as though approaching a tiger, unsure whether she would bite his head off or let herself be petted. Finally, he stood just on the other side of the desk. This close, he could see shadows beneath her eyes. She hadn’t slept well last night, and he was the cause. He really was a bastard.
“When I was about seven,” he began, “I had a collection of tin soldiers. Far too many for one child to own. My mother’s sister visited us, and she brought her huge brood of children with her. It feels like there were a dozen of them, but that’s probably an inaccurate assessment. In any event,” he continued, “her youngest son accidentally left his favorite wooden toy at home. He was disconsolate. My mother suggested I lend him some of my soldiers, merely for the duration of their visit.”
Kit shook his head. “I threw the whole lot of them into the pond just so I wouldn’t have to give up any.”
Tamsyn watched him carefully through his little monologue, her expression opaque.
“What I’m trying to say,” he went on, “is that I’m a selfish son of a bitch who needs to learn how to share. I needed time to work my way through this puzzle.”
She let out a breath. “It’s a shocking thing, and a strange thing, this arrangement your friend constructed. If you’re confused and angry about it, I cannot blame you. But,” she said, leveling her gaze at him, “the only way we can truly move forward is to do this together.”
“Agreed,” he said. “And so, I’m sorry for running away when you needed me.”
A long moment passed and his stomach clenched in worry. Apologizing wasn’t something he had much practice in.
“Apology accepted,” she said, and he exhaled.
“We’ll find a way to make this work,” Kit vowed.
“I made arrangements with the banker,” she added. “Your quarterly allowance has been set aside and is already in your account. And your debts have been settled.”
Humbled, he bowed his thanks. It wasn’t all that different from financially relying on his father. On the morrow, he’d withdraw a sum of cash to help him further his plans.
