Page 57 of Counting on a Countess
“I am truthful,” he returned. With her russet hair piled artfully atop her head, showing off her slim neck, her peach gown bringing out her complexion, and her hazel eyes bright as she gazed back at him, he spoke the truth.
Kit nodded and waved at a few more audience members vying for his attention.
“Feels like I’m standing beside the sun,” Tamsyn noted wryly. “Everyone wants to bask in your glow.”
“Some are friends,” he answered offhandedly. “Others only see me since I received the earldom. I’d rather be appreciated for who I’ve always been than what I’ve become.”
Yet—he hadn’t always felt this way. He’d been married all of a few days, and in that time, he sensed something shifting within him with an internal realignment. Last night had been so much quieter than how he normally spent his evenings. However, the hours he’d spent in her company had been pleasurable and gratifying. He hadn’t longed to be with his wild compatriots or carousing with people of easy morals.
He’d wanted to be with Tamsyn.
As he did tonight. If given the choice between joining the bucks in the pit or staying in the theater box with his wife, he’d rather be with her. To see her smile, listen to her stories, flirt with her just to see more of her magnificent, redheaded blushes.
Movement on the stage caught Kit’s eye. The curtains lifted as the orchestra struck up a dramatic tune.
“The performance is beginning,” he murmured in Tamsyn’s ear. “We’re lucky—tonight is the debut of the viscountess’s newest burletta.”
Tamsyn took the seat he proffered, and he sat himself beside her. Only when they were both ensconced in their chairs did he realize that they continued to hold hands. Rosy-colored happiness stole up his arm and wove through him as he contemplated their intertwined fingers. He realized at that moment that there was more to physicality than the satisfying of bodily needs. There was closeness, and the warmth that came from being near someone extraordinary.
Tamsyn didn’t appear to notice their hands were still joined. Instead, her gaze was riveted on the stage as a trio of actresses appeared. Because the Imperial didn’t have a royal patent, unlike Covent Garden or Drury Lane, the works presented here had to include music. The performers half sang, half spoke their lines, like a recitative in an opera. As the actresses onstage sang, the audience quickly fell under their spell. Some cried out encouragement to the characters or hissed at the villains, but on the whole, comments from the crowd remained at a minimum.
Both he and Tamsyn leaned forward in their seats, gazes fixed firmly on the performance as it unfolded before them. There were disguises, secrets, kidnappings, love lost and found. More than a few times Kit glanced over at Tamsyn and saw a shining tear roll down her cheek. His own eyes felt a trifle hot and itchy, especially when the two lovers were reunited after much tribulation.
As the curtain fell, the audience roared its approval. Those who were seated surged to their feet as they clapped—including Kit and Tamsyn. The actors came out to take their bows, and finally, one of the performers pulled a diminutive dark-haired woman from the wings. The applause grew louder.
“Is that the Viscountess Marwood?” Tamsyn asked above the din.
“The very same,” he answered. “Usually, the author of the works isn’t brought out at the end.”
“She deserves her own accolades,” Tamsyn said, then cried out, “Brava!”
The cry was repeated around the theater, and the viscountess gave a grateful, humble curtsy before hurrying back into the wings. Finally, the actors retreated backstage and the applause quieted.
“There’s a comic farce and some dancing after the intermission,” Kit noted.
“I doubt anything could top what we’ve just seen,” Tamsyn answered with a laugh. She eased back into her seat. “But I’d like to stay.”
“I’ll get us some refreshments. A lemonade for my lady?”
Her eyes gleamed as she looked up at him, her smile wide. “Yes, please, my lord.”
Kit hurried out into the massing throng in the corridors. He maneuvered quickly through the crowd, hardly stopping whenever someone tried to get his attention. Generally, he loved lingering between performances, feeding off the excitement and energy of the other theatergoers. Yet impatience nipped at him whenever some buck blocked his path and congratulated him on his newly acquired fortune. He barely glanced at the courtesans batting their eyes at him.
Bellying up to the refreshment stand, he purchased a lemonade and some sugared nuts, then wove through the crowd to return to the box.
As he neared, Tamsyn’s laughter spilled out, followed by the deeper tones of a man’s voice. Frowning, Kit threw back the curtain and stepped inside.
Tamsyn was still seated, but she had turned to face a gentleman who stood close by. The gent in question stood a little shorter than Kit, but his darkly handsome and roguish looks would make any female entertain improper thoughts. Clearly, he’d been using his considerable skills at flirtation on Tamsyn.
“Hell, Marwood,” Kit grumbled, coming forward, “if I had known you’d be here, I would have gotten another lemonade. To throw in your face.”
“I’ve had far worse thrown at me,” Lord Marwood answered with a grin. He took Kit’s offered hand and shook it heartily.
“You’ve met Lady Blakemere,” Kit noted. He handed Tamsyn her beverage as well as the packet containing the sugared nuts. She murmured her thanks.
“Indeed, I have.” Marwood had a keen and discerning eye when it came to women, and it was with genuine appreciation that he gazed at Tamsyn. “I was just telling the delightful lady about my own poor attempts at playwriting when I was a youth.”
“Your wife has enough talent for the both of you,” Tamsyn said.
