Page 58 of Counting on a Countess
“And thank God for her.” The look of pure adoration that came over Marwood’s face when he mentioned Lady Marwood quelled any jealous thoughts that threatened to smother Kit. “Did you enjoy the performance?”
“I was enthralled,” Tamsyn answered without reservation.
Marwood rubbed his hands together. “Excellent. Excellent. Maggie still gets nervous before any new work is put on. It’ll do her good to hear that Lady Blakemere was, what was your word?Enthralled.” He turned to Kit. “You’re still coming over to our home tonight, yes? After the performance?”
“We’ll meet you backstage after the final curtain call,” Kit replied.
“Brilliant. Until then.” Marwood bowed to Tamsyn before retreating out of the box.
Kit took his seat and plucked the packet of sugared nuts from Tamsyn’s hand. He popped a few of the sweets into his mouth, enjoying the look of puzzlement on her face.
“Will there be a fete at Lord Marwood’s?” she asked.
“Not a fete,” he answered.
“Supper?”
“No supper.”
“Dancing? Cards?” She gave him a playful swat on the arm. “You’re delighting in my torment.”
“Perhaps a little.” He rather adored being teasing and lighthearted with her, watching the humor and enjoyment in her eyes. “But I will relent and end your suffering. Marwood has the best cellar in London. The finest brandy and Scotch whisky.” He chewed a few more nuts.
“Ah.” She nodded sagely. “You’ll enjoy that.”
“Wewill,” he corrected her. At least, he hoped she’d find it pleasurable. A tiny spark of concern flared. “After last night, I saw how much you appreciate a fine dram. So we’re having a tasting at Marwood’s. Just you, me, Marwood, and his wife.” At her silence, he pressed, worried, “If you’d rather not go, I can—”
“That sounds wonderful, Kit.” A soft smile illuminated her face and his heart squeezed in response. “Thank you. For being so considerate.”
Her gratitude warmed him. After he’d sent a note in the morning requesting time in Marwood’s cellars, he’d gnawed on his decision. Would she take offense at the idea? Would she be pleased by it?
“Whisky’s better than cordial water, I should think.” He glanced at the glass in her hand. “And lemonade.”
“It depends,” she replied, her smile shining in her eyes, “on who’s bringing the lemonade.”
Unseen electricity crackled between them. She had been pleased with everything he’d done for her tonight. Surely that meant she was warming to him. He couldn’t be more gratified with how his plan was unfolding—yet he knew from combat-tested experience that, when it came to the future, every plan could fall apart. Nothing was certain.
Tamsyn planted her feet to avoid being barreled over by a stagehand carrying a painted, flat wooden castle. She ducked just in time to keep the back of her head from getting smacked by a curtain valance. Kit, too, was buffeted by a group of dancers pouring off the stage as they hurried toward the dressing rooms.
The controlled anarchy backstage at the Imperial matched the chaos at the front of the house. A black man stood in the middle of the bedlam, shouting in a Caribbean accent as he directed the traffic. There were no collisions or fights, so the man—Tamsyn assumed he was the theater’s manager—seemed to have everything running smoothly, if not quietly.
The manager’s role reminded her strongly of her own function when smuggling, with her trying to keep a level head when all around her was madness.
Kit’s expression was wry. “Disenchanted?” he asked above the din.
“Why should I be?” She dodged a trio of trained dogs wearing ruffled collars. Their trainer, wearing a similar ruffled collar, ran after them.
“It’s not precisely glamorous back here.”
“That makes what they do onstage all the more extraordinary,” she answered. “To work so hard and have the end result fall smoothly into place. Not unlike planning a battle, I imagine.”
His smile grew distracted, a shadow passing over his face.
She wasn’t imagining it. He spoke sometimes of his experience in the military, but only lightly and in passing. She thought of Katie Davis, back home, and Katie’s husband, Bill. He’d struggled to return to civilian life. Bill would get that same dark, troubled look whenever anyone talked of the War and would quickly change the subject.
What had Kit seen? What had he done? She might never know—and she recognized that she wanted to. She craved discovering more about him despite her vows to keep her husband at arm’s length.
He quickly shook off his mood and looked around with his usual good humor. “I thought I’d need to lie down on the floor during the farce that followed Lady Marwood’s play. That bit with the hat and the ham. Guffawed so hard I couldn’t breathe.”
