Page 59 of Counting on a Countess
“The actress who made all those puns.” She pressed a hand to her ribs. “My sides hurt from laughing.” She’d also been spellbound by the sound of Kit’s laugh, so deep and rich and full of joy. She’d heard him chuckle before, but never that full surrender to mirth. It suited him.
It was as though two men existed side by side within him. The exuberant, sensual, curious Kit, who simply enjoyed being—and the grim, harrowed Kit with shades behind his eyes. Each shaped the other. She struggled to understand all aspects of him.
“A good evening so far,” Kit said with a touch of hesitancy, as though testing her reaction.
“One of the best I’ve had in London,” she answered. An expression of relief eased his features. After their conversation about paying for the theater box, it had occurred to her that he hadn’t yet asked her for a penny. Strange. Surely he expected some amount of money from her beyond his allowance.
“But it’s not over yet.” As he said this, Lord Marwood approached, holding the hand of a petite dark-haired woman. This was the famous Lady Marwood, the author of wondrous words that had made her laugh and cry.
Bashfulness stole over Tamsyn. Kit’s friend, the Duke of Greyland, was intimidating in both looks and status, but Lady Marwood was acelebrityand a woman of exceptional talent.
Tamsyn felt profoundly ordinary by comparison.
“Lord and Lady Blakemere,” Marwood pronounced fondly. “My lovely wife. Maggie, these are the charming folk who will be sampling our cellar tonight.”
“A pleasure,” Lady Marwood said warmly. Her accent differed from the smooth, rounded tones used by the aristocracy. It was rougher, more streetwise.
Instead of curtsying, she stuck out her hand. She shook first with Kit, then Tamsyn. Holding a quill all day had given the writer an exceptionally strong grip—but then, Tamsyn wasn’t a stranger to hauling rope or lifting casks.
Kit smiled widely. “Magnificent performance tonight.”
“I heard sniffles from every corner of the house when Angela thought she would never see Eduardo again,” Tamsyn added, despite her shyness in the viscountess’s presence.
Yet Lady Marwood looked skeptical. “You don’t think the scene needs more anguish? It felt rather shallow to me.”
“Not at all,” Tamsyn quickly assured her. “Any more anguish and a legion of doctors would have to come and bleed everyone to balance their humors.”
A cautious smile tilted the corner of Lady Marwood’s mouth. “You are kindness itself.” She glanced up at her husband, who looked at her adoringly, as though Lady Marwood had personally invented the dramatic arts.
Some of Tamsyn’s trepidation dissolved. It seemed that, despite all her success, Lady Marwood still entertained thoughts of uncertainty, making her less of an exalted personage and more human.
“You came in your own carriage?” Lord Marwood asked Kit. In response to Kit’s nod, Lord Marwood continued, “We’ll meet you at our modest cottage in a quarter of an hour. And mind,” he added, holding up a finger, “wewon’trace this time. Had to pay the constabulary a ruddy fortune because we nearly ran the poor sod down.”
“Thank God he could jump far,” Kit answered. “We’ll reconnoiter shortly.”
His arm slid around Tamsyn’s shoulders and he guided her away. Pinwheels spun in her belly at his touch. She simply couldn’t get used to his nearness or the feel of him. She’d hoped that, by now, his good looks would have mellowed in her eyes, but precisely the opposite had happened. He had only to look at her or take her hand and her heart rate leapt.
He’d been so attentive tonight, so concerned for her happiness, and an excellent companion. Her husband treated her with respect but not cringing deference.
The longer she knew him, the more handsome he seemed to become.
More than a few actresses and dancers stared at him as he and Tamsyn made their way through the backstage. Tartly, Tamsyn wondered how many of them had been his lovers—and how many wanted that role for themselves. Her reticence might drive him right into their arms.
Last night, aroused by his kiss, she’d lain in bed and all but smoldered between the crisp cotton sheets. When she’d seen the light beneath the door that adjoined their rooms, she had been sorely tempted to go to him and end their celibacy.
But she hadn’t.
Once she and Kit emerged from backstage, the audience had thinned out in the rest of the theater. A group of young men lingered near the stage entrance, presumably waiting for the female performers to come out.
Kit had been one of those men, not so long ago, but he barely considered them as he escorted her toward the exit.
Their carriage stood outside the theater and he guided her to it. When the footman moved to help her into the vehicle, Kit stepped forward and offered her his hand, instead. “My lady,” he murmured. She blushed at the wicked promise in his tone.
“You make an excellent footman,” she said after they were both ensconced in the carriage.
“Good to know I have a career to fall back on, should this whole earl business come a cropper.” He stretched out his long legs as he sat opposite her then rapped on the roof to signal they were ready to depart.
“You’ve been an earl for several months,” she objected as the carriage pulled away. “They won’t take the title away from you.”
