Page 60 of Counting on a Countess
“I’ve learned that, in this life, it’s best not to take anything for granted.” He looked sardonic. “Expectation leads to disappointment.”
She said nothing, but could not stop herself from wondering what his expectations of her might be—and what she wanted from him. At first, she’d wanted only a husband with money who paid her little mind. But now, with Kit, she sensed she wanted much more from him. She wanted his wit, his intelligence, his joy in simply experiencing the world.
Tamsyn wantedhim, and that frightened her far more than any raid by the customs officers.
Chapter 15
Tamsyn tried to maintain a calm outward appearance, though she was all but vibrating with nervousness and excitement. From a private theater box to a viscount’s residence in one night was a far cry from her usual sedate evenings at home curled up with a book.
Other than the nights she smuggled, of course. Those were a touch more eventful than reading.
The carriage came to a stop on Mount Street, outside an impressively large residence. Tamsyn fairly gawked at the size of the place as she stepped onto the curb.
“You neglected to mention that your friend has a sprawling mansion,” she said drily to Kit when he stood beside her.
Kit smirked as he gazed at Lord Marwood’s home. “Likely overcompensating for his masculine deficiencies.”
She coughed at his outrageous comment, then rallied enough to note, “The viscountess seemed rather satisfied with her husband—deficiencies or no.”
Kit chuckled and led her toward the front entrance. She felt his hand warm at the small of her back and his solicitous concern, causing warmth to travel all the way through her.
A butler stood waiting by the open door.
“It wasn’t so long ago that Marwood hosted London’s most notorious parties in this very house,” Kit noted. “All that changed when he proposed to Lady Marwood right onstage in front of half the city.”
“He didn’t!”
“I assure you, he did. I saw it myself. One of the most romantic things anyone’s ever witnessed,” he muttered, so low Tamsyn barely heard him, “I should ask him for advice.”
Just as they crossed the threshold, the viscount and his wife came forward.
“So brigands didn’t kidnap you, thank the heavens,” Lord Marwood said with a grin.
“They wouldn’t dare attempt it,” Kit answered. “Not with my rapier-like wit to slice them into ribbons.”
“A fearsome weapon, indeed,” Lady Marwood agreed with mock solemnity.
“Welcome to my home, Lady Blakemere,” her husband said, and bowed.
Tamsyn curtsied. “This is no modest cottage. I could dock a boat in here.” She eyed the foyer ceiling that soared above them. “You were having me on, my lord. I didn’t know London gentry played so loosely with the truth.”
“My lady, you wound me.” Lord Marwood pressed a hand to his chest. He glanced at Kit. “Did you know you married such a cruel woman?”
Kit’s gaze was warm as he looked at her, and she felt a blossom of pleasure in response. “Lady Blakemere is insightful but never cruel. At least,” he added, “I hope to never give her reason to unleash her cruelty, which I’m certain is more devastating than any twelve-pounder.”
“Perhaps a tour of our cellars will round any sharp edges.” Lord Marwood waved toward a corridor branching off the foyer. “Unto the breach.”
He grabbed a lit candelabra, and then he and Lady Marwood led the way. They strode past vast rooms and an abundance of beautiful things—silver, porcelain, paintings—that spoke of an ancient lineage. Watching the viscountess walk beside the viscount, their hands clasped, Tamsyn had to wonder what it must be like to come from a commoner’s background into this eminent opulence.
They were somewhat alike, Lady Marwood and herself. Though her family’s baronial title was an old and distinguished one, Tamsyn had little experience with the dazzling life of a titled Londoner. Now that she was Lady Blakemere, a countess, she’d have to get used to it. It seemed as though Lady Marwood had become comfortable with her surroundings—though it helped that she was her husband’s beloved.
She stole a glance at Kit’s profile. Would he ever look at Tamsyn the way Lord Marwood looked at Lady Marwood? And, more importantly, did Tamsynwanthim to?
“Down into the depths we go,” Lord Marwood said when they reached the top of a staircase leading toward the basement. “If I was in one of Maggie’s burlettas, I’d be leading you toward my hidden abattoir where I take all my hapless victims.”
“But then my heroine would cosh you over the head with a statue,” Lady Marwood said decisively as they proceeded downward. “Thus liberating the ghosts of your victims.”
“I like the way your mind works, my lady,” Tamsyn declared. “Let the heroine save herself.”
