Page 74 of Counting on a Countess
It took Kit a moment to find his voice, and when he spoke, he sounded hoarse. “It suits you.”
“What do you think, Mr. Singh?” she asked the other man.
“A lovely gift for a charming young woman,” the captain answered, and beamed at her.
She kept touching the pendant as if to assure herself that it was there.
She has so little for herself.
“If I could,” Kit vowed, “I’d buy you ropes of pearls and diamonds for your ears, and emerald rings.”
“Kit.” She shook her head. “This is what I want.”
A deluge of pure, unalloyed pleasure inundated him. “I’m glad.”
After a moment, she glanced back at Mr. Singh, who suddenly became fascinated by the horizon. With his attention diverted, Tamsyn turned back to Kit. She gently stroked the line of his jaw, then angled her head, her lips hovering close to his.
He breached the distance between them. It didn’t matter that they were in public or that they weren’t alone. He needed to kiss her.
It was a soft, honeyed kiss, the sweetest of his life, as cool river air swirled around them. She was silken and welcoming, and each press of her lips to his made his heart pound with exultation.
But he could not take the kiss very far. Not here, not now. So, aching with reluctance, he drew back.
Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled up at him. He’d made her happy, and that gratified him beyond measure.
Kit saw then that he was in terrible danger. He’d gone into this marriage for purely mercenary reasons, but, day by day, he lost himself in her. There had been a reason to woo her, but he could barely remember it anymore. All that signified was her pleasure, her joy.
Tomorrow, when he told her of his plans for the pleasure garden, they could each have a part in making that dream a reality. It wouldn’t be his dream anymore, it would be theirs, and the sharing of it would make it all the sweeter.
God help them both, but he cared for his wife.
Chapter 18
That night, Tamsyn stared up at the canopy over her bed. It wasn’t a particularly exciting canopy, though the white chintz fabric covered with twining, multicolored flowers was a better view than the sagging beams over her bed at Chei Owr. At home, she would fall asleep with the fear that maybe tonight the beams would finally collapse and bury her beneath the roof.
She had no apprehension that anything in her bedchamber on Bruton Street would tumble down onto her. Everything in the house was solidly built.
Sothatwasn’t keeping her awake.
It had been a long, full day. An early morning followed by a lengthy carriage journey, then hours sailing on the Thames, two more hours in the carriage back to London, then supper. Tumultuous feelings had been her constant companion, veering from fear to wonderment to joy.
Sheshouldbe exhausted. In fact, she had been so weary she’d even declined Kit’s offer of going to the opera tonight after they’d dined. Instead, she’d gone straight to bed.
Yet now that she had bathed, changed into her nightgown, and climbed into bed with a rather dull novel, her eyes steadfastly refused to stay closed.
Tamsyn drummed her fingers on the mattress, impatient with her unaccountable restlessness. Her thoughts circled back to being with her husband on Mr. Singh’s boat—how the sunlight had gleamed on Kit’s fair hair, or how his vivid blue eyes seemed to shine from within when he’d seen how much she appreciated his gift of the necklace. The raw emotion in his expression when she’d kissed him.
That emotion had continued on the journey back to London, and was joined by growing desire. At dinner, he all but simmered with it. The conversation had been perfectly polite as they discussed the best places in London to eat, including a few less than respectable chophouses. Yet all the while as they talked, his ravenous gaze had been fixed on her. Excitement and anxiety made her stomach light and fluttery while she toyed with her meal.
He’d kissed her hand when they had parted company for the night. Even now, the feel of his lips on her skin lingered. She rubbed at her knuckles with her thumb as if she could push the sensation deeper into her flesh, making it a part of her.
He wants me.
I desire him.
Her need for him had been building and building, each day, each moment in his presence. It settled within her heartbeat, coursing through her. The more she knew of him, the greater her need became. Not just the demands of her body, but her heart. She craved every part of him, wanting to be as close to him as possible.
At the beginning of their marriage, she had wanted to keep him at a distance, but there was no going back to being two civil strangers entering into an agreement. In a short time, he’d become so much to her. She had to join with him, creating something that united them both in a way more deeply profound than any spoken vows.
