by Eva Leigh
As before, Lord Marwood served up the drink, but he was getting far more generous with his pours as the evening progressed. Tamsyn didn’t want to be rude, yet as she eyed the amount of honey-hued whisky she had to drink, she feared she’d be well in her cups before too long.
“Reminds me of Christmas oranges,” Kit said after he took a sip.
“And almonds,” Tamsyn noted, then gave a small hiccup. The others laughed quietly at her approaching inebriation. But she didn’t feel embarrassed and drank her liquor.
When she finished her glass, the room seemed to have unmoored itself from gravity, drifting gently about the world. Or maybe that was her head. She wasn’t entirely certain.
“What did you think of the dancers tonight at the Imperial?” Lady Marwood asked Tamsyn. “Did you like the music?”
“Only the fiddlers at the Tipsy Flea play better,” Tamsyn declared. “That’s our public house, you know, in Newcombe. The Tipsy Flea. Everyone gathers there after a night of—”
She slammed her mouth shut. God, she’d been so close to simply blurting out her secret. Tamsyn glared at her empty glass. Damn that tongue-loosening whisky.
Lady Marwood continued, her own words slurring slightly, “Bloody good tune, methinks. I won’t sing it, on account of me sounding like an ill cat, but I can hum with the best of them.” She hummed a melody and thumped her hand upon the counter in a rhythmic beat. It was a reel that made Tamsyn’s toes tap.
“Shall we dance, Blakemere?” Lord Marwood set down his glass, then bowed at Kit.
“I would be charmed, Marwood,” Kit answered loftily, performing his own bow.
The two men hooked elbows and spun around the small room in time with Lady Marwood’s humming. Tamsyn clapped along as they danced, her smile making it impossible to add her voice to the impromptu music.
Kit twirled away from Marwood and toward her. Before she knew what was happening, she was in his arms, whirling around the cellar. Lord and Lady Marwood also embraced as they took up the dance.
But Tamsyn only saw and felt Kit. His grip was sure and steady, and the solidness of his body surrounded her. He beamed at her, his smile turning his handsome face into something wondrous. She couldn’t stop the laugh that broke from her lips. Free—she felt free.
Was it the drink or Kit that made her head spin? She didn’t know and it didn’t matter. All that mattered was this moment, her charming, thoughtful husband holding her, dancing with her.
“We partner well,” he said as they moved. “Should dance together more often.”
She had no answer for him, turning with him, feeling the strength of his body and the brightness of his essence.
“One more drink!” Lord Marwood cried. He strode on not quite steady legs to the array of bottles. He pulled one out that was a little rounder and squatter than the others, its contents a dark, gleaming gold. “Armagnac from Gascony.” Four more glasses were poured. “A little more bold and fiery than Charente cognac.”
Tamsyn and Kit pulled apart slowly, but his heat lingered as it resonated through her. The room continued to move as she went to pick up her glass.
The first sip and its flavors of caramel and ripe pears brought her immediately back to Newcombe. This was a taste she knew well—French brandy. Many times had she felt its warmth on her tongue, taking a celebratory drink after a successful run. The faces of so many friends and allies would grow rosy with each toast, until they all staggered into the night, seeking home.
Her eyes felt hot as she blinked back tears. She missed everyone so much. She missed home. But she was fighting for them, for all of them.
They’d like this Armagnac, though. It was exceptional. At Newcombe, they mostly moved cognac brandy of decent but not exceptional quality. She could drink rather a lot of this Armagnac.
“Oh, this is—” She shut her lips, once more preventing herself from giving away too much. They would all be suspect if she pointed out that the drink had to be from Bas-Armagnac, rather than Haut-Armagnac or La Ténarèze. “This is good,” she finished awkwardly, then moved to tip back the rest of her drink.
Kit’s hand stayed her. “Supper was a long time ago,” he said gently as she swayed on her feet.
She tried to focus her gaze on him, but the cursed man insisted on being hazy. “Was it?”
“Yes—hours, and you haven’t had much to eat since then.” He carefully plucked the glass from her hand and set it on the counter. “Let’s be charming guests and leave before Lord and Lady Marwood find us tiresome.”
“We’d never do that,” Lady Marwood pronounced. Her cheeks were flushed and she leaned against her husband. “Would we, Cam?”
“Never.” Lord Marwood pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “But I think we’re all a trifle tired from the night’s adventures. We’ll see you out.”
It was quite complicated to walk down the hall, and climbing up the stairs required all of Tamsyn’s skill. Kit’s hand was warm and solid on her lower back as he helped her ascend. He offered encouragement with every step.
“Just lift your foot a little,” he coaxed, “there’s a lass. One more. And again. There! The heights have been conquered.” He put an arm around her shoulders when they reached the top of the steps.
Victorious, she lifted her arms into the air while Lady Marwood clapped. “I am the vanquisher of stairwells! Look ye, and tremble at my might!” Goodness, but her Cornish accent sounded stronger even to her own ears.
“Our carriage waits, mighty one.” Kit kept pace beside her as helped her to the front door. He was like a knight of old, her husband. Pure chivalry.
A sleepy footman was there with hats and coats, while Lord Marwood mused, “I don’t know why they say married life is dull. We always have a rollicking good time, don’t we, Maggie?”
“The very best of times, my love.” She stood on tiptoe to give her husband an extremely enthusiastic kiss, which Lord Marwood returned. For a moment, it seemed as though they had forgotten about Tamsyn and Kit entirely, particularly when Lady Marwood’s fingers began undoing the buttons of Lord Marwood’s waistcoat.
Tamsyn watched with longing.
“Let’s leave them to it,” Kit murmured, then guided her out the open door.
“Good night!” Tamsyn called over her shoulder. “Thank you for the”—she hiccuped again—“refreshments.” She giggled at her own wit.
It took a small amount of intricate choreography to get into the carriage. She toppled in before clambering onto the seat. Kit did the same difficult maneuver with enviable effortlessness.
“How do you do that?” she accused as Kit settled into the seat opposite her. “Make everything look so easy?”
He rapped on the carriage ceiling and they were off. “It takes a good deal of work to appear graceful.”
“Always so ruddy handsome and strong,” she muttered.
“You think me handsome?” He asked this lightly, as if her answer didn’t matter. But his look was keen and curious.
“You know I do, scoundrel. And I know that makes you happy.” Yet she swam in affection for the good-looking rogue. She patted the cushions beside her. “Come here.”
He looked as though he considered refusing, but then the carriage tilted as he moved next to her. Their thighs pressed securely against each other, and she was aware of every fiber and sinew in his body. Wanting to feel more of Kit, she wrapped her arms around his bicep, her breasts snugly fitting to him.
“That’s another thing,” she announced. “You feel brawny like a laborer, but you’re not. No man can have muscles like these just from being a rakehell.” She squeezed the unyielding mass of his arm.
“Perhaps wenching and wine keep a man fit,” he offered. She made a rude noise, so he went on. “On Mondays and Thursdays I go to a fencing academy. Tuesdays and Fridays are for pugilism.”
“And Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday?” she demanded.
His grin flashed. “There are other kinds of exercise.”
“Yo
u mean the horizontal sort,” she deduced. She poked a finger into his solid chest. “How much of that exercise have you gotten lately?”
“That sounds suspiciously like jealousy, Lady Blakemere,” he said wryly.
“No jealousy, right? That’s the rule.” She blew a strand of loose hair from her face. She added sullenly, “I always break the rules.”
“My lady,” he said softly, putting a fingertip beneath her chin, “if you’ve want of my amorous services, you have only to demand them, and they’re yours.”
In response, she released his arm and grabbed the back of his head. “Kiss me.”
He carefully pulled her hands away and set them on his chest. “No need for an attack, my love. I’m not running away. Here. Like this.” He lowered his head and softly, gently, took her lips with his. Then he pulled back just enough to ask, “Better, yes?”
“More,” she murmured.
He brought his mouth down on hers. This time, there was greater heat and intent. She responded at once, all of the pent-up yearning and emotion within her rising to the surface. He tasted delicious and masculine, kissing her skillfully. But then his restraint seemed to slip, and he nipped at her, as though unable to control his desire. She loved his loss of control, that she could inspire him to forget what he knew and simply respond naturally. When his tongue slipped between her lips and stroked hers, she moaned, opening for him.
Her concern about this, about what his touch would do to her, was forgotten. Who cared about sheltering her heart? All she knew was her body’s needs and her soul’s yearning for Kit.
His hand skimmed up along her ribs. She held her breath, waiting for his touch. At last, he cupped her breast, and no sensation had ever been better. His finger circled her taut nipple. She gasped with pleasure.
Then he was gone.
She opened her eyes to find him staring at her ravenously, his breath coming fast.
“Don’t stop,” she said.
“Three whiskies and one brandy equal an inability to control one’s faculties.” His voice was low and rough. “If you want me like this when you’re sober, we’ll take up where we left off.”
Before she could complain, he moved to the rear-facing seat. He winced a little as he sat, and Tamsyn risked a glance at his crotch. The front of his breeches tented. Shock and arousal battled within her to see how he was affected.
She pressed a hand to her vertiginous head. The rocking of the carriage made her dizziness worse.
“Close your eyes, love,” he said. “If there’s anything to be said, it should wait for a more sober moment.”
“Wise,” she murmured, her lids drifting shut as she leaned against the side of the carriage. “You’re a wise man, Kit.”
“Only sometimes,” he answered, his voice sounding quite dry.
The next time Tamsyn opened her eyes, she was in his arms. The ceiling above looked vaguely familiar before she realized that they’d arrived home at some point. He now carried her upstairs.
She kept her lashes lowered, so he wouldn’t know that she was awake.
How easily he supported her! She felt his strength as he took the stairs without struggle, even though she was sprawled in his arms.
In a few moments, they had reached her room. Kit walked to the bed, then gently laid her down atop the covers. She held still as his steady hands undid the ribbons of her slippers. He pulled the shoes from her feet and, presumably, set them on the ground.
She thought that with his duty discharged, he would leave. Instead, he came back around the side of the bed and gazed down at her with an unreadable expression. He brushed a few strands of hair off her forehead, yet made no other move to touch her.
Kit exhaled. “Right,” he said softly. Then he turned and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.
She lay in bed, unmoving. The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire and the tick of the clock.
The sound reminded her of important obligations. Despite Jory’s dislike of letters, she’d written him early in the day asking that he wait before selling Chei Owr to any prospective buyers because she had a lead on one here in London. That would have to do until she could find some way to return to Cornwall and offer for the house herself.
Then, using coded language, she’d sent another note this morning to the fence recommended by footman Liam. Mr. Jayne had responded also using veiled words, agreeing to meet her tomorrow. Getting out of the house without attracting too much of Kit’s attention would be a challenge.
He’d been so attentive tonight, so focused on her enjoyment and her needs. And he’d been honorable, too, in refusing to take advantage of her inebriated state. Her heart and body craved him powerfully as though he’d taken up space beside her very bones. And her lonely, tender soul wanted everything he could give her—companionship, affection, respect.
Against her better judgment, she was developing feelings for him. Dangerous feelings.
Chapter 16
“I have an errand to run,” Tamsyn announced offhandedly.
Sitting at the breakfast table, Kit looked up from sorting through a stack of invitations. After their appearance at the theater, word had apparently gotten out that he and his new wife were out in public. Now he and Tamsyn received invitations by the heap, including social functions with some of the ton’s most respected figures. When he’d been a bachelor, the requests for his presence had come with a little less frequency, likely because everyone knew he wouldn’t go anywhere that was part of the Season’s sanctioned events.
Tamsyn gazed at him with an easy smile, the morning light painting her in soft hues as she sat beside him at the table. She showed no signs of her worry that, after last night’s heated kiss, he’d lunge across the table and ravish her in the breakfast room.
He was still reeling from it, how fast and hot the desire between them could rise up. He’d known from the beginning that they shared a powerful chemistry, and to his surprise, he saw that the more he knew of her, the more he desired her.
Kit felt himself set at a constant simmer. He’d been chaste for too long, having had to resort to hard, fast wanks before being able to fall asleep. Yet more than that, he wanted to know what would happen once he and Tamsyn finally let go—and how brightly they would burn.
She had to feel the attraction between them, too—last night had shown him that. Unguarded, she’d given voice to and acted on the pull of desire that had them circling each other like hawks in a mating dance. Now she gazed at him with warm familiarity, either pretending that last night hadn’t happened or that it didn’t affect her.
He wanted her, yes, and he craved having her close. He yearned to wake up beside her and hold her closely as she stirred from sleep. Kit had always believed it the height of banality to discuss dreams, and yet he wanted to hear his wife’s. Did she journey to places of happiness or fear? And if she did dream of fearful things, he wanted to be there beside her to offer comfort.
Despite her relaxed manner today, she was a little pale, most likely from the aftereffects of drink. He was slightly tender in the head this morning, but he’d developed a strong constitution when it came to alcohol. Still, despite recovering from intoxication, she’d risen at a decent time—which was notably different from ninety-five percent of the ton, sober or crapulous.
“I can accompany you,” he answered. It might provide more insight into who she was—though after the last few nights, he recognized her courage and determination.
“You’d find it dull,” she replied lightly. “And a carriage is a very uncomfortable place to take a nap.”
“Anything dull I can make amusing.” He’d gotten through the worst of the War’s tedium by finding ways to entertain his men. They’d have knife-throwing contests, and dirty rhyme competitions, or else Kit would challenge them to see who found the most weevils in their bread. No prizes were given out—what with all things of value being in short supply—but winning bragging rights could often spur someone to great heights.
/> Tamsyn rose from her chair and strolled toward the door. “This would strain even your ability to be diverted. I’ll take Nessa. I should be home sometime this afternoon.”
“Are you interested in any of these?” He gestured to the stack of invitations. “There are no fewer than five different balls, fetes, and dinners requesting our presence.” At her profoundly disinterested expression, he said, “Quite right. It’s all a lot of tedium. Let’s dine alone together tonight.”
A flush of pleasure stole into her cheeks. “I’d like that.”
“We’ll see each other later, then?” He couldn’t keep the eagerness out of his voice.
“Look for me,” she answered. “I’ll be the one in lavender.”
“Thank God you told me, or else I’d have trouble picking you out from all the other redheaded countesses milling about the dining room.”
Their shared smile warmed him everywhere, from the tips of his fingers to his smallest toes.
Before he could say another word, she had gone.
He sat alone with the invitations, trying to make sense of his excitement over tonight. The moments with her seemed all too brief, and he found himself wanting more and more.
Yet he sensed that part of her remained hidden from him. She seemed as private as a fairy guarding enchanted treasure beneath the earth. He could ask her questions and hope she’d reveal herself to him, or he could learn more about her.
Intelligence gathering had been part of the war effort. More than once, Kit and some of his most skilled men had gone in search of information, tailing the enemy while keeping hidden so that he might gain important knowledge about troop placements or the strength of the enemy’s defenses.
This was peacetime. One simply didn’t spy on other people—especially one’s wife.
On the other hand, if he didn’t find out more about Tamsyn, wooing her became that much more difficult and the pleasure garden would remain out of reach.