Counting on a Countess

by Eva Leigh

  He exhaled heavily at the dilemma. Ethics versus the attainment of his dream.

  After a moment, he got to his feet and hurried upstairs. In the hallway, he heard Tamsyn speaking with her maid as the two of them got ready to leave. He darted into his room, grabbed a hat and coat, and sped downstairs, his conscience pricking him all the while.

  To the footman by the door he said, “If Lady Blakemere asks, I went to White’s.” It was far too early for anyone of interest to be at the club, but it was unlikely that she would know that. “I’m leaving the carriage for her use.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  With that, Kit threw on his coat and hat and left. He hurried down the block before hailing a cab.

  “Where to, my lord?” the driver asked as Kit neared.

  “In a few minutes, a carriage is going to pull in front of that house,” he answered, pointing at his own front door. “After a woman gets in the carriage and drives off, I want you to follow it.”

  “Here now,” the driver said fretfully, “I don’t cotton to following ladies, especially them of quality.”

  “She’s my damned wife.” Kit spoke between his teeth. He didn’t need anyone reminding him that what he was about to do wasn’t precisely ethical. Clamping down on his principles, he handed the driver a shiny guinea. “There’s more in it for you, so long as you stay on top of the carriage, avoid being seen, and keep your opinions to yourself.”

  The cabman’s brows rose, but he nodded in agreement. “Get in, my lord.”

  Kit clambered into the cab and prepared himself for a short wait. He drummed his fingers on the seat, tamping down his unease. Following Tamsyn was an impulse. He wasn’t entirely certain what it might yield, but he had to believe it was better trying to discover who she was than simply retreating into habitual self-indulgence. He could argue with his morals later, after he’d purchased the land for the pleasure garden.

  His thoughts snapped to the present when Tamsyn emerged from the house with her maid. She glanced up and down the street before a footman helped her into the carriage. With a flick of the reins, the vehicle pulled away from the curb.

  “This is your cue,” Kit called up to the driver.

  “Right, my lord.” The cabman clicked to the horse and flicked the ribbons. In a moment, they were in pursuit.

  Kit watched the passing scenery with an alert eye. Would she be heading to Bond Street? The shops on Oxford Street, or maybe Covent Garden? She had a fortune at her disposal and despite her concern over money, she could buy anything she wanted.

  The cab followed the carriage into the City, until they reached Clerkenwell. Jeweler’s shops were abundant here—which made sense now that he thought about it. Tamsyn seemed to own almost no jewelry or adornments. Most likely, if there were any family treasures, her uncle and aunt had control over them.

  The carriage came to a stop on a side street. Kit called up to his driver, “Pull over here.”

  When the cab halted, Kit jumped out and threw money at the driver. Then he hurried back toward the narrow lane.

  He peered around the corner, watching the carriage. A footman got down from the back of the vehicle and opened the door for Tamsyn, who stepped out cautiously. Again, she glanced up and down the street, which seemed a curious thing to do, until he recalled that she was unfamiliar with the City and was most likely acquainting herself with her surroundings.

  Her maid descended the carriage and, together, they walked down the street.

  Keeping a safe distance back, Kit followed.

  Tamsyn paused in front of a jewelry shop, drawn by the display of earbobs arranged in the window. Baubles seldom caught her eye, but these were so brilliant she had to admire them.

  “Fine bit of stone to have hanging on one’s ears,” Nessa murmured beside her. “You could get yourself a pair.”

  “They’re so frivolous,” Tamsyn answered.

  “Can afford to be frivolous now,” her friend pointed out.

  “I—” Tamsyn’s words died as she spied a familiar figure in the glass. She didn’t dare turn around to investigate, but then she peered closer at the man’s reflected image and cursed.

  “What is it, dove?” Nessa asked.

  “My husband,” Tamsyn replied through her teeth. “He’s on the other side of the street. Half-hidden behind a cart. Don’t look,” she warned. Damn—she thought he’d gone to his club.

  Nessa’s eyes were round. “What’s he doing here?”

  “I don’t know.” Perhaps it was only a coincidence. He had no known reason to follow her. Unless he suspected her of something. Had he talked to Mr. Stockton, or Liam and Dennis?

  “He can’t know where we’re going,” Nessa said urgently.

  “He won’t.” Tamsyn wasn’t quite as certain as her words implied. “Stick close to me.”

  Feigning casualness, she turned from the window and ambled down the street. The trick was losing Kit without him knowing that she’d done so on purpose. She stopped periodically in front of shops, all the while keeping track of him surreptitiously. He maintained a degree of distance, but was always nearby.

  Hellfire, he was following her.

  She walked into one of the jeweler’s shops and contrived interest in the wares before leaving. She did this twice more. At the fourth establishment, a clerk came over to her.

  “How may I be of assistance, my lady?” he asked.

  “Does this shop have a back door?”

  The clerk seemed puzzled by her request, but said, “It does. Straight through the curtains, down the hall, and then there’s a door that opens onto an alley.”

  “Thank you.” She held up a twopence. “If anyone asks after me, I was never here.”

  “Yes, my lady,” he said, quickly pocketing the coin. He held the curtain back for her, and she swept into the corridor, with Nessa following.

  Within moments, they were in a narrow, brick-lined alley, the cobblestones slick at their feet. Tamsyn hastened down the narrow passageway until she reached its end, which opened onto a street. After giving the street a thorough inspection and finding no sign of Kit, she consulted a map that she had tucked in her reticule.

  Once oriented, she walked with quick, decisive steps toward her destination.

  Kit waited across the street, using a newspaper to shield his face. Minutes passed. Tamsyn and her maid didn’t emerge. Perhaps something had caught her eye, and she was arranging for its purchase.

  Yet time stretched on until a full half an hour passed.

  Curious, Kit made his way to the shop and glanced through the glass. Inside, a gentleman in a long coat examined a case of watch chains, attended by a clerk, yet there were no women inside.

  The hell with caution. Kit entered the shop, and the clerk greeted him.

  “Excuse me,” Kit asked, stepping beside the other customer. “Did a redheaded woman and her maid come in here?”

  “No, my lord,” the young clerk answered.

  Strange. Kit could have sworn that this was the shop she’d entered. He drifted out of the jeweler’s and stood on the curb, looking up and down Turnmill Street. But there was no sign of Tamsyn or her maid. It was as if both women had vanished.

  Where had his wife gone?

  You’ve gone and spied on her—for nothing.

  Not for nothing. I’ve learned something very important about her: despite her frugality, she craves something pretty and frivolous. That’s a significant discovery.

  He had to believe it was worth it.

  “This is it,” Tamsyn said quietly to Nessa.

  The sign outside read, A. Jayne, Purveyor of Fine Jewelry, Watches, &c.

  A bell rang as they stepped inside the jewelry shop. The sound matched her jangling pulse as she fought to keep her expression calm.

  It had been close, very close with Kit. Thank God she’d lost him in the maze of London streets. She would have to think about his reasons for following her, but not now. Not here.

  She didn’t know much abou
t the world inhabited by the upper echelons. But she’d been a part of the criminal sphere for years. Stepping inside a fence’s front felt natural and comfortable. Yet she didn’t feel too at ease—so much was at stake.

  Tamsyn glanced about curiously. She hadn’t truly paid attention to the interiors of the other jewelry shops, too focused on shaking Kit. After her experience with the tanner and his stinking booth weeks ago, the elegant luxury of A. Jayne’s showroom came as a surprise.

  “Areah,” Nessa exclaimed softly. “Don’t see much like this back home. Not even in Penzance.”

  “Or Newquay,” Tamsyn agreed in a low voice.

  A plush Oriental carpet covered the floor, and polished brass fittings gleamed in the sunlight. Locked glass cases were arranged atop wooden counters. The contents of the displays dazzled with their brilliant array of gold and silver, pearls and diamonds, all arrayed on black velvet-covered cushions. Though she was here on a different kind of business, she found herself drifting to one case with an array of necklaces. They ranged in design from large and showy to delicate and understated.

  One in particular caught her eye. It was a fine gold chain with a single teardrop pearl pendant. Next to the other pieces, it seemed almost plain. But the simplicity of the design highlighted the iridescent allure of the pearl. It reminded her of the white foam atop the waves as they rushed toward the shore.

  “A good eye you’ve got.”

  Tamsyn looked up at the man standing behind the counter, gazing at her expectantly. He had dark brown skin and black hair that was going silver at the temples. Dressed finely but soberly, he sported a very stylish watch chain draped over his waistcoat, and a ruby ring glinted on his right hand.

  “Most people go for the diamonds and emeralds,” the man continued. “It takes discernment to appreciate pearls.”

  “Are you Mr. Jayne?” Tamsyn asked.

  “I am,” he answered with a nod. “Alfonse Jayne, and this is my establishment. That lass over there,” he continued, pointing at a girl of about twelve years who was wiping down one of the cases, “is my daughter, Lydia.”

  Tamsyn nodded at the girl, who shyly curtsied in response.

  “Your shop is lovely,” Tamsyn said, turning back to Mr. Jayne.

  He smiled broadly. “Make everything in the back, myself and my wife. The finest diamonds from Brazil and gold from the Balkans.” He looked at her attentively as he rested his hands on the back of the case. “Is there something special you’re shopping for today, madam?”

  “Today is not for shopping.” She drew in a breath. “Today is for selling.”

  A faint frown appeared between Mr. Jayne’s eyebrows. “Are you a dealer of gems?”

  She leaned forward and said very quietly, “Not gems, but items that you might find of interest. Continental items—from France, specifically.”

  His expression shifted slightly, smoothing out and becoming unreadable. He walked quickly to the door and locked it, then returned to her.

  “You wrote me yesterday. You’re the one from Cornwall,” he said briskly. “With the lace and brandy.”

  She nodded. “A shipment is on its way now, and looking for buyers. It will be in London before week’s end.”

  “Go in the back, Lydia,” Mr. Jayne said to his daughter. At once, the girl obeyed, disappearing behind a heavy door. Turning back to Tamsyn, he continued, his expression slightly distant. “Your letter didn’t indicate your sex. I wasn’t expecting a Cornish woman. When it comes to moving contraband, I don’t usually work with females.”

  Tamsyn straightened. “If you don’t want to do business with me on the basis of my gender, you’ll be losing out on substantial profits—profits I’m happy to take elsewhere.”

  She didn’t have a lead on another dealer, but Mr. Jayne didn’t need to know that. Thankfully, Nessa held her tongue.

  He appeared unconvinced. “What sort of inventory will I be expecting?”

  “Nearly five hundred gallons of brandy. And fifty yards of Chantilly lace. All of it would fetch fine coin here in London.” She pulled the flask from her reticule. “A sample of the brandy.”

  Mr. Jayne took a sip, then nodded thoughtfully as he handed the flask back to her. “And when would all this arrive?”

  “By the end of the week, no later,” Tamsyn answered. “You’d have time to line up buyers.”

  He stroked his chin and was silent. Tamsyn gazed at him with what she hoped was perfect indifference. She’d played this game before and knew the rules.

  “People are tired of the War’s deprivations,” she said casually. “They want to indulge and spoil themselves. You’ll have no trouble moving my goods, with a generous profit for you and your family.”

  After another pause, he said, “I know half a dozen members of Parliament who’ll want that brandy. Their wives will want the lace.”

  Silently, Tamsyn exhaled.

  Mr. Jayne looked past her to Nessa. “You. Come to me when the shipment arrives. We’ll make a plan on moving the goods out for sale.”

  “Aye, sir,” Nessa answered.

  “In the interim,” Tamsyn added, “you’ll find buyers.” She stuck out her hand. “Seal the bargain?”

  He glanced down at her outstretched hand, then shook it. “For a woman, you have a good head for this trade.”

  Tamsyn bit back a tart reply. Now wasn’t the time for upbraiding him about his bias. Instead, after shaking his hand, she headed toward the door. “Communication from me will turn up shortly.”

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” he replied. He stepped forward and unlocked the door.

  She gave him a nod, then moved out onto the curb with Nessa following. After giving the street one last look and finding only the usual tradespeople and shoppers and no sign of Kit, Tamsyn walked toward the waiting carriage.

  They reached the vehicle without incident, and she allowed the footman to open the carriage door and help her inside. Nessa took the seat opposite her.

  “Drive on,” Tamsyn called up to the coachman.

  Only when the carriage was in motion did she allow herself to fully relax, sinking back against the padded seat with a loud exhale.

  “Nicely accomplished, my dove,” Nessa said brightly. She patted Tamsyn’s knee. “No need to fret. His lordship knows nothing. We’ve got our fence, and there’s naught to do but bide your time. Then . . .” She rubbed her fingers together.

  “First, the goods have to get here,” Tamsyn reminded her. “There’s the matter of storing it all, keeping the servants and Lord Blakemere from finding out, and getting people to buy everything.”

  Nessa clicked her tongue. “A worrier, you are.”

  “If I don’t do it, who will?” Tamsyn glanced out the window. At least the first task was taken care of. And she’d done it without Kit’s knowledge. Or so she hoped.

  She pressed a hand to her chest, pushing back against the thudding of her heart. All night, her thoughts had ricocheted back and forth between worry about securing a fence and reliving the kiss with Kit. It had been so potent, so seductive. Yet she couldn’t attribute her distraction to the alcohol clouding her brain. In truth, all of her intoxication had been because of him.

  It reverberated throughout her body. She could still taste him.

  Once she had gotten with child, she could return to Cornwall. He would have his heir, and she’d go home to run the smuggling. With her situated far away, he’d take lovers.

  Everyone would get what they wanted.

  Wouldn’t they?

  Chapter 17

  “Tamsyn.”

  Her eyes closed, she muttered and stirred. It had taken her so long to fall asleep last night. Now a man kept saying her name, forcing her out of fitful dreams.

  “Tamsyn, wake up.”

  A hand rested on her shoulder, giving her a slight shake. Her eyelids dragged open, and Kit’s face swam into focus.

  Several moments passed before she registered what this meant. Kit was in her room. He sat on t
he edge of her bed, pale morning sunlight filtering through the windows behind him.

  Consciousness hit her like a slap. She pushed herself upright, then rubbed her face, forcing back the heavy smoke of lethargy. Something had to be wrong, or else why would Kit be in her bedchamber, fully dressed, and up at—she squinted at the clock on the mantel—six in the morning?

  “What is it?” She scanned his face for some sign, something to indicate what was happening or a hint at his mood, yet his expression was opaque.

  “Get dressed,” he said. “Quickly.” He stood and loomed over the bed.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” she urged.

  “A surprise,” he answered. “However, you must hurry. I’ll wait for you downstairs in the foyer.”

  “I—”

  But he was already striding out of the room, leaving her alone with her confusion.

  She clambered out of bed and tugged the bellpull for Nessa. While she waited, she speedily took care of her morning needs, then began to wash.

  As she worked a brush through her tangled hair, her thoughts tumbled over each other in hazy confusion. She’d returned home from her meeting with Mr. Jayne—and shaking Kit as he’d followed her—worried that she would find her husband distant and suspicious. But their dinner at home together had been altogether delightful. He’d entertained her late into the evening with tales of his youthful misadventures at school. When he’d pressed her for more about her life in Cornwall, she’d recounted her favorite legends about alluring mermaids and mischievous piskies.

  After their meal, they’d gone to the drawing room and played piquet. It had turned into a game of who could cheat more outrageously, culminating in her finding a stash of aces tucked into the top of Kit’s boot.

  She’d thought he would try to kiss her again, but he hadn’t. Instead, they’d gone to their separate beds, where she’d spent the night wondering if she’d merely imagined him following her earlier in the day. Everything was as snared as her hair, and she set the brush down in frustration, still mystified by Kit’s strange appearance in her bedroom.

  Nessa hastened in, clothed but her hair wasn’t yet up. “A trifle early,” she said with a hint of remonstrance, “even for you.”