Counting on a Countess

by Eva Leigh

  The feel of his bare skin on her most private place jolted her. But it felt so very good. Her body released its tension.

  “Ah, that’s it,” he said on a sigh as she relaxed against him. “I’ve been waiting so long to do this, to feel you here.” As he spoke, his fingers stroked lower, between her lips.

  She sucked in a breath. Oh, God.

  “You’re so wet,” he growled.

  She reveled in her blatant display of arousal, claiming it as part of herself. Thought itself vanished as he caressed her folds, and when he massaged her bud, the boundaries of her body dissolved, lost in a golden haze of pleasure. She heard her long, wild moan as he circled her opening.

  His finger slid into her.

  “Yes,” she gasped. She felt no sense of invasion, only rightness.

  He stroked in and out of her while his thumb flicked over her bud. With his other hand, he continued to stroke her nipple. Sensation consumed her. He pressed inside her, into a bright, swollen spot. She bowed up as pleasure cascaded over her in shining waves.

  Hoarse sounds climbed up from her throat as he played her body. She abandoned herself to his touch, needing only him and the way he drew forth ecstasy. Her hips moved without thought.

  “That’s it, love,” he urged. “Take what you want.”

  Her climax hit her with the strength of a tempest. It was an unstoppable force that leveled everything in its path. She cried out as it crested and ebbed and crested again.

  Her release slowly receded, leaving her limp and spent in Kit’s arms. He took her chin in his hand and kissed her, his tongue lapping against hers.

  He slid out from behind her to stand beside the bed. She had just enough strength left to prop herself against the headboard, but her attention sharpened when he unfastened his breeches and pushed them down his legs. Then he was naked.

  It was impossible not to stare at his cock, curved and hard, with a shining bead of moisture emerging from the slit at the top. Ravenous desire rose up in her like a high tide, submerging her in need.

  “The way you’re looking at me,” he rumbled. “Like a lioness eyeing her prey.”

  She pulled off her chemise, but kept her stockings and lay down as she widened her legs. “We’re the hunters and the hunted.”

  Kit inhaled deeply, then climbed onto the bed, arranging his long body atop hers. He lay between her legs, his weight balanced on his forearms. Their bodies fit together, flesh to flesh, his cock snug against her belly, and she looked up into his face to see a pleat of worry between his brows.

  “I thought the untried maiden was the one who was supposed to be afraid,” she murmured with a smile.

  “But this is my first time with a virgin.” He stroked a few strands of hair off her face. “It needs to be good for you.”

  She kissed him tenderly. “You already have made it better than I could’ve ever imagined.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her with such thoroughness she lost awareness of where she ended and he began.

  Shifting slightly, he reached down and positioned his cock so that it lay between her folds. She gasped as he slid his length up and down, teasing her bud, coating himself with her wetness. Then he fit the head of his cock at her entrance.

  She held her breath. He cupped her head with both of his hands, their gazes holding tightly.

  Slowly, he sank into her, inch by inch. Despite the discomfort, she breathed into the unfamiliar sensation, urging her body to relax to this new presence. He stretched and filled her.

  Sweat glossed his brow and his jaw clenched. He didn’t exhale until he’d seated himself completely. Then he held himself still, as though waiting for her to grow accustomed to the feel of him within her.

  “Yes?” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Yes,” she answered breathlessly.

  He drew his hips back, then slid forward. Gradually, her body eased, and the feeling verged between pain and pleasure. When he set up a slow rhythm, in and out, discomfort receded. She found herself rising up to meet his careful thrusts, gleams of sensation growing brighter with each stroke. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as his pace increased.

  “Ah, God,” he growled.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist, opening herself fully to him. He lifted up on straightened arms, gaining leverage to plunge harder, deeper. Sounds came out of her mouth, rising from a profound place. His low rumbles and exhalations joined her own wordless noises of pleasure.

  The world tilted as he rolled them over so he was on his back and she straddled him.

  “Ride me, love,” he rumbled, gripping her hips.

  This was wondrous. This was power. Bracing her hands on his chest, she experimented with angles and motions until she discovered the precise point where she could grind her bud against him with each stroke. A hot ecstasy gripped her. She felt wild and fierce, creating pleasure with him and taking what she wanted.

  “Ah, sweet.” His words were low and gravelly. “I could come just from seeing that look on your face.”

  “Then do it.” She didn’t recognize her voice—surely an untamed siren had taken her place.

  “You first.” He bared his teeth. “Fuck me, Tamsyn. Fuck me until you come.”

  His raw words untethered her. She let go and pumped her hips hard against him, and he bucked beneath her. Release beckoned. She raced toward it, riding Kit hard.

  She cried out as her climax struck. It filled her and shattered the boundaries of her body, her mind. She only knew the feel of Kit under her, within her, and the rapture they made.

  The pleasure withdrew in long, slow pulses, taking her strength with it. She draped over him. But no sooner did the last waves pass before he thrust up powerfully and threw back his head. He groaned as his orgasm seemed to rack his entire body, and she felt him pulse within her.

  They collapsed and panted together, slick with sweat. He stroked her hair, her back, her arse. She soaked in the feeling of his touch. Their mouths found each other.

  “We burn together,” he murmured between kisses.

  She couldn’t speak, but if she could, she would have agreed. Had they done this on their wedding night, with them practically strangers, they might have felt some physical pleasure but missed the profound connection that bound them together now.

  But she’d been right to fear this, because she knew with overwhelming certainty that in giving her body pleasure, he’d won her heart.

  Kit lay with Tamsyn in his arms, contentment filling him. Leisurely, he ran his hand back and forth from her shoulder, down her arm, to her hand, then back. He loved the feel of her skin. He could touch it forever and never tire of the sensation.

  He was wrung dry, his body sated, yet the need to make love to her again drummed through him.

  Perhaps his unquenched desire was a result of having withheld for so long—yet that wasn’t what drove his need. He’d wanted her almost from the very beginning, realizing on a deep level how magnificent they would be together. He’d been right.

  Tamsyn’s honest, frank responsiveness had aroused him beyond measure, and the fit of their bodies together sent him into a frenzied fever. God, she’d been sweet. His cock stirred at the remembrance of being inside her. And there was so much wonderment in making love with someone he cared for. The experience had been transcendent, and he wanted to share it with her again. But she needed time to recover from her first time.

  His first time, as well. He’d tried so hard to please her, wanting that above all else. Had he been successful? Given the way she all but purred in his arms now, he had to think that he was. He permitted himself a moment’s pride, reveling in the glow that came from pleasuring a woman. Not just any woman. His wife. There were men who talked of mechanically having sex with their spouses, saving passion and creativity for mistresses. They were sodding fools.

  What a damn idiot he’d been, thinking that he would sleep with Tamsyn long enough to get an heir, then find himself a mistress and look the other way when
she took a lover. The idea of touching any woman besides her was abhorrent. As for Tamsyn’s future lover—he couldn’t even allow himself to complete that thought.

  At the very back of his mind, he remembered his plan to get closer to her, for money’s sake. Yet he let that idea scatter like a dandelion on the wind. They had started a journey together, a journey that bound them to each other. Now he wanted to win her heart because he’d given her his.

  She trailed her fingers over his chest, her touch lingering over the scar he’d received in Vimeiro from a bayonet. The fever had been worse than the wound, nearly killing him as he’d sweated in a hospital tent with dozens of dying men. He still heard the screams of those undergoing amputations, though the rattle of gaming dice usually chased away the phantom sound.

  Yet her brightness burned away lingering shadows.

  “Kit?” Tamsyn murmured, snapping him back to the present.

  “Mmm.” He rubbed his lips over the crown of her head.

  “You don’t need to tell me anything about the War,” she said softly. “I won’t ask. But if you do want to speak about it, anything at all, I’m here.”

  No one had ever said such a thing to him. Not his family, nor his friends. Even Langdon and Greyland had merely clapped him on the shoulder upon his return and maintained what he imagined they thought was a respectful silence on the subject. So he’d been alone with his memories and his scars, shouldering their weight because he had to. It was either that, or collapsing beneath the burden of a thousand ghosts.

  He’d never tell Tamsyn about the brutality of war. She shouldn’t have the knowledge that warfare killed a man’s sense of divine justice. No one needed to live with that poisoning their souls.

  Yet her offer struck him to his marrow, humbling him.

  “Thank you.” He wove their fingers together, and her touch pushed back the specters. “For now, this is all I need.”

  They fell into an intimate silence. Her breath fanned across his chest where she rested her head, the soft puffs of warm air soothing him.

  “Kit?”

  “Yes?” It didn’t matter what she asked of him, he’d agree to it.

  She sifted the fingers of her free hand through the hair curling on his chest. “I’d like to do this again.”

  “Of course,” he answered. “We are married, after all. We can share a bed whenever we want.”

  “No,” she said, raising herself up enough to turn and look at him. “I mean, right now, I’d like to . . .” Her cheeks flushed.

  “Ah.” His body was ready in an instant. “You’re not too sore?”

  “I am, a bit,” she admitted. “But I don’t want to wait.”

  He bowed his head. “Your servant, madam.” Pulling her closer so that their mouths aligned, he said on a murmur, “I’m glad we took our time with this.”

  “I am, too,” she said, her eyes soft.

  They kissed, and he had the vertiginous realization that he could have thousands of nights with her, but it would never be enough.

  Chapter 20

  Tamsyn awoke with a deep feeling of peace, the kind of peace she hadn’t known in many years. As though all the storms that had been raging within her finally subsided and the sea was mirror calm and the sky was a deep, jeweled blue. It was odd and strange, this sensation, and she searched her memory for a reason why she ought to feel this way.

  With closed eyes, she moved to stretch out her arm and her hand encountered something solid and warm moving rhythmically. Pressing her hand to this mass, she discovered it was a male torso.

  Her eyes flew open and she turned to behold a very naked Kit sleeping beside her. A faint blond stubble shaded his jaw, and the blanket had crept down his chest, revealing a body she wanted to study for hours. She drank him in as though desperately parched.

  Which she had been, in truth. For so long, she’d resigned herself to a life of responsibility and duty, a life of solitude. Then Kit had come along and while she’d found him handsome and alluring, she’d tried her best to hold him at arm’s length.

  Yet he’d been so gentle, so patient and generous, giving her the affection and care she hadn’t realized she craved. Last night, she’d yielded to the demands of her body and her heart. She couldn’t regret her decision.

  Tamsyn tamped down the urge to sigh blissfully, but it was a challenge. She’d fallen for her husband.

  Her lips curved into a smile as she decided the best way to mark this significant moment was to kiss Kit awake. Then, as he stirred, she’d kiss him even more, rousing him to full awareness, and then . . . Her body heated at the thought as her soul welcomed their profound joining.

  Tap tap tap tap.

  Tamsyn frowned at the sudden sound. Rising up on her elbow, she looked around the room. Perhaps it was a woodpecker, or a leaky ceiling.

  But no birds perched on the windowsill, and the ceiling seemed free of drips. Sitting up farther, she looked down at Kit, who slept peaceably on, undisturbed by the tapping.

  She would have happily gazed at her handsome husband while he slept—but that bloody noise wouldn’t let up.

  It came from the door.

  She slid out of bed and threw on a robe. Clutching the silk around her body, she hurried to the door and cracked it open to reveal Nessa’s concerned face.

  Instantly, Tamsyn’s irritation vanished. Anxiety prickled along her arms. “What is it?”

  “The shipment,” Nessa whispered. “It’s here.”

  Any lingering feelings of love-struck peace clinging to Tamsyn disappeared. She snapped to attention. “I’ll be down in five minutes.”

  After Nessa nodded, Tamsyn quietly shut the door. She turned back to look at the bed, where Kit continued to slumber. Praying that he was a heavy sleeper, she padded as silently as possible around the chamber, gathering up her clothes and hastily dressing.

  This was not how she wanted to spend the morning after discovering that she’d developed powerful feelings for her husband and finally making love with him.

  Tamsyn gave him one last enraptured look, then slipped out of her room. She sped down the stairs and through the house, going down another flight of steps to reach the basement.

  Hurrying into Mr. Stockton’s pantry, she saw Nessa waiting with Liam and Dennis.

  The butler stood as she entered. “My lady. I believe your items have arrived.”

  “Do any of the other servants know?” Tamsyn demanded.

  “I told them the delivery was for his lordship’s cellar.”

  “Very good,” she said with a nod. “I’ll speak to Fred. Liam and Dennis, follow me.”

  With the footmen trailing after her, Tamsyn exited the back door. It opened to the mews, where Fred Wren stood with a hay-filled wagon. The tall Cornishman’s shoulders sagged with relief to see her.

  Even though she missed a familiar face from home, this was no time for reunions. She approached him and asked briskly, “You’ve brought the harvest?”

  In response, he moved aside some of the hay, revealing that the damp mass was only a few inches deep. Beneath it were wooden boards. Fred tugged off a slat to uncover a sizable space full of small casks.

  “And the rest?” she pressed.

  He pulled a basket down from behind the driver’s seat. Apples lay at the very top of the basket, and under the apples were several bolts of Chantilly lace.

  Tamsyn nodded in approval. She turned to the waiting footmen. “Take these and put them in the storeroom. Be quick,” she added.

  As the servants hurried to follow her directions, she handed five pound notes to the driver. “You shouldn’t have left Newcombe without being summoned,” she said, “but you did, and that’s behind us. The five pounds is for your trouble.”

  He blushed with embarrassment and tugged on the brim of his hat. “Thank’ee, Miss Tamsyn.”

  She didn’t bother telling Fred that she was Lady Blakemere now—she knew him too well to stand on ceremony.

  While Liam and Dennis unloaded the w
agon, Tamsyn supervised, directing the footmen to minimize stacking the casks too tall so the ankers would be easier to move quickly. The basket of lace was stashed in a corner. Finally, the emptied wagon drove off, presumably heading back to Cornwall.

  Tamsyn addressed Liam, Dennis, and Mr. Stockton as Nessa looked on. “We’ll be moving the merchandise in the next few days. In the meantime, none of you can breathe a word of this to anybody. Not your friends, your family, or the pie man who sells you your breakfast. The merest whisper to my husband would be disastrous. He’s a veteran, and will be furious if he learns of us subverting the Crown. Should anyone get wind of what we’re doing here, each and every one of us could be transported. At the very least, you won’t see a cent from the profits. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, my lady,” the three men chorused.

  “Very good.” She exhaled. “Excellent work today.” She nodded at Nessa before sweeping past them and making her way upstairs.

  Later today, she was going to have to ask Kit if she could take a brief sojourn to Cornwall to tie up loose ends—namely, buying Chei Owr. Much as she needed to undertake that journey, the thought of leaving him now, when things were so good between them, caused a throb of pain to press down on her.

  After she shut the door to the basement stairs behind her, she turned and collided with something warm and solid.

  “There you are,” Kit said. He was partially dressed, several of the buttons on his waistcoat undone and his neckcloth missing. His uncombed hair stood up in unruly patches.

  She summoned a smile as her heartbeat struggled to return to a normal pace. “Good morning.”

  “Imagine my surprise when I awoke to find my bride missing,” he noted wryly.

  “A small domestic emergency,” she explained, leading him back into the main part of the house. “All taken care of.”

  “Anything I can assist with?”

  She waved a hand. “Not a bit. I didn’t mean to alarm you,” she added apologetically.