by Eva Leigh
He brightened. “Yes, actually,” he answered, energy growing in him as he looked around at the village. “A frivolous pleasure garden will generate income for a score of people. Instead,” he went on animatedly, “we put that money into the village. Transform it into a choice destination for wealthy Londoners. Everyone in Newcombe will have honest employment. No more dependency on sporadic fishing catches—”
“And no more smuggling,” she concluded. Her mind whirled with the idea. “Beyond belief, preposterous.” Her breath came quickly. “Wonderful.”
“It is, rather,” he said as if astounded by his own cleverness.
“Do you think we could do it?”
He stroked his palm down her cheek. “I’ve said it before, love,” he said gravely. “There is nothing you cannot do.”
She wasn’t concerned that many villagers hovered nearby. She didn’t give a damn if the Archbishop of Canterbury looked on. Her husband needed kissing, and by God, she was going to kiss him.
Cupping the back of Kit’s head, she brought his mouth to hers. He was warm and firm and deliciously masculine. She kissed him with all the passion that pulsed through her.
Someone whistled. She didn’t care.
Finally, she and Kit broke apart. “We’ll have to ask the people of Newcombe if they’ll agree to the plan,” she murmured.
He eyed the numerous faces surrounding them. “I’m confident that they’ll approve of whatever you propose. After all, they did sign on when a sixteen-year-old girl suggested that they take up smuggling.” He shook his head. “Fearless woman.”
She couldn’t stop the smile that wreathed her face. Everything within her brimmed with gratitude and joy—especially for him.
The past couldn’t be changed. The pain they’d both experienced couldn’t be erased. Hurts and wounds, however, faded.
There might be scars, but scars meant survival.
She and Kit had been alone in their battles before. Yet now, they fought and endured. Together.
And they would thrive.
Epilogue
Two months later
“Brighton, Margate, Portsmouth,” Langdon declared, spreading his arms wide as he looked out at the sparkling water. “They’ll be deserted once word gets out about Newcombe.”
“Alas for Prinny and his Pavilion,” Kit added with an unrepentant grin.
Greyland waved his hand dismissively. “He’ll find some other way to bolster his flagging ego. Perhaps he’ll declare war on Andorra.”
“With any luck,” Tamsyn said hopefully, “it will be a very brief war. One that lasts a half an hour.”
“From what I’ve heard,” Lady Greyland added in a conspiratorial tone, “the Prince Regent can’t last more than two minutes.”
“After sobbing over his insufficient manhood, Prinny will realize the key to his health will be an extended stay in Newcombe,” Kit affirmed, smiling at his wife and friends. A small folding table had been set up on the boardwalk, surrounded by five chairs currently occupied by Kit, Tamsyn, Langdon, and the Greylands. A teapot and cups had been brought out, as well, for refreshment.
There was far too much bustle and activity on the high street for anyone to sit and take a leisurely tea. Even from where Kit and the others sat, the sounds of construction rose above the crashing waves and gulls’ cries. Hammers, saws, and men’s shouts punctuated the air.
Military training, Kit had discovered, provided the exact resources needed for the metamorphosis of a sleepy fishing village into a fashionable seaside resort. Since the expulsion of Lord and Lady Shawe and the purchase of the manor house, not a day went by that didn’t witness Kit and Tamsyn reviewing plans and overseeing countless projects.
Fortunately, Kit’s experience taught him the benefit of delegation. Weeks earlier, he and Tamsyn had journeyed to London to interview people to manage and supervise the massive project. They had met with dozens of architects, urban planners, and engineers before finally settling on Monsieur Anselme Durand, the son of a Quebecois architect and his Algonquin wife. Monsieur Durand’s supervision ensured that Newcombe’s progress didn’t stumble.
Their work didn’t end at the village, either. The manor house was undergoing a transformation, as well. Scaffolding surrounded the aged structure as workmen labored. Kit couldn’t begrudge the noises of renovation, even if it meant he and Tamsyn were unable to spend long, leisurely hours abed in the morning.
Only today, he’d been awakened at first light by Tamsyn’s lips sliding down his abdomen, heading lower—and then the hammering outside had started. Still, a small amount of temporary sexual frustration was worth the price if it meant the resurrection of his wife’s familial estate.
He never tired of seeing her smile as she watched everything progress. She grumbled a little about the constant presence of workmen at the house, but her complaints were halfhearted.
Their guests from London didn’t object to the noise, either. They had journeyed from the capital to see Newcombe for themselves after Kit had written them full of praise. Upon their arrival, Lady Greyland had taken one look at the harbor and said, “If we don’t back this project, Alex, we’re a pair of damned fools.”
“You are no one’s fool, Cass,” her husband had replied solemnly.
They now sat down for tea on the boardwalk, having spent the morning touring all the construction sites.
“Monsieur Durand told me the hotels are already taking reservations,” Tamsyn said, then laughed in disbelief. “The foundations have just been laid, and we’re reaching capacity.”
“We’re ready to meet the demand,” Kit answered confidently. Energy and resolve surged through him. Thinking of the discussion he’d had the previous day with Monsieur Durand, he felt both satisfaction and humility.
The architect had presented him with a preliminary drawing for Newcombe’s future home for veterans. It would house two dozen severely injured men on a full-time basis, with twelve more beds for temporary guests taking the sea air. War had made him a hero and earned him a title, but at last he could give back and honor the men who’d fought and died.
He saw Tamsyn laughing at something Langdon said, and was struck breathless with gratitude. She’d given him so much—her determination, her drive, and the sheer pleasure with which she met each new challenge. Their marriage had been based on convenience. Hurried vows had concealed secrets that had shadowed the tentative bond between them. Then it had changed. Evolved, becoming stronger, deeper. And so had he.
Fighting had shaped him into a soldier. Being Tamsyn’s husband had made him a worthier man.
A man who could make love to his wife for hours, days, weeks, and never tire. He wanted more and more and more. Not just of her body, but her entire self.
She caught him looking at her with ardent carnality and blew him a kiss.
Was it possible for a man to perish from happiness and adoration? He might be the first.
Langdon’s drawl cut into his adoring thoughts. “I may need a sea cure myself after watching you two worship and fawn over each other.”
“I’m certain you can find a crab or lobster to seduce,” Kit answered. “A crustacean might be willing to overlook your shortcomings.”
Before Langdon could snap a retort, a boy ran across the boardwalk, heading toward them. He carried a folded piece of paper and fought to keep hold of it in the wind.
“Yes, Charlie?” Tamsyn asked when the child ran to her side.
“Got a letter,” the boy gasped, breathless from his run. “For Lord Langdon.”
“That’s me.” Langdon took the letter. He fished a coin out of his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Charlie. The boy grinned and clutched the coin tightly as he ran off.
“What is it?” Lady Greyland asked as Langdon unfolded the letter and perused its contents with a frown.
“I’m being summoned back to London by my father.” With a sigh, he tucked the missive into his coat. “He sent the letter with a carriage, which is waiting at the house.”
“Nothing dire, I hope?” Tamsyn asked.
“He likes to tug on my strings now and then, just to make certain I’ll dance to his tune. The price of being the heir.” He rose. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to return immediately.” After bowing over Tamsyn’s and Lady Greyland’s hands, and slapping Kit and Greyland on the shoulder, he straightened his coat. “Keep me apprised of the village’s progress. It’s a damned sight more interesting than anything happening in London.”
He strode away, and Kit wondered how long before his friend found his way back to the pleasures of the city. Despite Langdon’s words to the contrary, there was one thing in London that he couldn’t resist—the Orchid Club, and its beautiful manager.
“I think I’ll take my wife for a walk along the beach,” Kit announced. Tamsyn immediately got to her feet.
“By all means,” Greyland said, rising. “I’d like some privacy so I may seduce my own wife.”
“You don’t need to seduce me, Alex,” Lady Greyland chided affectionately. “I’m yours already.”
“It never hurts to practice,” the duke replied gravely.
“Avert your gaze,” Tamsyn directed Greyland. When he did, she bent and removed her shoes.
“Give them to me,” Lady Greyland said with a wink. “You might want both your hands free.”
Tamsyn handed the duchess her shoes, then reached for Kit’s hand.
Leaving the Greylands, they walked out onto the sand together. Kit soaked in the sensation of the sun on his shoulders, the fresh sea air washing over him, and the feel of her skin against his.
The breeze carried with it the sounds of construction from the village, each fall of the hammer sounding, briefly, like gunfire. Edginess rose up within him.
Tamsyn tugged on his hand, and his tension seeped away.
He would always be a veteran. The war was part of him, marking his body and his mind. Yet he could live with the shadows when there was so much light in his life.
“When you said no,” he murmured, “you saved me.”
“I said yes to your marriage proposal,” she objected.
“You denied me the pleasure garden,” he reminded her. “I would have poured myself into an illusion of peace.”
“You don’t wish for what might have been?” she asked.
He shook his head. “What I have now far outpaces any dream or fancy I might have once had.” He glanced at her, and the clean line of her profile. In his pocket, he still carried the seashell she’d given him months earlier, unwilling to consign it to a lonely life in his bedside table. “I’m just grateful that you were desperate enough to marry me.”
She smiled warmly at him. “They’ll have to change the old saying—for us, at any rate.”
“And what saying is that, love?”
She stopped walking and wrapped her arms around him. He brought her close and smiled when she touched her lips to his and whispered, “‘Marry in haste, rejoice at leisure.’”
Acknowledgments
This book has been a group effort born through the generous assistance of many hands. Firstly, I’d like to thank my editor, Nicole Fischer, who saw Tamsyn through her evolutions. Many thanks to my agent, Kevan Lyon, who has always championed my work.
And a huge debt of gratitude to those that provided assistance with the numerous important details: Natasha Boyd, Sarah MacLean, Kate Pearce, Caroline Linden, Cat Sebastian, Tessa Dare, Sophie Barnes, Laura Lee Guhrke, Lizbeth S. Tucker, Brooklyn Ann, Kerri Flowers, Maribeth Louise, Susan Helene Gottfried, Samantha Møller, Allie Filippova, Angela Panozzo, Carey McKinnon, KB Alan, Fran Strober Cassano, Lisa Hendrix, Misa Buckley, Lucy Woodhull, Bryn Donovan, Dee Carney, and Gwen Hayes. This book truly could not have happened without your valuable input.
Dare to Love a Duke
Thomas Powell, the future Duke of Northfield, has longed for the sensual and mysterious manager of the Orchid Club since the moment he saw her . . . but will she dare to give in to temptation?
Find out in the next London Underground novel . . .
DARE TO LOVE A DUKE
Coming Fall 2018!
About the Author
EVA LEIGH is the pen name of a RITA® Award-nominated romance author who writes novels chock-full of smart women and sexy men. She enjoys baking, Tweeting about boots, and listening to music from the ’80s. Eva and her husband live in Central California.
www.avonromance.com
www.facebook.com/avonromance
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By Eva Leigh
The Wicked Quills of London
Forever Your Earl
Scandal Takes the Stage
Temptations of a Wallflower
The London Underground
From Duke Till Dawn
Counting on a Countess
Coming Soon
Dare to Love a Duke
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
counting on a countess. Copyright © 2018 by Ami Silber. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition APRIL 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-249944-8
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-249943-1
Cover illustration by Jon Paul Ferrara
Cover photograph by Shirley Green Photography
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HarperCollins is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
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