Counting on a Countess: The most outrageous Regency romance of 2019 that fans of Vanity Fair and Poldark will adore. Eva Leigh
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СКАЧАТЬ leaned closer to her, slowly, as if afraid of frightening her. Engulfed by his masculinity, she grew light-headed. There was faint stubble on his jaw and cheeks where his beard would come in. Would it be gold or brown or even reddish? It was a shame that beards weren’t fashionable, because there was something so definitively masculine about them. If she had her way—

      Her thoughts stuttered and died as he pressed his lips to hers, and her eyes fluttered shut. She sank into the sensation of his mouth gently stroking back and forth, as if learning her, testing the feel of him and her together. He lingered that way for a while, as if in no hurry to speed the process along. If kissing was music, then he was a maestro, building gradually, allowing the melody to take shape before plunging ahead.

      The press of his lips grew firmer, and she found herself meeting him, leaning into the kiss and letting it delve deeper. At her response, a low sound of approval rose up from his chest. He slowly urged her lips apart and took the kiss further. The very tip of his tongue dipped to taste her. Without thought, she nipped at his tongue and met it with her own.

      Hot electricity shot through her. It coursed along her body, forking into bright strands that wove through her breasts and between her legs. She inhaled sharply, stunned by the sudden, powerful sensations.

       I’m going to be married to this man? Mercy.

      They pulled back in unison and her eyes flew open. His gaze was clouded with dazed pleasure and astonishment.

      It seemed he’d also been shocked by the heat of their kiss and the speed of its intensity. He, a known rake and libertine, looked aroused by what surely had to be one of the chastest kisses he’d experienced in a long while.

      Except it hadn’t been chaste. It had been brief, but their tongues lightly touching had been profoundly erotic, hinting at greater pleasure to come.

      He cleared his throat. “That was . . . a welcome revelation.”

      Her thoughts whirled while her body clamored for more. Hellfire—if this quick kiss had affected her so much, what would happen when they went to bed together? What if she liked it? What if she loved it, and her heart followed her body’s devotion? Then she’d have to reconcile herself to him leaving her bed for another.

      “I should be getting back,” she said.

      “Yes.”

      She stood, and he did the same, but it was then that she realized their hands were still clasped. She let him go at once, dropping him as though he burned.

      “Let’s get you home.” He held out his arm.

      Still shaken by the kiss, her legs wobbled slightly as they headed toward Lady Daleford’s town home, with Nessa trailing after them. Tamsyn looked back at her friend, who responded with a grin and a raised thumb.

      “I’ll go for the special license tomorrow,” the earl said. “I can pick the venue, too, unless you’d like to make the selection.”

      “I trust you.” Did she? Tamsyn was about to join with this man for the rest of her life. Aside from a few facts, she knew almost nothing about him. He was basically a stranger. Yet in three days, they would share a bed. They would share everything. According to the law, she would belong to him, and her own identity would dissolve.

      Was this the right choice? She’d gotten what she wanted, but she couldn’t help the fear that poked its sharp fangs into her heart.

       I have no idea what I’m getting myself into.

       Chapter 6

      The campfire on the night before the Battle of Nivelle seemed festive by comparison to this evening. Only an hour had passed since he’d pledged his troth to Miss Tamsyn Pearce of Cornwall, and the atmosphere still snapped with tension.

      The setting couldn’t be faulted. Kit’s friend, the Duke of Greyland, had offered his expansive, elegant home for the ceremony and reception. The wedding itself had been held in the dining room, which had been cleared out and specially decorated for the occasion with garlands of boxwood leaves and roses. Once the vows had been exchanged, the rites concluded, and the parish register signed, servants had brought in tables laden with delicacies and cakes, bowls of punch, and decanters of wine.

      A string trio played softly but cheerfully in one corner. Candlelight glittered on cut crystal chandeliers, making the polished silver plates and goblets shine. Everything looked splendid. But the mood remained stubbornly dour.

      Kit stood with a glass of wine by a large arrangement of gerbera daisies, watching the guests attempt to socialize. He fought a melancholy sigh. Men didn’t give melancholy sighs on their wedding days.

      “Naturally, an original such as yourself had to buck tradition and have a wedding at eleven o’clock in the evening.” Langdon approached and gave Kit’s shoulder a good-natured shake. He stood beside Kit, and together they observed the reception.

      “My parents came all the way from Yorkshire to be here,” Kit noted, “and their carriage became stuck in the mud four times today. I couldn’t have the ceremony until they arrived.”

      The majority of wedding ceremonies had to be before noon in a parish church, but Kit’s expensive purchase of a special license—using a loan from Langdon—from the Archbishop of Canterbury ensured that he could be wed at the place and time of his choosing. Unfortunately, it had taken two days longer than Kit had anticipated. Added to that was the excessive amount of time it had taken his parents to travel from Yorkshire, and he’d barely an hour left by the time the vows had been exchanged.

      “And on the very last day you had left,” Langdon added. He whistled. “I knew you were fond of gambling, but I didn’t think you’d risk your fortune.”

      “It wasn’t by choice,” Kit grumbled. “I swore to my parents that I wouldn’t marry without their presence.”

      He glanced over at his family. All of them appeared as though they had been drinking unsweetened lemonade.

      “None of them are especially forthcoming with their felicitations,” Langdon observed drily. “You’d think they would be happier with their youngest son no longer being their financial responsibility.” He eyed Kit. “And I would think you would be happier, too.”

      Kit took a drink of wine, but it didn’t round the sharp edges of his humor. “Nothing is settled until tomorrow. I’m to go to Lord Somerby’s solicitor’s office and finalize the paperwork. Until then, I’m the very impecunious Lord Blakemere, and my wife is the impoverished Lady Blakemere. Speaking of her . . .” His gaze skimmed over the small gathering. “Where is she?”

      “Being watched over by a disapproving sentry.” Langdon nodded toward a corner of the room.

      Tamsyn stood off to one side, her only company being the censorious Lady Daleford. Tamsyn’s expression was one of barely suppressed frustration.

      “Excuse me,” Kit said to Langdon.

      He crossed the room to reach her, aware of many gazes upon him. Nearing her, he observed how bewitching she looked in her pale silver gown adorned with tiny pearls and silver lace. It had been purchased ready-made, СКАЧАТЬ