Eva Leigh - Counting on a Countess

This is what a siren feels like .

He was clearly too fond of women to believe in fidelity. Perhaps he would be so distracted bringing willing females into his bed that he’d pay his wife no mind. And when the vast fortune was his, he’d hardly notice the cost of buying a run-down manor in Cornwall.

He’d make for a truly terrible husband.

I have to marry him .

At last, the game ended, and the points totaled.

“Blast it,” the dowager muttered.

“We win,” Tamsyn said, blinking with surprise. She’d been too caught up in the moment, and him, to notice the actual play of the game. But she collected herself enough to say, as Lord Blakemere handed Tamsyn her share of the winnings, “Oh no, you keep it.”

His brows rose. “The prize belongs to both of us,” he said with surprise.

“I only wanted to play for amusement,” she demurred, though she couldn’t manage to sound coy. It wasn’t the truth, but saying, “I played to flirt with you,” wasn’t very strategic.

“Are you certain?” he pressed, his voice low and seductive. He leaned closer to her, and she felt her cheeks flush in response to his nearness.

“I am a woman who knows my own mind, my lord,” she answered pertly.

His grin was sudden, white, and dazzling. She—a woman who’d never fainted once in her life—grew dizzy from his smile, and wanted to lean into him.

No wonder he possessed such a reputation. What woman could resist his charm? “And I’m too much of a rogue to persuade you to change your mind.” He tucked his winnings into his coat. “We make a good partnership,” he murmured in a deep voice. “Shall we play again?”

Oh, yes.

“Tamsyn!” a disapproving feminine voice said behind her.

Turning in her chair, Tamsyn fixed Lady Daleford with a cheerful smile, which was difficult to maintain in the face of censure. “You’ve found me,” Tamsyn said brightly.

“So I did.” Lady Daleford eyed the earl guardedly. “I find myself fatigued. It’s time we head home.”

Tamsyn’s chest constricted. She wasn’t ready to leave yet. Not when things with the earl seemed so promising. On many levels.

But first and foremost, she had to think logically. Though she had attracted Lord Blakemere’s interest, she feared it wasn’t enough to warrant him calling on her. He’d found other women wanting as potential brides. Why should she be different?

I can only be myself. That had to be enough.

Rising from her chair, Tamsyn looked at him with frankness. “I enjoyed our game.”

“The feeling is reciprocated,” he answered, standing. His movements were economical but smooth. He had command over his body.

They stood close. Far closer than was respectable. She had an aching awareness of the breadth of his shoulders and the way his evening clothes skimmed over his muscles. The earl was a soldier still, after two years of peace.

A small frown appeared between his brows, as though he was attempting to puzzle through an enigma. “Might I—”

“ Now , Tamsyn,” Lady Daleford said in a clipped tone, already heading for the door.

Damn and hell, Tamsyn thought. Throwing Lord Blakemere a regretful look, she followed her companion out, though she could practically hear her body cry out, Wait! Go back!

Had she been successful? Was he intrigued enough to call on her? But she hadn’t given him leave to, nor had she told him where she was staying.

It seemed all she could do now was hope.

Kit’s eyes followed the intriguing Miss Tamsyn Pearce as she hurried out of the card room. He liked the way she moved with long, purposeful strides rather than using tiny, dainty steps. It wasn’t difficult to picture her tramping over wild, rolling countryside with her cheeks reddened by the wind, unconcerned by the mud edging the hem of her plain gown. He could well imagine that she was the sort of woman who needed to do something rather than restrict herself to being decorative.

He couldn’t deny his visceral reaction to her, either. Even now he felt the hot grip of desire, which had been heightened all the more by the seamless way in which they had played together. It had been a rhythmic give-and-take that had primed his body and excited his mind.

If nothing else, they would be a good match in bed. He knew this with a bodily certitude, an innate recognition of her sensual potential.

Was it enough on which to build a marriage? As he gazed at the door to the room—long after she’d vacated it—he searched for the instinctual aversion that had kept him from pursuing other ladies. But it wasn’t there. If anything, he yearned for more of Tamsyn Pearce.

She’d made her own interest clear. Yet she gazed at him not as a potential to keep her in luxury, but in the dark, elemental way women and men looked at each other.

He wasn’t a stranger to women making known their interest in him. Usually, such ladies were older, more familiar with the worldly ways of the ton . Tamsyn Pearce wasn’t a debutante fresh from the schoolroom, but she had only just come down from the country. She ought to be shy and diffident, yet she didn’t glance away when he looked at her.

She had refused to take the money they had won at cassino. So she wasn’t entirely mercenary.

Perhaps Miss Pearce was just as drawn to him as he was intrigued by her.

But she’d been dragged away by her sharp-eyed companion before he’d been able to ask about calling on her. Damn.

“The gel’s gone, Blakemere,” Lady Haighe said, rapping her knuckles on the card table. “So you can stop mooning after her like a sailor on shore leave.”

He always did like Lady Haighe. But now wasn’t the time to enjoy the baroness’s company.

“Please excuse me.” Kit bowed and hastened out of the card room, ignoring Lady Haighe’s muttered curses.

It took the work of a few moments to locate the night’s host, Lord Eblewhite. The viscount stood amidst a group of men and women gathered at one end of the ballroom. Someone had just said something mildly amusing, because the assembled company was all chuckling.

Kit set his hand on the viscount’s shoulder. “May I have a word in private, Eblewhite?”

“Of course, my lord.” The older man disengaged from his guests and together he and Kit walked to a quiet corner of the chamber. “How goes the search for a bride?” he asked heartily.

Kit fought to keep his impatience in check. Whatever drew him to Miss Pearce, he felt the snap of attraction. He couldn’t ignore the fact that time slipped by.

“You may be of assistance in that matter,” he replied. “What can you tell me about Miss Tamsyn Pearce?”

Lord Eblewhite frowned in thought. “There are so many girls here. I’ve trouble recalling ’em all, like picking out one sugared cake from a banquet full of ’em.”

“This particular cake comes from Cornwall and has red hair,” Kit noted.

The viscount’s brows rose. “Ah. Lady Daleford’s guest. She’s hosting the girl here in London.”

So that was the woman who snapped at him like a terrier. “What do you know of Miss Pearce?”

“A spinster, if I recall correctly.” Lord Eblewhite cast his gaze toward the ceiling as he scoured his memory. “Old Cornish gentry. Not much of a dowry—she’s from impecunious circumstances.”

Would that make her quick to spend his money, or would she watch every ha’penny? “Describe these circumstances,” Kit urged.

Eblewhite looked impatient to return to his guests, but said, “Lady Daleford spoke to Mrs. Osterland, who told Lady Eblewhite that the family manor house is falling down around them. There may be mines on the property. Perhaps not. The nearby village is barely getting by on farming or fishing, but I can’t recall.”