Counting on a Countess. Eva Leigh

      With a bow, the footman strode down a hallway, leaving Kit alone. The servant didn’t ask to take Kit’s hat, since it was known that callers never stayed for more than fifteen minutes—which suited him very well, since he hadn’t the luxury of long, protracted conversations.

      As he waited, a throb of edginess moved through him. Idleness often gave space for wariness to move in—a habit from so many years in combat.

       There are no enemies here. You’re in the heart of London, and safety is all around you.

      As he pushed the wariness back, unexpected anticipation rose up and strummed silver fingers along his arms and the back of his neck. Miss Pearce had vitality and spirit, with a hint of daring, as evidenced by her willingness to accept his staking her cards, and the directness of her gaze. Their mutual attraction couldn’t be ignored, either.

      Come find me, her eyes had said as she’d left the card room.

      Kit didn’t hunt, but he knew a lure when he saw one.

      He couldn’t question his rationale as to why Miss Pearce had been the lone woman to snag his interest. His instincts had kept him alive for nearly a decade of warfare, and he wouldn’t ignore them now.

      A clock somewhere chimed the quarter hour, and he checked his pocket watch to see that a full ten minutes had passed since the footman had departed with Kit’s card. Which meant that he was currently being debated by Lady Daleford and Miss Pearce.

      Straining to hear, he caught faint tones of women’s voices speaking in hushed, urgent whispers. A corner of his mouth curved up ruefully.

      The voices reached a peak, and then stopped abruptly. Kit’s heart thudded in the silence. His fate had been decided. Had Lady Daleford won? Or did Miss Pearce emerge victorious?

      The footman appeared, but the expression on his face gave nothing away.

      Kit’s breath halted.

      “Follow me, my lord,” the servant said.

      Kit exhaled, thinking to himself, Well done, Miss Pearce!

      He trailed after the footman down a short corridor before stepping through the doorway to a drawing room.

      “Lord Blakemere,” announced the footman before disappearing.

      A wall of windows permitted sunlight to stream into the chamber, forming halos around the furnishings. Miss Pearce, standing with her back to a window, became a fiery saint as her vivid hair caught the light. She wore an equally brilliant smile, full of surprised pleasure as she turned to face him.

      For a moment, Kit forgot the mechanics of breathing before they came back to him in a rush. Both he and Miss Pearce took a step toward each other.

      He held out the flowers. “Forgive my presumption, but I was compelled to bring these.”

      She crossed the room, her eyes bright as she accepted the bouquet. “Daisies! My favorite!”

      Perhaps she was telling the truth, or perhaps she prevaricated for the sake of politeness. Yet he had the feeling she wasn’t given to dishonesty, and his smile grew to see the picture she made, cradling the cheerful flowers. The flowers’ vivid hue matched the lushness of her mouth—a mouth that was perfectly made for kissing.

      A maid appeared and took the flowers from Miss Pearce. It was only then that Kit remembered that they were not alone in the drawing room. He turned to the older woman seated with an embroidery hoop near the fire.

      “Lady Daleford,” Kit said, bowing. “I am glad to find you at home.”

      The woman could not have looked more displeased to see him. Her lips were thin and her cheeks nearly red with indignation. “Lord Blakemere.”

      How had Miss Pearce convinced the old dame to admit him? Though he was curious, he would gladly accept the results.

      He glanced to Miss Pearce, who watched him with lively, curious eyes. Their looks caught. The distance between them seemed to dissolve to nothing, and the presence of Lady Daleford became a vague, remote annoyance.

      Kit felt her gaze like a hot caress down his back. A lick of lust uncoiled, centering in his groin and curling outward with a probing, curious touch.

      Her eyes widened, as though she, too, had felt that sudden flare. A candid, carnal flush bloomed in her cheeks. With her redhead’s complexion, she wasn’t able to hide her responses.

      Intriguing, their reactions. As though they were both surprised, and neither had anticipated anything other than dutiful acceptance of an unwanted situation.

      She cleared her throat. “Tea, my lord?”

      Lady Daleford coughed with displeasure.

      “A kind offer,” Kit answered. “The company is refreshment enough.” He inwardly grimaced. What a bloody trite thing to say.

      A corner of Miss Pearce’s mouth turned up as if recognizing the ridiculousness of the situation. She waved toward a chair. “Please.”

      He took his seat as she sank down on a nearby sofa.

      A small clock on the mantel ticked. They sat in silence for a full minute.

      What could he say to Miss Pearce now, anyway? We don’t know each other at all but let’s join our lives together forever seemed like an odd way to begin a conversation. I want to touch you everywhere and feel your hands on my naked skin also seemed inappropriate. And with Lady Daleford hovering like a vulture, he found it even more difficult to speak.

      He had to think of something. “Are you enjoying London, Miss Pearce?”

      “I get so blessedly confused here,” she said honestly. “The minute I set foot outside the door I don’t know west from east or north from south.” She spread her hands. “The curse of the first-time visitor.”

      “You’ve never been here before?” He oughtn’t be astonished by this. Many people lived away from London, but other than his years fighting, he’d always returned to the metropolis. Anything a man wanted could be found here.

      “All my life has been spent in Cornwall.” Her smile turned self-deprecating. “I must sound like the country mouse.”

      “There’s very little about you I’d ascribe to being a mouse, Miss Pearce.”

      Her lips pursed into an amused bow. “There’s another thing I’m not acclimated to—a city gentleman’s suavity.”

      “I’ll endeavor to speak more coarsely so I can put you at ease,” he teased.

      Her laugh was low and rich, sending another flicker of sensual curiosity careening through him. “If you could curse like a disgruntled fisherman, I’d be ever so much more comfortable.”

      Kit’s laugh caught them both by surprise. He hadn’t felt much like laughing these past few weeks—but she brought lightness out in him.

      Lady Daleford audibly grumbled.

      “May I interest you in a walk to Russell Square?” he asked Miss Pearce. “For once, the smoke in the air is tolerable enough. We might even be able to see a glimpse of blue sky.” He glanced at Lady Daleford. “Of course, we’ll bring along your maid. It will be entirely appropriate.”

      Lady Daleford opened her mouth, but Miss Pearce spoke first. “Yes, please.”

      “I’ll await you in the hallway,” Kit said, standing as she also got to her feet. He bowed at the older woman, who looked as though she gnawed on salt cod.

      He took a few steps past the door before stopping in the hallway. It was absolutely unforgivable that he eavesdrop, but Kit never claimed to have unimpeachable morals. In fact, his amorality had long been one of his greatest strengths.

      “My dear,” Lady Daleford said lowly and urgently. “Please reconsider. Feign illness or a turned ankle.