Counting on a Countess. Eva Leigh

can take a lover. I won’t be jealous of you, and you won’t be jealous of me.”

      She knew how city marriages worked. Even so, she confessed, “I didn’t think it mattered that we might be monogamous, but hearing it spelled out so plainly is”—she searched for the right word—“strange.”

      He looked rueful, but not repentant. “Understandable. But I must say again that Lord Somerby was a very wealthy man. His wealth will be mine. You will have any material comfort you desire, so long as your spending is within reason.”

      With no dowry and all her attention given to smuggling, she’d never expected to marry. She’d resigned herself to living as her uncle’s dependent at Chei Owr while she continued to run the smuggling operation.

      She’d also reconciled herself to spinsterhood—and all its attendant loneliness. Yet to know that her future husband wouldn’t be faithful felt like a disappointment.

      Never knew I’d given two figs about romance. And yet she did, seeing now that it would truly be denied to her.

       You’ll have Chei Owr. That’s something.

      “Consider us as business partners,” he explained, “rather than a romantic couple.”

      Could she sign her name to an agreement with the man who would be her husband, the man who would have control over her person and her future children?

      Did she have a choice in saying no?

      “If we wed,” he continued persuasively, “we’ll get along well. No illusions, no disenchantment.”

      She could get up. Walk away.

      Since her parents’ deaths, she’d had no love in her life. She and Nessa were friends, but that was all. None of the village men had ever vied for her hand. Oh, there had been kisses here and there, but nothing further. They couldn’t—she was a baron’s daughter and they were farmers and fishermen.

      Lord Blakemere’s candid proposal was the best she was going to get. She doubted he would be around enough for her to grow attached—and his absence was necessary if she was to continue smuggling.

      A fierce part of her didn’t want to share her man with anyone. Perhaps if the earl had been less fascinating, less alluring, she could say with confidence that it wouldn’t hurt if he went to other women’s beds.

       What if it does hurt? What if I come to feel something for him?

      Don’t care for him. Protect yourself. That was the best she could do. Perhaps, once she’d given him that heir, she could find love with someone who wasn’t her husband. How very sophisticated.

      “Your silence alarms me,” he said, breaking her thoughts.

      “No cause for alarm,” she replied. She drew in a breath. “My answer is yes.”

      His smile was sudden and bright. The worry left his eyes, and pleasure with her and the world radiated from him. “This is . . . this is excellent.” His brow furrowed. “Are you content with a special license? We can be married in three days.”

      “So soon,” she murmured, but she had understood it would be fast.

      “I cannot wait longer,” he said with contrition.

      “Understandable.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “We can wed in three days, if that’s what will help you.”

      “It will,” he said eagerly. “Thank you.” His gaze narrowed on her face. There was a sudden determination in his eyes. “I’d like to kiss you.”

      Ah, there went her pulse again. It sped up at his words, making breath hard to find and her palms damp.

      “You don’t have to,” she answered quickly. “I’ll consider our agreement binding. Here.” She offered him her hand to shake.

      He slid his palm over hers, and the thin leather of his gloves through her own kidskin was as hot as his bare skin touching hers. Tamsyn’s heart jumped into her throat at the contact. But he didn’t shake her hand. Instead, he cradled it, enfolding her with his broad palm and long fingers.

      The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, but there was no mistaking the desire in his gaze. “We may be entering into this union with practical intentions, but I’m a man before I’m a businessman. And I’d very much enjoy kissing my future wife.”

      “I . . . oh.” She glanced at his lips. They were curved and well formed, and she feared what they would feel like against her mouth. She suspected that he knew the art of kissing and could make a woman surrender everything with just his mouth.

      “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. “I’ll make it good for you.”

       That’s what I’m afraid of.

       But I want to know. I want to taste him.

      She drew in a breath. “You may kiss me.”

      He 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