As everyone began to file out, grumbling, Tamsyn stepped close to whisper in his ear, “They think your behavior to be scandalous.”
He sent her a lopsided grin. “What’s one more scandal?”
“Indeed,” she said with a mischievous smile.
Ah, damn, I think I truly like this woman.
Finally, after receiving one last affronted glare from his father, they were gone.
“There’s always the possibility that we’ve disappointed them,” Tamsyn said wryly.
His smile didn’t waver. “A third son is always a disappointment, even if he becomes an earl.” He ran a placating finger down her cheek, and the softness of her skin roused him.
Soon.
Coming back to himself, he continued brightly, “Now that we’ve liberated ourselves from our oppressive guests, the celebration can happen in earnest.”
“Truly, though,” she said, laying a hand on his arm, “you didn’t have to send your family away on my account.”
The spontaneous touch of her hand upon his sleeve sent a jolt through him. Their kiss formalizing their union had been quick, chaste—a far cry from the heat that had risen up between them so quickly days earlier—yet the feel of her now stoked the furnace of his growing desire.
“They’ll recover from the indignity,” Kit said optimistically. “In time, when I’m generating more wealth than my father, everyone will come to an accord.”
“Nonetheless,” she said, smiling, “your gallantry on my behalf is appreciated.”
He pressed a hand to his chest and executed an extravagantly old-fashioned bow. “Your servant.”
His reward was the trill of her low, husky laughter. The sound trailed heat into his chest and traveled lower.
Since when did virgins laugh like sophisticated, earthy women of pleasure? There was more to Tamsyn than he’d first realized.
“We need to improve the atmosphere in here,” he declared, then strode to the musicians. “Enough of elegance,” he said to them. “Play something more festive and lively.”
At once, the musicians struck up a sprightly country tune.
“A fine improvement,” Kit proclaimed. He made his way back to Tamsyn, who watched with amused interest. “Come.” He offered her his arm. “Let us attend to the other guests.” He guided them toward Langdon, Greyland, and Lady Greyland.
Tamsyn whispered with a hint of awe, “You’re truly friends with a duke? And a duke’s heir?”
“Lord Langdon and I were at university together,” Kit explained. “After, he and I had a few years subsequently of knocking around London until I joined the army. When I came back, Langdon introduced me to the duke, and the three of us have been wreaking havoc over the city. Well, Greyland has always been a bit, shall we say, sober. And since his marriage to Lady G., he’s become as sanctimonious as a parson. Wouldn’t you agree, Greyland?” Kit added once they’d joined the others.
“I pray for Blakemere’s soul,” Greyland confirmed with a wry tilt of his lips, “but it comes to nothing. He’ll surely burn in the afterlife.”
“But I’ll be there, too,” Langdon added, “so at least we’ll enjoy our time in Hades.”
“I’d add my prayers with yours, my darling,” Lady Greyland said sardonically, “but I’m afraid my avowals of righteousness hold no weight.”
“Love,” her husband answered, “where you go, I follow. Paradise would be a dark place indeed without your light.”
Langdon rolled his eyes. “My God, the two of you.”
Greyland’s hand curved over his wife’s waist. “You’re jealous because, unlike you, when my woman professes her devotion to me, no money changes hands.”
Kit couldn’t hold back his laugh. “A hit, a very palpable hit.” He glanced at Tamsyn, who watched the interplay with amused fascination. “Forgive us. The habits of long familiarity must seem appalling to you.”
“Oh, no.” A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “It’s rather like going to the zoo, only better, because the animals are not caged.”
For a moment, everyone was silent. An expression of horror crossed Tamsyn’s face as she clearly regretted her humor. But then everyone began to laugh, and not only did her face brighten, but the little knot of anxiety wrapped around Kit’s chest loosened. He didn’t need to worry how well Tamsyn would fit in with his friends.
That would presume, however, that there would be interaction between them beyond tonight.
As Langdon chatted with Greyland and Lady Greyland, Tamsyn turned to Kit. “How did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That once Lady Daleford and your family left, things would get better?”
He said lightly, “I learned in the army that you can’t build a decent campfire with too much kindling. The fire won’t breathe if there’s too much fuel. Take a little out and”—he waved his hands—“you have a cheerful blaze.”
“A ship can’t float with too much ballast,” she agreed.
He motioned for a servant and flourished his arm. “We have our music, and now some liquid cheer.”
The footman stepped forward with a decanter full of dark amber liquid.
“Ah, perfect,” Kit exclaimed. “A glass for everyone in the company.”
“Is this . . . brandy?” Tamsyn asked, peering into the goblet that was placed in her hand.
“So it is,” he said with good humor. “All the way from Cognac. You needn’t drink it if you don’t care for spirits.”
As the words left his mouth, she tilted the glass back and downed the contents in one swallow. Then she held out her goblet for more. The footman refilled it immediately.
Well. Every day with Kit’s new bride would be a surprise.
A peculiar expression crossed her face, as if, in the most unlikely place, she recognized someone after they had been absent for a number of years.
“Where did this come from?” she asked the duke.
“It’s perfectly legal,” Greyland assured her. “I’d never serve Blakemere anything that wasn’t strictly aboveboard.”
“Why is that?” Tamsyn wondered.
“For all his wild reputation,” Langdon drawled, “Blakemere doesn’t look kindly on criminals.”
“I didn’t see good men die to protect their country,” Kit said grimly, “only to have the rule of law in England sneered at. Felons and offenders deserve whatever punishment is meted out.” His jaw hardened as he felt anger rise.
Color drained from Tamsyn’s face.
“You seem distressed.”
“Not a bit,” she said at once, but the merriment in her eyes had faded.
“I’m about to stun myself by cautioning that we shouldn’t overindulge tonight. Tomorrow afternoon, we go to the solicitor’s office and finalize the transfer of Lord Somerby’s fortune. You’re the Countess of Blakemere now, but in less than twenty-four hours, neither of us will be poor as church mice.” And he’d be so much closer to building the pleasure garden. So close to fulfilling his dream and finding peace.
Tamsyn’s