Counting on a Countess: The most outrageous Regency romance of 2019 that fans of Vanity Fair and Poldark will adore. Eva Leigh

same for women. Kit was relatively young, exceedingly handsome, and privileged. It stood to reason that he’d had his share of sexual experience. Even so, thinking about him bedding legions of women made her stomach feel strange and tight.

      He’d said plainly that he had no intention of being faithful—and that he didn’t expect fidelity from her. Would she come to regret this agreement?

      “Yes,” she said, fighting to sound sophisticated. “I know.”

      “He’ll be an artist under the covers,” Nessa assured her. “Think he’d be so popular with ladies if he just stuck it in and spent without a by-your-leave? Not hardly.”

      “I suppose not,” Tamsyn said. That wasn’t the most encouraging description of sex she had heard. She glanced at the bed, but it only seemed to have grown larger and more intimidating in the intervening minutes since she’d last looked at it. “A woman can lie with a man and keep her heart safe, I imagine.”

      Nessa planted her hands on her hips and asked sternly, “What’s this talk, girl?”

      Tamsyn considered prevaricating, but she could never withhold the truth from her friend. She said flatly, “He told me he won’t be faithful.”

      “The devil he did!” Nessa looked outraged.

      “In the park that day he offered marriage,” Tamsyn confirmed. “He said he wasn’t going to keep his vows of fidelity. But I was free to take a lover if I wanted—after I gave him an heir.”

      Nessa’s cheeks darkened with fury and she balled her hands into fists. “I’ll give him a pummeling, I will. Earl or no, he can’t say things like that.”

      “It’s not uncommon, though.” Tamsyn felt strangely obliged to defend him. “People of rank and fashion often have lovers.”

      “They don’t say so when they’re courting!” Nessa fired back.

      Tamsyn sat down on the edge of the bed. “Better this way,” she reasoned, trying to convince herself as much as Nessa. “If he paid me too much mind, he’d get suspicious about what we do in Newcombe.” She affected a shrug. “It doesn’t trouble me. I may grow fond of him, but I’ll never love him.”

      Nessa walked to her and placed her hands on her shoulders. Her expression mingled sadness and resignation. “I know you, my girl. You can’t do anything by half measures.”

      “What would you have me do?” Baffled, Tamsyn lifted her hands in supplication. “I can’t refuse him his husbandly privileges.”

      “Just have a care with your heart,” Nessa answered, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Now, stand up so we can make you ready.”

      Tamsyn rose and remained still while Nessa took down her hair, removing pins and ornaments. At last, her hair came down to hang in loose waves around her shoulders. Fear and excitement warred within her. She couldn’t tell if she craved being intimate with Kit, or if it filled her with dread.

      Nessa cupped Tamsyn’s chin in her hand. “Remember this, my dove. If he wants to kiss you down there, by God, you let him.”

      “Oh,” Tamsyn said faintly. She didn’t know people kissed each other’s parts.

      A soft rap sounded at the door. “It’s Kit,” his muffled voice announced.

      Instead of answering, Nessa handed Tamsyn an embroidered robe—presumably purchased with Kit’s money—before giving Tamsyn’s cheek a pat. Then she hurried out the door. Tamsyn quickly pulled on the robe, then sat on the edge of the bed, her hands tapping against the tops of her thighs.

      “Come in,” she called, her voice oddly loud.

      Kit entered, looking just as delicious as he had all evening. With his neckcloth gone, she could see a glimpse of his throat. He carried a decanter of wine and two glasses. “I thought we could—” He stopped, a puzzled frown on his face. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in bed?”

      “There’s no hurry, is there?” she answered brightly.

      Kit raised a brow but didn’t speak. Instead, he poured two glasses of wine, then sat beside her. The mattress dipped with his weight, and warmth radiated from his body. “Go slow with this.” He handed her a glass. “To make you comfortable, nothing more. No one enjoys making love with a drunken partner.”

      Trying to follow his advice, she took a few sips of wine, rather than downing the whole thing in one gulp. “Damn these nerves,” she muttered ruefully.

      He watched her before drinking from his wine. “You’ve been so brave about everything.”

      She pushed out a laugh. “Not so courageous tonight.” After taking another sip, she spoke, her words edged in frustration. “I want to be a wife to you. Please understand that.” His frame radiated warmth, and she wanted to sink into it, and the strength he offered. While her body craved his touch, her mind and heart held back warily. “It’s all been so fast. We don’t know each other at all, and now we’re supposed to be . . . intimate.”