Counting on a Countess. Eva Leigh

      “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 expression turned thoughtful. Kit tried to decipher her countenance—was she forming plans for his money, or did the thought of possessing any fortune bewilder her?

      “To the bride and groom,” Langdon said, lifting his glass. His look was practically devilish. “May the marriage be as fruitful as it is prosperous.”

      Greyland and his wife lifted their own glasses and said, “To the bride and groom.”

      Everyone merrily drank. Then Greyland pulled the duchess into his arms and waltzed her around the room, as Langdon tapped his foot and Tamsyn clapped her hands in time with the music.

      Kit couldn’t tear his gaze from her. Despite the stressors of the day, she glowed with a radiance he’d seldom seen before, and it drew him like a wolf edging closer and closer to a welcome fire.

      She was his wife now, and whatever the future held, tonight belonged to them.

      The clock chimed midnight.