Page 32 of The Countess Caper

Chapter Ten

“The wedding night?”

She would not blush.

Highwaywomen did not blush at the mere mention of a wedding night.

Highwaywomen of a certain age definitely did not blush at the mere mention of a wedding night.

Even with her head still scrambled from that kiss. Lord, the man could kiss. That seemed unfair knowledge to have, as she was not going to be kissing him again. At least not on a regular basis. The way she would a true husband.

But perhaps that was for the best. She couldn’t walk around half-addled all of the time.

“I don’t recall agreeing to marry you.” She had to say it, had to inject a note of levity back into the room before she tried to lick him. A lot.

If you can’t be smart, be kind.

How many times had her mother said that? Tessa might not have many memories, but she remembered those words. Her mother even embroidered them on a cushion. Her blasted cousin still had that cushion.

No. She would not think of George. Not now. He would not ruin everything. She wouldn’t let him. And so she would be kind. To herself and to Roarke. Because that kiss could undo them. He wasn’t overly fond of her as it was. Tolerant, perhaps. And she was not so naïve as to think fondness fueled every kiss. And this one was already too complicated.

She wanted a thousand more.

Even if it hurt a little bit, like nostalgia for something that had never happened.

“You didn’t turn me down either,” Roarke pointed out, one eyebrow lifting. Back to himself, composed, patient. No longer looking as though he wanted to devour her. He rubbed a hand over his beard.

She straightened her spine. She wasn’t for devouring anyway. “I suppose I didn’t. But I can’t help wondering if you’ll regret it. You want to live apart, but don’t you need an heir? Someday? You’re not getting any younger.”

“Steady on.”

Her lips quirked at the aggrieved tone.

“There are always heirs to an earldom. Even if they are not sons.”

“Oh.” She supposed he was right. An uncle could inherit, or a cousin.

“You would prefer children?”

“Not necessarily,” she admitted. Frankly, after what little she witnessed of Marigold’s labor, she was even less interested.

“There are ways to prevent them.”

“For the wedding night.”

“For the wedding night.”

She licked her lips, trying to forget the kiss, and also trying to fix it in her memory forever. She had assumed marriage was not in the cards for her. And she supposed it still wasn’t. Not in that way. “What if you meet someone?” she asked quietly.

He frowned. “I won’t.”

“You can’t be sure.”

He nearly smiled. “Tessa, this is the longest conversation I’ve had all year. And this is the most people I’ve seen outside of Parliament in easily two years. I’m the Beast of bloody Dartmoor.” He stilled, cursed under his breath. “But not you. You could meet someone.”

He didn’t look particularly pleased at the thought.

“I doubt it,” she admitted. “But perhaps.”