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

“A charming name,” the earl corrected the dowager. “Cornish, yes?”

“That’s right.” A point for the earl for not dismissing her as a country mouse.

“Never been to Cornwall,” Lord Blakemere said, “though I hear it’s lovely.”

“And a smuggler’s paradise,” the other gentleman at the table added.

Tamsyn forced herself to laugh, and it came out a little shrilly. “The tales of Cornwall’s criminal side are exaggerated by ballads and print sellers.”

“I should hope so,” Lord Blakemere said darkly.

She didn’t like the grim tone of his voice, so she said in a cheerful voice, “Fishing and mining, that’s how we earn our bread.” She smiled brightly, hoping it might cover up the sheer drivel pouring from her mouth.

Lord Blakemere continued to smile, as well. Their gazes held—with that curious heat unfolding deep within her as she stared into his deep blue eyes—and who knows how long they would have simply stared at each other if the dowager didn’t snap, “Are we playing or napping?”

“Miss Pearce, will you join us?” Lord Blakemere asked. “We can be a partnership.”

Oh blast. She hadn’t thought about this possibility. “I would very much like to,” she said, then added ruefully, “only I haven’t any cash with me.”

“I’ll stake you,” he offered at once. “Say, three pounds? No, four.” He reached into his coat, pulled out a sizable wad of cash, and peeled off four one-pound notes, which he set on the table.

She felt her eyes widen. Goodness, he really was profligate with money if he offered her—a stranger—the loan of four pounds. That amount of money could feed a dozen families in Newcombe.

The other gentleman at the table and the dowager merely shook their heads, as if familiar with Lord Blakemere’s extravagance.

“That’s kind of you, my lord,” she murmured.

“Sit down, gel,” the dowager snarled, “or I may perish of acute boredom.”

With a Herculean effort not to snarl back, Tamsyn took her seat opposite Lord Blakemere. He winked at her and her stomach fluttered.

Concentrate, Tam. You’re here to snare his interest, not fall all over yourself like a newborn calf.

Everyone anted one pound note. Her pulse hammered at the thought of risking so much money on a game, but people played deeper in London than they did in Cornwall.

“You know how to play cassino?” the other gentleman asked as he dealt each of the players four cards.

“She had better,” the dowager said tartly. “I’m too old to explain the rules.”

Once the hands had been dealt, the dealer laid out four more cards in the center of the table—the queen of clubs, the four of diamonds, the seven of spades, and the ace of hearts. Tamsyn studied her cards.

She’d negotiated more than one shipment of smuggled goods over card games in smoky taprooms. Surely playing against these stiff necks was easier.

The gentleman opened by setting the three of diamonds atop the four. “Sevens,” he announced. Tamsyn remembered that this was known as building.

Next was Lord Blakemere. He laid the two of hearts on the seven. “Nines.”

Clearly, then, he held a nine, and hoped no one would capture it before he had a chance to.

The dowager grumbled as she set down the jack of clubs, unable to build or capture anything with the card.

Now it was Tamsyn’s turn. She set the nine of diamonds atop the earl’s pile of cards. “Nines,” she announced.

He gazed at her with curiosity that gave way to admiration. She could have captured the build, but instead, she left it for him to take. It wasn’t unheard of for partners to assist each other in game play, but it seemed evident he was surprised she wanted to bolster him. They would both benefit when it came time to tally points, yet by helping him capture the build, she employed strategy.

And he liked her for it.

The other gentleman captured his sevens, and then Lord Blakemere captured the nines. As he did, he sent Tamsyn a slow-burning look. If we’re this good together at the card table, his gaze seemed to promise, imagine what we’d be like in bed.

The cards became slippery in her damp palms. She’d met her share of country scoundrels, braggarts who were crude in their attempts to woo her. It was easy to dismiss their thinly veiled efforts to get her to lift her skirts because they wanted only their own gratification—she was just a means to an end.

With Lord Blakemere’s knowing looks, however, her blood felt hot, gathering warmth in secret places. She forgot the other people at their table, and in the room.

He offered so much more with just his gaze. He guaranteed not just his pleasure, but hers, as well. Hours of it.

God above, but he was a rake of the first water. The men she’d known in Cornwall were mere awkward, fumbling boys compared to him, and it didn’t appear that he was even trying that hard to impress her. He simply was.How intoxicating.

The card game continued, with play following a similar pattern. Sometimes the earl helped her capture a build, and sometimes she came to his aid. They worked together seamlessly, give and take, and every time he gazed at her with greater and greater appreciation. With each look, Tamsyn felt flushed and powerfully aware of herself as a woman. She saw how his eyes lingered on her mouth or the curve of her neck, sometimes dipping even lower to follow the neckline of her gown—as though he was entranced by what he saw.

This is what a siren feels like.

He was clearly too fond of women to believe in fidelity. Perhaps he would be so distracted bringing willing females into his bed that he’d pay his wife no mind. And when the vast fortune was his, he’d hardly notice the cost of buying a run-down manor in Cornwall.

He’d make for a truly terrible husband.

I have to marry him.

At last, the game ended, and the points totaled.

“Blast it,” the dowager muttered.

“We win,” Tamsyn said, blinking with surprise. She’d been too caught up in the moment, and him, to notice the actual play of the game. But she collected herself enough to say, as Lord Blakemere handed Tamsyn her share of the winnings, “Oh no, you keep it.”

His brows rose. “The prize belongs to both of us,” he said with surprise.

“I only wanted to play for amusement,” she demurred, though she couldn’t manage to sound coy. It wasn’t the truth, but saying, “I played to flirt with you,” wasn’t very strategic.

“Are you certain?” he pressed, his voice low and seductive. He leaned closer to her, and she felt her cheeks flush in response to his nearness.

“I am a woman who knows my own mind, my lord,” she answered pertly.

His grin was sudden, white, and dazzling. She—a woman who’d never fainted once in her life—grew dizzy from his smile, and wanted to lean into him.

No wonder he possessed such a reputation. What woman could resist his charm? “And I’m too much of a rogue to persuade you to change your mind.” He tucked his winnings into his coat. “We make a good partnership,” he murmured in a deep voice. “Shall we play again?”

Oh, yes.

“Tamsyn!” a disapproving feminine voice said behind her.