Waking Up With the Duke (10 page)

Chapter 9

H
e felt like hell when he woke up. The sunlight streaming through the windows caused his eyes to burn and intensified the pounding in his head. He never drank to excess when in the company of a lady, but then, when he finally tumbled into bed, no lady had been present.

Rolling to a sitting position, he realized he’d slept in his clothes. He didn’t even remember crawling into bed. He scrubbed his hands up and down his face. He would have a full day with Jayne. A day of politeness, of ignoring their reason for being here—until night fell. Strangely, now that he was coming more fully awake, he was looking forward to being in her company, even if on the surface it would all be platonic.

He rang for his valet, then began stripping off his clothes. A bath was in order, followed by a shave. If he hurried, he could be down to breakfast before Jayne was finished enjoying the meal. It would almost be as though they were married.

Not quite, he thought with a chuckle. If they were married, he’d be greeting her in bed, not at the table. He glanced at the wall that separated their bedchambers. He wondered if she’d welcome a visit from him this morning. Probably not. She needed a bit more time to adjust to what had transpired between them last night. But tonight, well, he hoped she’d be a bit more relaxed with him.

Even with the aid of his valet, he found himself entering the dining room nearly an hour later. To his utter disappointment, the only ones to greet him were his servants.

“Manning, has Lady Jayne been down to breakfast already, then?” he asked his butler.

“No, Your Grace. Her girl took up a tray nearly a half hour ago.”

“I see.”

Ainsley strolled over to the sideboard. The offerings were plentiful, but his appetite seemed not to have arrived with him. No doubt the lingering effects of too much whiskey the night before. Nor was he pleased by Jayne’s avoiding him—which was her intent by sending down her maid.

Spinning on his heel, he headed for the door.

“Is something amiss with the selections, Your Grace?” Manning asked.

“I’m simply not hungry. Assure the cook that all is well.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ainsley made his way to the foyer, then ascended the stairs two at a time. His head threatened to return to its miserable aching state, but he endured it and kept up his pace until he reached the landing. His stride long and sure, he crossed over to her door and swung it open without preamble.

Still in her nightdress, her feet curled beneath her, she was sitting in a chair by the window, gazing out. He had a brief glimpse of her looking forlorn before she popped out of the chair and slammed her hip against the window casing. Her hand was at her throat, her breathing rapid and heavy. On a nearby table was a tray of food that appeared untouched.

“What . . . what do you want?” she demanded, her gaze darting quickly to the bed before coming back to him.

That reaction certainly didn’t bode well for tonight. She was having regrets, more than he’d anticipated.

Damn you, Walfort, damn you to hell.

He relaxed his stance, realizing that barging into her room as he had wasn’t helping the situation. He was angry that she’d deliberately sought to avoid him at breakfast by having a tray brought to her, and he was angry by her reaction now. But in truth, while he’d hoped for a more pleasant welcome, her reaction was exactly what he’d expected.

“I wanted to make certain you were all right,” he said quietly, infusing his voice with a calmness he didn’t quite feel. The sight of her in her nightdress brought forth images of him lifting its hem and burying his face between her thighs. Her taste and scent were an aphrodisiac he was anxious to experience again. He was fairly certain she would object to that happening at this moment. He tilted his head toward the tray. “Manning informed me that you had a tray prepared.”

“I’m quite well. I simply . . . desired a bit of solitude this morning.”

He closed the door. “To deal with your sins?”

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Is it a sin if I’ve been given permission?”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

As though he were approaching a skittish mare, he walked cautiously over to the window. Her apprehension-filled gaze followed his every step. What the deuce did she think he was going to do? Grab her, toss her onto the bed, and have his way with her?

Leaning his shoulder negligently against the wall, he looked out on the glorious morning. “The nearby village hosts a fair this time of year. I thought to ride over, have a look around, enjoy the day.”

“It sounds lovely.”

He shifted his attention to her. “I was hoping you’d join me.”

She shook her head briskly. “No, I . . . I thought to . . .”

He could see her struggling to come up with some responsibility she needed to manage, but she had none, not here, not at his cottage.

“Avoid me?” he asked laconically.

Her blue eyes widened a fraction before she straightened her shoulders. “Of course not. That would defeat my purpose in being here, now wouldn’t it?”

“Then come with me.”

“Ainsley—”

“You can’t possibly intend to spend the greater part of every day hiding out in this room.”

“I’m not hiding.”

He arched a brow.

“I’m not!” With a mulish expression, she folded her arms over her chest and turned to the window. He wanted to press his thumb to her brow, ease the deep furrow there.

“This time of year, we don’t have many days where the sun is so brilliant. We should make the most of it.” He waited a moment, absorbing her silence. “Jayne, it’s going to be a very long month. You’ve established rules to ensure you find no joy in the bedding. At least give yourself leave to find joy in other things while you’re here.”

“This is so hard, Ainsley,” she rasped. “I knew it would be, but I was still not prepared for how blasted difficult it is.”

“I know, sweetheart. Hence, the reason that I think attending the fair would be such a welcome reprieve.” He shoved himself away from the wall. “I’m going. If you wish to languish here all day dreading the coming of night, so be it.”

He’d taken two steps before she said, “I’d welcome the distraction, but it will take me a while to ready myself.”

Glancing back over his shoulder, he smiled. “Take all the time you need. Have you a riding habit? I thought we’d take the horses.”

“Yes. Yes, that would be lovely.”

“Join me in the library when you’re ready.”

He strode from the room, his step a bit more lively than when he first entered. He felt as though he’d won the battle, but he knew he was still a long way off from winning the war.

A
s the mare, Lovely Lady, plodded along, Jayne felt her muscles begin to unknot, unwind. With guilt gnawing at her, she’d finally drifted off to sleep in the early morning hours, but upon wakening didn’t feel at all rested. And she’d dreaded seeing Ainsley again. She wasn’t certain what she expected of him. A triumphant air. A gloating. An arrogance.

After all, she’d succumbed to the talents of his mouth, was unable to refrain from falling into the whirlpool of pleasure he’d created. She almost drowned before he sent her skyward with such speed that she’d been disoriented. And then he’d been inside her, filling her before she even caught her breath.

Yet he’d displayed nothing of the sort. He was quiet, solicitous, almost apologetic. He was also quite right, that leaving the residence would be good for her. She was able to breathe more deeply and relax, knowing they would share no intimacy while they were out.

She regretted the cruel, unkind words she’d flung at him at the end of their encounter the night before. They’d been a defense, because in all honesty, it had felt marvelous to once again experience the nearness of a man—even if it was for far too brief a time. That, too, had prompted her ugliness. Easier to take that route than admit she wished he’d not been quite so hasty in arriving at his own enjoyment. A part of her longed to apologize, knew she should, but she welcomed a few hours of pretending they were here for a reason other than what they were. Perhaps tonight, during dinner, with a bit more wine—

The sounds of revelry reached her ears, cut off her thoughts. The village was up ahead, but it looked as though the fair had spilled out onto the surroundings like fruit from an overturned basket. She glanced over at Ainsley. He seemed at ease and pleased with all he saw. He guided her over to an area where carriages waited and other horses were tethered. The fair seemed to draw quite a crowd. She did hope she wouldn’t encounter anyone she knew. How would she explain her presence?

Ainsley dismounted.

“Your Grace!” A young man she guessed to be in his late teens sauntered over and doffed his cap.

“Master Robin,” Ainsley said. “How are you, lad?”

“Fine, sir. Need me to watch your horses?”

“Yes, and see that they get some oats.” He handed the boy a crown before walking over to assist Jayne. His gloved hands circling her waist, he held her gaze. He had such remarkable green eyes. She briefly wondered how they might sparkle when filled with laughter. She’d heard his laugh, of course, at the river, but had not been near enough to see the mirth filter into his eyes. It unsettled her to be this close to him, knowing that in a few hours she would be much closer again. She forced her fingers to not tremble as she set them on his shoulders.

He lifted her down with as much effort as one might bring down a pillow. She wondered if holding her so near, he would find his thoughts traveling to last night, or had the encounter for him been as Walfort promised her it would be—nothing at all?

Ainsley stepped back and extended his arm. “Shall we?”

She bobbed her head, not trusting her voice. The whole point of this outing was to have a distraction from unruly thoughts. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand. They wandered onto the path that served as the main road into the village.

“Yew Gwace! Yew Gwace!”

Jayne released her hold on him as he spun around. A little girl was running toward him, and Ainsley’s smile grew with her approaching nearness. It was a sight that took Jayne’s breath.

As the child stumbled to a stop, Ainsley crouched. “Well, if it’s not my favorite flower girl.”

“See what I’ve got?” she asked, proudly extending an assortment of scraggly stems and leaves that her tiny hands were choking.

“Very nice indeed.”

To Jayne’s surprise, he took the offering and gave the girl a crown.

“Fank ye, ye Gwace.” With that, she dashed off.

Chuckling, Ainsley stood.

“You paid for weeds,” Jayne told him.

“In the spring, they’ll have blossoms.”

“They’ll still be weeds.”

“Ah, Jayne, you are cynical.”

“Why? Because I believe you wasted a coin?”

“No. Because you see what is instead of what could be.” He tucked the gangly plants into his pocket and again offered her his arm. His smile was no longer on display, and she found she missed it. With a bit of flirting, she might be able to entice it back, but flirtation was completely inappropriate under their circumstances. He wasn’t her lover; he was simply a means to an end. She didn’t want to consider how long it had taken her to get with child the first time. In all likelihood this month would be for naught.

Good Lord, Jayne, when did you become such a pessimist? And a cynic?

Before she knew it, they were in the thick of the crowd. She could see jugglers and acrobats performing off to the side. Ainsley guided her over to a booth where woolen wares were displayed. Mittens, caps, shawls.

“Your Grace,” the rotund woman inside the booth said. She gave Jayne a speculative look. Probably not a good idea to be here.

“Mrs. Weatherly.” It was apparent that Ainsley knew everyone and they recognized him. But then, he was unforgettable, and she suspected few dukes resided in the area. He patted Jayne’s hand. “Tell me, which shawl would you like?”

It took Jayne a moment to realize he’d posed the question to her. “I’m not in need of a shawl.”

“You don’t have to
need
it. You can simply want it.”

“No, I . . .” Didn’t want to be any more indebted to him than she already was. She also wanted no reminders of her time here. She was struck with the absurdness of that thought. With luck, he would give her a reminder she would have for the remainder of her life. “They’re lovely, but I don’t want anything.”

“For my mother, then. Which one would she like?”

Why in God’s name was he asking her? “Surely, you know your mother’s tastes better than I.”

“Quite right. Have you something bold, Mrs. Weatherly?”

“Oh, yes, Your Grace. I have a lovely red.” She brought forth a crimson piece, a beautiful shade.

“That’ll do nicely. How much?”

“A sovereign?”

“Hmm. Seems like robbery to me, Mrs. Weatherly.”

Indeed it was, Jayne thought. It was nicely made, but still—