Waking Up With the Duke (16 page)

She gave him an impish smile when he gazed down on her. “None I can reveal.”

“Do any of them involve Walfort?”

“Why ever would you think that?”

“He’s your cousin, but more, he is your friend.”

“Because he is my friend, I have locked his secrets away, and even you do not have the key that will set them free.”

She saw the determination in his eyes and wondered at the secrets. They probably all involved naughty things they’d done before she married Walfort. She let her curiosity lapse, for what did they matter?

“I’m not ashamed to be here with you, you know,” Jayne said.

“I wasn’t certain. It’s a very unusual circumstance that has brought us here.”

“If I were ashamed, I’d have not come. I’m wary, to be sure, and from time to time plagued with doubts regarding the wisdom of what we’re doing, but then I consider what I will gain and am selfish enough to want it and hope that you don’t pay too high a price for it.”

“If it wasn’t a price I was willing to pay, I wouldn’t be here.”

They had entered a copse of trees. She gazed up at the remaining leaves displaying their abundant colors and listened as they crackled in the slight breeze. The ground beneath their feet was soft, and their steps crushed the leaves that had already fallen. The soil would be richer come spring. Everything circled.

She shook her head. “Do you know what I noticed last night regarding your mother and Leo?”

“That they are not at all discreet regarding their relationship?”

She heard the disapproval in his voice. Considering his reputation, he would be a hypocrite to object too strongly, but from what she knew, he was at least circumspect in his relationships. “That they talk. They communicate. Even when they were giving us a terrible beating at cards, they somehow were able to read each other’s minds. Walfort and I seldom talk . . . even before the accident. The night you kissed me on the terrace and you mentioned something about how a kiss owns itself, that it simply is. You were correct. We could have kissed, we could have touched . . . it is as though we placed ourselves in separate cages. I was being a dutiful wife, not a loving one.”

“If he never kissed you, Jayne, I can hardly credit him with being a loving husband.”

She was caught off guard by the heat in his voice, the temper that accompanied it. Feeling as though the forest was closing in on her, she squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry. I promised not to speak of him while I’m here and yet I’m rambling on. It is simply strange to find myself suddenly discovering aspects to love that I’d never considered. I think your wife will be most fortunate.”

She’d nearly stumbled over the word wife, and she didn’t know why. Of course, he would marry and have other children. Lots of them, no doubt—based upon his stamina and enthusiasm for lovemaking. She wished him well. She was not feeling anything beyond gratitude toward him, certainly not jealousy. That would be a fool’s path.

“
If
I ever marry,” he said quietly as they emerged through the trees, giving her a different view of the lake.

“Surely you shall marry.”

“As you are well aware, among the aristocracy we marry for various reasons. Political gain. My title brought with it the influence of my ancestors. I have little use for more political swagger.” He shrugged. “Financial gain? Again, my ancestors saw me in good stead there. I do not need more wealth. An heir? Unfortunately, ladies do not come with lettering on the forehead to indicate how many sons they may deliver or if they may even deliver a child at all. So what is left to me? Love.
That
is very difficult to find.”

“I should think for you that it would be quite easy.”

“Why? You don’t love me.”

“Well, no . . . I love Walfort.” It seemed so little to say. “I don’t
hate
you.”

His laughter echoed around them. “High praise indeed.”

“You will find someone to love you, Ainsley. You deserve it.” And he did, she realized, more than anyone she knew.

“I thought you
thought
I deserved to rot in hell?”

He was smiling at her, his green eyes twinkling. She imagined he was striving to turn away from a topic he obviously found uncomfortable. “Well, yes, of course, but not until you’re old . . . and dead.”

He chuckled low. “Ah, Jayne, you have no idea how much I enjoy your company.” He changed direction, leading them away from the lake. “I believe I shall take you fishing tomorrow.”

She considered asking him what he had planned for tonight, but she knew. For the first time since her arrival, she was anticipating the coming night with astounding excitement.

Chapter 15

J
ayne awoke, still lethargic and sated after a less than sedate session of lovemaking. It was still dark so she knew it had been only a few hours since Ainsley had left her and she drifted off to sleep. Strange how she felt as though she were truly waking up for the first time in her life. She couldn’t explain it. She’d come here for a purpose, and even if she discovered this morning that she was with child, she would be loath to leave before the allotted time to which they’d all agreed.

Whatever was wrong with her? She should be missing Walfort, and in a way she was, but last night she’d not thought of him at all, not even when Ainsley left her. Instead all she could think about was the duke and the pleasure she found in his arms. His experience made him far more skilled than Walfort, but it was more than his talents. When she was with him, it was as though no one else in the world existed for him. All his attention was focused on her. No doubt it was part of the game at which he excelled: seducing women. Yet it never felt like a game. It seemed he meant every touch, every press of his lips, every caress.

She released a long, lingering sigh, followed by a low moan. Already she—

“Wonderful. You’re finally stirring.”

With a tiny screech, she scrambled back, sat up against the headboard and stared at the silhouette near the window. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here. ’Tis my cottage.”

“I meant in my bedchamber.” And she suspected he knew very well what she meant.

“I came to awaken you but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I have something to show you, and now that you’re awake . . .” He tossed a bundle onto the bed. “I borrowed them from the stable boy. They’re clean. I doubt they’ll be a perfect fit—he hasn’t your lovely curves—but they’ll do in a pinch.”

“What exactly are they?”

She heard the strike of a match, watched it flare before he lit the lamp. The flickering light revealed him dressed in woolen trousers, a shirt, and a brown jacket—all of which appeared to have come from a beggar.

“Trousers,” he answered.

“I can’t wear trousers.”

“Of course you can. It’s still dark. No one will see, but you need to hurry. We must be there before first light.”

“And where is it that we must be?”

“Why, where the sprites and faeries play, of course. With any luck, perhaps we’ll even capture one.”

“Ainsley, what on earth are you on about?”

“It’s a secret. Now hurry along.”

She was sputtering her refusals when he strode from the room. She should pull up the covers and return to sleep. Instead she drew her nightdress over her head and quickly put on the trousers and shirt. It seemed as though there should be more items than this. They were so light. She felt embarrassed at the thought of leaving the room wearing so little. Wearing only a nightdress to bed was one thing, but to go out into the world without her womanly armor was a bit intimidating. Yet neither could she deny the satisfaction of feeling so unencumbered. It was really quite marvelous not to have all that weight bearing down upon her body.

She dashed to the door, opened it, and found Ainsley standing with his back against the wall. “What should I put on my feet?”

“Riding boots. We’ll be taking the horses.”

“Then I should put on my riding habit.”

“No, you’ll be riding astride.”

“Ainsley, that’s not proper.”

He sighed as if she were a burden he wished to cast off. “Jayne, when will you learn that I find proper boring? Come along now. You’ll be glad of the trousers when we reach our destination.”

She considered arguing further, but an excitement was thrumming through her blood at the mysterious summons. Quickly, she slipped on her boots and buttoned them. Grabbing her cloak, she hurried into the hallway. He wore a rumpled hat now and promptly dropped another on top of her head. Before she could reach up to adjust it, he was doing it for her. When he was satisfied, he studied her with an intensity that made her wish they were going to return to the bed. Was it allowed to make love in the morning?

He leaned in, stopping with his lips merely a hairbreadth from hers. She licked her lower lip, then her upper. Yes, she thought, do kiss me. Forget the silly rule. His gaze seemed to be searching hers as though sifting through her soul. He angled his head slightly. She held her breath. Waiting. Waiting.

He tweaked her nose. “You look adorable.”

Before she could respond, he grabbed her hand. “Come along. We’re going to miss it if we don’t hasten.”

They clattered down the stairs, no doubt waking up all the servants. He led her through the front door and down the steps to where the horses waited. With ease, he boosted her onto the saddle. She sat there feeling . . . well, feeling everything between her thighs. How scandalous. A woman’s knees should never be so far apart except when her husband was— She cut off the thought. She’d already sent that bit of behavior to perdition when taking a short-term lover. She was beginning to realize that Ainsley was indeed a lover.

“What do you think?” he asked as he mounted his own horse.

“Much more comfortable than a sidesaddle.”

“I should think so. Let’s give this a go.”

Although she was unfamiliar riding in this position, she didn’t find it difficult to guide the horse. They were soon loping over the land. The wind brushed over her face. She’d always wanted to ride astride, and here she was doing it. Walfort would no doubt object, but who was she hurting? And who was there to see?

The moon along with the glowing lantern that Ainsley carried guided their way. Even his silhouette cut a fine figure on a horse. Once again, as when he’d vaulted the hedgerow after she took a tumble with Cassie, he was at ease, comfortable, master of the beast. She would enjoy seeing him ride at a full gallop. Perhaps at next year’s fox hunt she would ride with him. Even as she thought it she realized that by next year’s country party, everything would be different. Would he even come? Would she ever see him again?

They brought their horses to a halt beside a tree almost bare of leaves. It was quite possibly the largest oak she’d ever seen.

“And here we have the best climbing tree in the entire world,” he said magnanimously.

“This should interest me because . . .”

“We’re going to climb it.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. “You can’t be serious. We’re not children.”

“But we’re still young.” After dismounting, he hung the lantern from a branch and tethered his horse to a bush. “And it’s fairly easy to climb.”

“And when was the last time you climbed it?”

He came to stand beside her horse. “Hmm. Let me see. Three days before you arrived.”

He slipped her feet out of the stirrups, placed his hands on her waist, and helped her dismount. Then he was pulling her toward the monstrous tree.

“How old do you think it is?” she asked.

“Hundreds of years, I’m sure. It was no doubt used to hang a good many villains. Once you make it to the first branch, you’ll find that the others have grown out in such a way as to almost make a natural ladder.”

But reaching the first branch was a challenge. He had to lift her, and she had to stretch out. Once she was on it, she clung to the trunk, catching her breath. He scrambled up, then moved past her, guiding her onto the next branch. Higher and higher they went until they were so far up that she dared not look down.

“This is as far as we’ll go,” he finally said, easing her out onto the branch and helping her to sit down.

She was almost light-headed. “We’re fortunate that we didn’t have a mishap in the dark. We probably should have waited to do this during the daytime.”

“Ah, but then we’d have missed it.”

“Missed what, Your Grace?”

He wrapped his hand around hers, brought it to his lips. Although she wore gloves, she could still feel the heat of his mouth. “Just watch.”

It began slowly, hidden behind the craggy horizon, revealing itself the way she’d attempted to reveal her body to Ainsley that second night: leisurely, provocatively, almost shyly. She saw the first hint of sunrise as ribbons of dark blue, pink, and orange began to chase away the night sky of black, moon, and stars. She shifted her gaze to Ainsley and recognized reverence in the calmness of his features. It was a look she wanted to see him direct her way.

For all she knew, maybe he did. In the darkness, as he made love to her. Within her bed she could feel, smell, hear, taste so much. But she could see so little. Silhouettes and shadows. She wondered what the light would reveal.

“I am always humbled by the grandeur of nature,” he said quietly, as though he didn’t want to disturb the beauty unfurling before them.

“I’ve not climbed a tree since I was seven. I’d forgotten how liberating it was.”

He gazed at her. “Is that when you took your tumble?”

She nodded. “After that, I wasn’t afraid of the actual climbing, but my father’s temper was quite terrifying.”

“Pity. I think you were meant to climb trees.” He turned his attention back to the sunrise. “Besides, I rather like your little scar. I think it shows rebelliousness.”

Squeezing his hand, she held her silence and watched the sun reign supreme over the land. She wasn’t even certain Walfort had ever noticed the scar. But then, he never intruded on her bath, never saw her knee when it was not hidden beneath skirts, a nightdress, or sheets. Now it was a part of her shared with Ainsley and no one else. Their little secret. Her feelings surrounding so trivial a part of her person confused her. Why had she never shared it with Walfort? How had Ainsley known she would love sitting on a tree branch at dawn?

“If I have a little girl, I’m going to encourage her to climb,” she said wistfully, then continued with more determination. “I’m going to encourage her to reach for everything, even if she thinks it’s beyond her grasp.”

“Just as
you’re
doing now.” His eyes were on hers again, as though the sunrise was suddenly insignificant and she was all important. “I don’t underestimate the courage that it took you to come here.”

His words touched her heart. She had misjudged this man in so many ways. “I fear I was not as kind to you as I should have been. Nor did I trust your reasons for consenting to Walfort’s ludicrous idea. I thought you were interested only in lifting a skirt. I’ve been here only a few days and already you’ve given me far more than I expected or in all likelihood deserve.”

She didn’t notice when he removed his gloves, but his warm fingers were suddenly trailing over her face as though he sought to memorize the sensation of every line and curve.

“You deserve far more than I could ever give you.”

I’m falling in love with him
.

The thought struck her, knocking the breath out of her. It couldn’t be. Her feelings for him were generated by the sharing of their bodies. It was natural to feel love for someone with whom she shared such intimacy. But then she thought of the duchess. She had been intimate with the seventh Earl of Westcliffe yet had not loved him. Did that make her own reasoning invalid?

Was it his smile, his tenderness, his generosity, that was causing these blossoming emotions to burst forth? What she felt for him was so different from what she felt for Walfort. It could not be. It simply could not. It was the situation. Not the man.

When she left here all these confounding feelings would remain behind. He would be no more than an occasional guest when he visited Herndon Hall. She would treat him with politeness and no more.

She would feel the same for any man willing to give her a child.

But even as she thought it, she knew she was lying to herself.

T
hat night, following dinner, they sat in the library, each reading a different tome. Or at least he was. She was simply holding the book open, waiting as each second took an eternity to move on to the next one. What hour was the correct hour for retiring in order to make love?

After their adventure that morning, they returned to the cottage, where she took a nap and then ate an immense breakfast. She’d never been so famished in her life. It had embarrassed her, but amused him that she’d eaten until she was miserable. In the afternoon they rode to the village and enjoyed warm, delicious gingerbread at the bakery. The little girl who had sold him weeds when they attended the fair was on hand to sell him more when they emerged. Ainsley laughed and purchased them for a crown. Only this time, instead of shoving them into his pocket, he offered them to Jayne. She gladly took them. Weeds that meant more to her than any flowers he might have sent her. The moment was something to be shared between them, somehow special.

When they returned to the manor, he made no untoward advances, was the perfect gentleman during dinner. He suggested they adjourn to the library to read before bed. She was left with the sense that his enthusiasm toward her might have waned, while hers toward him seemed only to increase.

It was maddening. She did not want to sit here with Jane Austen. She wanted to be in her bedchamber with Ainsley. She wanted him holding her, touching her, drawing her into the realm of carnal delights. She wanted to massage her fingers over his sculpted muscles. She wanted to hear his moans echoing around her. She wanted to be bolder—