Captain Durant's Countess

by Robinson, Maggie

  “My uncle is an old man, Maris. I won’t have him taken advantage of. Who knows what the man is really doing up there?”

  “You don’t give a fig for Henry! If you did, you wouldn’t come to Kelby Hall.” Maris was about as indignant as she’d been when she’d found Reyn at the Reining Monarchs. Anger suited her, brought color to her cheeks and a flash to her eyes.

  “You cannot keep blaming me for Jane. I never made her any promises. Not once.”

  Reyn felt like he was an unwilling actor in a play. The conversation was far too personal and charged to be overheard by the stranger he was supposed to be. “If that is all, Lady Kelby. You two may discuss your family business in private.”

  “There is no family business to discuss. I want you to leave now, David. You’ve seen what you’ve come to see.”

  Kelby raked Reyn with a considering stare.

  Reyn felt his hair lift on the back of his neck. The man was dangerous, to the countess especially.

  “Yes, I believe I have. You’ve been warned, Durant. Maybe I should volunteer to assist you in your task to speed the process up and protect my interests.”

  “No!” Maris cried.

  “That won’t be necessary. The work is tedious, Kelby. I doubt a man like you would enjoy it.” Reyn certainly wasn’t, except for the time it afforded him with the countess.

  “You’re probably right. I understand you’ve already got a willing worker anyway. My aunt is such a ferocious bluestocking, she must be in transports rummaging through the attic alone with you.”

  Damn. Kelby made it sound like they were doing exactly what they were doing. Reyn pretended not to understand. “Lady Kelby has been an enormous help so far. For a mere woman, she is very knowledgeable.” Reyn prayed she wouldn’t elbow him in the gut.

  “I’ll be back soon to check on your progress. Maris, a word.”

  Reyn was dismissed. What he really wanted to do was drag Maris upstairs to get her out of Kelby’s clutches. However, she would have to fight this battle without him if they were to maintain their ruse.

  But when she did come upstairs, he wanted a word with her, too.

  Chapter 15

  “Who is he? I don’t like him.” David was sprawled in the chair again. His informality was insolent, deliberately so.

  Maris would not let him rattle her again. One word could summon a fleet of footmen to remove him from the premises, but first she wanted to know how he came to be there.

  “Henry’s f-friend in London found him.” David didn’t have to know about Mr. Ramsey and The London List.

  “He doesn’t look much like a spindly scholar, long nose buried in some book. All those muscles. And he’s young, too.”

  “I haven’t noticed his appearance,” Maris lied. “We’ve been much too busy. There’s a great deal of lifting involved, you know. Some of the boxes are very heavy.”

  “Found any treasure yet?”

  “Nothing that would interest you. You’ve made your opinion known about the family’s artifacts, haven’t you?” She would never give up the emerald to him. Never.

  “Don’t hold out on me, Maris. As heir, I have a right to know what’s going on here.”

  “A miracle could happen to prevent that,” Maris retorted.

  A mistake. David’s bronze eyebrows lifted. “Are you enceinte, Aunt Maris? It was my understanding that you and Uncle Henry no longer shared a room.”

  “One doesn’t need to share a room for intercourse, as you well know, David. Where are you getting this information anyway? It is incorrect. Your informant is leading you on.”

  “I don’t think so.” He smirked. “Here I am in your boudoir. It’s as devoid of passion as a nun’s cell. Look at you, all dull in that brown sack. No wonder you don’t entice my uncle.”

  Maris reminded herself that David was out to hurt her, to trip her up, to poison her life. How could she once have found him attractive? Oh, physically, he was handsome enough, but his tongue was vicious. When he’d used it spin tales about the ton, she’d found him amusing, shut away at Kelby Hall far from society as she was. Maris was no longer amused.

  “And like a nun, I’m on my knees in prayer thanking God you no longer have an interest in me,” she said stiffly.

  “I didn’t say that. I wouldn’t mind picking up where we left off, my dear. Before you got that inconvenient conscience. There’s a great deal more I could teach you.”

  “I would rather die than let you touch me again.” Maris would never repeat her foolishness with him, especially now that she knew what could be between a man and a woman. She’d jump from the attic window if she had to.

  “Brave words, but you’ll change your tune if I decide to tell your husband about our little affair.”

  Once his threat would have struck her with terror. She’d heard it often enough, but today it was robbed of some of its power. “Oh, David. You disappoint me. Again. You are so predictable. How much money do you want this time?”

  He smiled with no warmth. “Do you doubt I’d tell Uncle Henry? You shouldn’t, you know. I have nothing to lose by doing so, He can’t do anything about the entail, and before you start telling me he’ll get a baby on you at this late date, spare me. You’ve been married ten long years, Maris.”

  Thank God he did not know he’d taken her virginity. That would have been the ultimate mortification for her. There had been no blood, and not even any pain. All her years of riding and climbing up and down the Tolfa Mountains must have taken care of that little detail.

  He’d known she was vulnerable, though. An easy mark for his flattery and courtly concern. All false, as it turned out, but Maris had been such a needy, willing victim. Henry had left her home while he attended a symposium at the University of Edinburgh, and she’d been resentful. All her work for him, years and years of it, and she was “a mere woman,” as Reyn had said, unwelcome in his scholarly circle. David had pounced, and she’d not jumped away.

  Henry had been away for over a month. Within the first week, Maris knew she’d made an unforgivable mistake, but it had taken her another to extricate herself from David Kelby’s arms. She’d been damned lucky to escape a pregnancy.

  Maris could not imagine a worse fate than to bear David Kelby’s child. Jane was proof of that.

  “I wouldn’t count my chickens, David. Stranger things have happened.” She flinched under his black stare.

  “You’re up to something, aren’t you? Perhaps with that Durant fellow? I wager you think you can pass a bastard brat on to my uncle. I’ll tell him that, too.”

  Maris felt her bravado evaporate. He was much too close to the truth, although at least he didn’t believe Henry to be complicit in their scheme. “You are ridiculous! I would never break my vows to Henry!”

  “You did with me, Maris. Why wouldn’t you again?”

  “I just wouldn’t.” Her words sounded empty even to her. “Captain Durant is only an employee. I don’t even know him. I’m not likely to invite him to my bed.” She tried to laugh and was not especially successful.

  “See that you don’t. For I’ll find out, Maris. I’m paying good money to someone right in the bosom of your household,” he said, smug.

  “If I find out who—”

  “You won’t.”

  Dear God. This is unconscionable. Maris had planned to be careful with Reyn, but now she had even more reason to worry.

  If David suspected, what would he do when he knew? He thought he could carry tales to Henry. Wouldn’t he be surprised to learn her husband was the architect of this plan? But David could cause trouble for the child, whisper his doubts to the ton, and ruin the Kelby name. True, any child born to Maris would be acknowledged as Henry’s legal issue. There were plenty of children who were accepted yet did not have an ounce of their “father’s” blood. Some escaped society’s gossip, but others were under a cloud for life. The ton had a long memory.

  “You are desperate. Grasping at straws. You had your chance to cement your standin
g in this family when you ruined Jane. Why didn’t you marry her? I grant you, Henry wouldn’t have liked it much, but he would have supported the match.”

  David’s fair skin flushed. “As I said earlier, I never promised Jane marriage. If she told you I did, she was lying.”

  “You didn’t care about her at all, did you.”

  “Jealous, Maris?”

  “Of course not! I cannot think of anything worse than to be your wife or the mother of your child.”

  “You’re probably too shriveled up at this point to be anyone’s mother,” he sneered.

  Maris eyed the heavy Chinese vase on the mantel, deciding it was too valuable to waste throwing it at David’s head. He really was the perfect villain though, almost too cliché. If he always knew the charming words to say to worm himself into favor, he was even better at a cutting, killing remark. “You dislike me. I dislike you. And we know my husband despises you. When I think about it, I doubt he’d believe anything you had to say. I’ll make alternate arrangements for your quarterly allowance so you will not have to come to Kelby Hall any longer to collect it.” She should have done so five years ago.

  “Not so fast, my dear. What about your pin money? It does come in handy. One must keep up appearances as heir to an earl.”

  Maris went to her escritoire and opened a drawer. “Blackmail is such an uninspired crime. It’s so . . . banal, don’t you think? This will be the last of it, David,” she said, tossing him a velvet bag of coins. “Tell Henry whatever you want. I don’t care.”

  The look on his face was almost worth her imprudence. She’d wait to be frightened later. At that moment, she was enjoying herself too much.

  “You aren’t serious.”

  “Oh, I am. Who do you think Henry will believe, his devoted wife or his disreputable nephew? He thinks you are a murderer, David. Your actions led to the death of his only child. If he could, he’d see you imprisoned for the rest of your days.”

  David stood, white-faced. “You’ll regret this, Maris.”

  “I don’t think I will. And don’t think to come back here to Kelby Hall while Henry still lives. I’ll have you barred at the door.”

  He was angrier than she had ever seen him. For a moment, she thought he might stride across the room and hit her. To her relief, he turned and slammed the door behind him, hard enough to wake the dead.

  Maris couldn’t stop shaking at her brazenness. At first, she’d watched every word she spoke, sure that her newest secret would be revealed to David Kelby. She’d always been a terrible liar. Henry had teased that he’d been aware of her every fib from girlhood on. Those lies had been harmless ones—No, Jane and I didn’t steal the last strawberry tart; Yes, our governess let us study in the garden—but now the future of Kelby Hall depended on Maris’s ability to dissemble. She thanked heaven she’d washed and perfumed herself again before David arrived. The scent of sex, the scent of Reyn, even to her inexperienced nose, was unmistakable.

  She had made a great enemy, and there was a spy in her household, someone on David’s payroll. How ironic it was her coin that paid the traitor to report on her. David’s allowance had been boosted by her own guilt money over the past five years. She’d given him the last of it to go away.

  Could she hold to her resolve and refuse him anymore? The blackmail would never stop unless she found and kept her courage.

  If she confessed to Henry, would he understand and forgive what she’d done?

  She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t hurt him. He may have given her permission to have an affair with Reynold Durant, but what she’d done with David was true betrayal.

  Maris felt all her carefully basted-over seams begin to unravel, stitch by stitch. She could not go back to the attics and make any sort of order of anything. She needed fresh air.

  Her hands were trembling too hard to tie her cloak strings properly, but she managed and would worry about the knot later. She hurried down one of the numerous sets of stairs to the ground floor and went out into the garden through the breakfast room door.

  A sharp gust of wind whipped her cloak up. Soon there would be snow on the diamonds and rectangles of the rigidly arranged plantings. The expansion of the original Elizabethan knot garden had been designed by Henry’s first wife. It was not to Maris’s taste, though she supposed it was impressive enough.

  What she loved most was the statuary that kept vigil in each brick or hedge-walled space. They had come from all over the world and some were in better repair than others. There were the obelisk, a fountain with cavorting dolphins, several ancient plinths, a grumpy stone lion, and a young Greek god, amongst others. She didn’t mind a missing limb or the creep of moss or the vacant stares of sightless eyes. The statues had been her imaginary friends as she was growing up, and she headed for the garden the farthest from the house where her favorite reigned.

  The queen’s crown glinted in the sun. Paste jewels—the real ones had been stolen centuries ago—sparkled in the polished marble. The queen’s country of origin was unknown. Henry had grown up with her, as had his father and grandfather before him. Family legend had it that she had ruled over this corner of the garden before Kelby Hall had been rebuilt for Queen Elizabeth. Her history was lost.

  It was why Henry wanted to account for everything. For future generations, if there were to be any. To share his knowledge and his family’s collection with the wider world. Kelby Hall’s gardens were open to the public once a year for the local parish fete. It was Henry’s intention that the house would also be open, not just one day but many. There were so many things to be learned from studying the relics of the past, and Kelby Hall was crammed to the attics with them.

  Maris squinted up at the roofline of the only home she’d ever known. Captain Durant must have given up on her by now. She didn’t want to face him. He could not have missed David’s insinuations. He must think her an utter hypocrite. All her hesitancy, all her reluctance, the war with her conscience, her tears—all must seem false to him. She’d lost her virtue for far less honorable reasons five years past.

  The tears flowed, hot against her cold cheeks. No one could notice her cry but the queen in the center of the garden room, and she had stopped listening to Maris’s girlish hopes years ago.

  Maris didn’t hear the crunch of Reynold Durant’s boots on the stone path until he was right above her, thrusting a handkerchief at her face. She took it gratefully, wiped the wet from her face and then blew her nose with all the grace of a trumpeting elephant. Just another reason to be mortified.

  “You’d better tell me,” he said quietly, “although I think I can guess.”

  “I’m too ashamed.”

  “Here, shove over on the bench. All the way over in case there are prying eyes. If I could see you out here, others can. Take a breath.”

  She had turned into a watering pot around this man. She hadn’t ever had a real friend to confide in except Jane, and for obvious reasons she had not been able to confess what she’d done with David. Maris sometimes wondered if Jane had discovered the relationship anyway, and that had contributed to her decision to walk into the lake. Maris wouldn’t put it past David to have told Jane and taunted her with it.

  Layers of guilt. It was a wonder Maris could stand upright when she was so bent by the weight of them.

  “I’m listening. Take your time.”

  She hardly knew Reynold Durant. Oh, that was absurd. She’d allowed him into her body for the past two days. The handsome stranger who sat beside her knew more about her than her own husband did after ten years of marriage. A limited knowledge, yes, but a profound one.

  She hiccupped to hold back a wave of hopeless laughter. She was becoming hysterical at the absurd situation she found herself in. “If you’ve guessed, you tell me.”

  He raised a wooly brow. “No indeed. I’m not going to make it easy for you. Confession is good for the soul, I hear. I’ll not rob you of the relief of it. It’s been hard for you to keep it in, hasn’t it?”

&nbs
p; Damn him. He was supposed to be ignorant, wasn’t he?

  “I have nothing to say.” She blew her nose again, with a little more discretion.

  “Your face said it all upstairs. But tell me in words. I won’t judge you, I promise.”

  “Won’t you? Don’t you think me the basest sort of woman? I’m an unfaithful wife. A liar.”

  “You haven’t lied so much as not told the truth. I’m not one of those who believes much in the sin of omission. Most people usually have a valid reason to leave out a word or three and keep quiet. You have the greatest reason of all. You wanted to protect your husband. Because you love him.”

  The simple understanding let loose a fresh assault of tears. Reyn waited patiently while she snuffled and sniffed into his handkerchief. It smelled of sandalwood and starch and was somehow comforting.

  “I-I made a horrible mistake.” She reached for more words, but they didn’t come. She’d tried to explain it all to herself for five years, and had never succeeded. How could she explain to Reynold Durant?

  It turned out she didn’t need to. “You were lonely, Maris. You love your husband, yes, but he’s much older than you are—a bit of a father figure, if you want my unsolicited opinion. By his own account, he’s obsessed with his studies, not his young wife. You were looking for something that made you feel alive. Important. It’s just too bad you sought it from David Kelby.”

  She almost smiled. “I thought you were going to let me confess.”

  “I’m sure I left out some details. I’m not a wizard at mind reading, you know.”

  “You’ve come close.” She looked at the marble queen, so regal and composed, and took a steadying breath. “When Henry married me, he’d already been afflicted with . . . oh, I don’t know how to say it.”

  “He couldn’t exert his husbandly rights.”

  Maris knew she was blushing. “Yes. He tried, but—” She did not wish to revisit her greatest disappointment and shrugged. “He pleased me in other ways, but we were never able to consummate the marriage despite his desire for a son.