“Hush,” she said, bending over him. “I don’t want a scholar. I want a lover.”
Reyn couldn’t move away as her lips came down on his. Warm. Demanding. Commanding. His countess was not taking no for an answer, and truthfully Reyn could not have spoken even if his lips and tongue were available.
Oh, hell. He wasn’t strong enough to escape the scent of roses or the softness of her mouth. He’d been celibate long enough. “Just tonight,” he mumbled when she gave him a moment to breathe.
“We’ll see.”
He wouldn’t waste any more time arguing. Maris might feel sorry for him, but he could not help appreciating the way she chose to express it.
She sank to his rumpled pallet, pulled her rain-dampened night rail up over her knees and then paused. Her lashes flicked. “Perhaps I should keep covered. I don’t wish to give you a disgust of me.”
Idiot woman. In two steps, he lifted the garment over her head, disentangling her wavy braid from a button. Her skin glowed ivory in the low lamplight, breasts full, belly taut and rounded. He was rendered speechless by her fecund beauty. Without a thought, he placed his hand on the curve that cradled the baby.
She was almost six months gone with child, and not so very large yet. He knew nothing of pregnancy, save he’d always been scrupulously careful not to cause one.
“All is well?”
“I think so. I’ve felt the baby quicken. It is the most remarkable sensation, Reyn. I cannot begin to describe it.”
“Should you still be riding?” What on earth was he about, spoiling the mood of that seductive kiss?
“You sound like Dr. Crandall. I am fine, Reyn. Not sick, just pregnant. And very anxious to have you inside me if you can manage it.”
Well. He’d never been able to resist a challenge. Reyn would worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. Tonight, he wouldn’t let himself think anymore at all.
Chapter 27
Maris had been unable to fall asleep with the receding rumbling of thunder and the heavy rain falling overhead. All she could think of was Reyn in his misery. No wonder he’d been bored and mocked her fanatic attention to all things historical. My Lord, she had given him books he couldn’t read to brush up on antiquities. Yet he’d been convincing, even with David. Reyn was resilient, a master at concealment. She wondered how he’d avoided offering himself up as a spy during the war.
Of course, secret codes would truly be secret to him.
He wasn’t stupid, no matter what he’d said. The more she thought about it, the more she admired him for coping with such a heavy burden. If she hadn’t picked up that ledger, she never would have guessed.
She’d lain awake in the strange bed until all lights were extinguished and all noises from the household ceased. Restless, she’d risen and gone to the window to watch the storm blow across the night sky. The mares’ stable was dark, but cracks of light limned the windows where Brutus and Phantom were housed. Reyn was there, wakeful, watching.
Wounded.
She’d nearly laughed at her alliterative turn of mind.
Maris refused to question why it was so necessary for her to steal down the stairs barefoot, hoping that the door leading to the stable yard was not locked, the key secreted away by one of Ginny’s servants. She was almost exultant when the door pushed open freely in the wind.
Closing it carefully behind her, she fled through the puddles and pounding raindrops to where Reyn was keeping vigil. Maris had not formulated exactly what she wanted to say to him; in fact, she really didn’t want to talk much at all once she’d said her peace.
She was wicked tonight, and blamed poor Henry for setting this scheme in motion. If she had not ever met Reynold Durant, she would not want his lips and hands on her body. Maris might not want to marry him—yet—but lying with him had been all she could think about since she blew out her candle.
Since she’d met him on horseback scant days ago.
Since she’d first laid eyes on him at the Reining Monarchs Society.
He needed to know she was not disgusted by him. He was, she thought, an amazingly persistent character to have gotten so far in life. Such perseverance was to be commended. Henry had seen it, even if he didn’t know the source of Reyn’s stubborn success.
Reyn was visible through the gap in the checked curtain on the window of his office, his hair every which way as he sat up on a pile of blankets on the wooden floor. From the frown on his face, she had thought he might deny her entrance, but then he nodded at her with resignation.
And now she was in his arms, where she fit perfectly despite her bulk. He looked at her with wonder, touching the place where their baby grew, making her feel wonderful. No, wonderful was an inadequate word. Treasured. For the first time in her life she lived up to her name. She felt as if she could be a god of fertility.
She’d been bold enough to kiss him first. She was greedy, really, her blood singing with desire.
The night was for him, however. Maris would share herself with no motive except to let him know without a doubt that she valued him. He’d called it a pity fuck, and that was crude and unfair. She would give him the friendship he’d so effortlessly won from her with his charm and kindness.
His problem could have flattened another man, one who gave up and lost himself in ignorance. But Reyn was a fighter, even in civilian life. She seized his fingers and led them to her hollow. She was wet already. Shameless. But before she led him any further, she would talk to him.
“You touch me,” she whispered. “It hasn’t been the same when I’ve done it to myself, only imagining that you are there.”
“You think of me?” Through his gruffness, she heard the yearning. What a coil they were in.
“Every night. Every day as well. At first I thought it was the grief and loneliness that led me to fantasy. You know”—her voice hitched, but she went on—“I loved Henry, no matter what I’d done. His death was a shock even though I knew it would happen eventually. But he died alone in his library. You cannot imagine my guilt. It was made worse because I missed you. It doesn’t make any sense to me still—I barely knew you but when you left Kelby Hall—”
“As you asked me to,” he reminded her, his fingers still circling between them.
It was the most extraordinary conversation of her life. She was naked in a barn, allowing him to touch her. Needing him to touch her. But before she undressed him, she would say what she’d come for.
Maris sighed. “What would you have me do? There was no reason for you to stay. I moved to the Dower House almost immediately and went about my life, mourning many things.”
“And then you found out you were pregnant.”
“It seemed impossible. But I swear I would have told you. You know now. I am not trifling with you, Reyn. I want you, even if I cannot imagine how to accomplish it.”
She hissed as he slid a finger inside her.
“I think you are managing very well, my lady.”
“We can have this. If we are careful. I’m so afraid David will find out, but I almost don’t care.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “Almost? I have offered you marriage, Maris, even if I’m not worthy. But I will take you as my mistress tonight gladly.”
She covered his mouth with her hand, where he proceeded to give it dogged devotion with his wicked swirling tongue. “You are terribly worthy. It is I who am not worthy of you. I’m a coward, Reyn. You invite me to put my past behind me, but I dare not. It’s just too soon.”
“Crumbs,” he said when she withdrew her hand.
“Pardon?”
“You’ve scattered crumbs for me, but I’m not too proud to lick them up. You give me hope.”
And that is exactly what she had come to do.
Parading about as Lady Kelby had never meant anything to her. She was not averse to being plain Mrs. Durant. It had taken Reyn’s confession for her to realize what a truly noble man he was.
In so many ways, it would be easier to be the wife of a country ge
ntleman who raised horses. Their properties marched together, could be joined. Their physical joining had always been a thing of wonder to her, so different from anything she had experienced either with her husband or David. But would a son forgive her once he learned that she’d tossed away the Kelby fortune?
She wouldn’t think of the necessary waiting ahead, but just the now, with the rain pattering on the roof, lulling her senses. Reyn was taking his crumb-licking seriously, his tongue teasing the edge of her ear, her throat, the crease between her breasts. He cupped one in his free hand as she writhed under him, nuzzled her with a gentleness that went straight to her heart. His path led over her stomach to where his hand already worked feverishly.
And she had thought the night was meant for him.
His mouth was hot, insistent, working in tandem with his work-roughened hands. Maris let herself feel every freeing sweep of his tongue, the tug of his mouth on her core, the glide of his fingers within her. There was nothing in her world but that moment, nothing with more meaning.
She’d had a lifetime devoid of sexual satisfaction. Surely it wasn’t too sinful to want just a little before she turned back to duty again? Society might say it was, but Maris wished society to the devil for making her doubt her right to this particular joy. She could not have stopped her reaction to Reyn if all the patronesses at Almack’s wandered into the stable to object to her wantonness.
Maris shattered, even before she’d had the chance to remove Reyn’s clothes. Tears of gratitude welled in her eyes, but she sat up unsteadily and tore his loose shirt over his head. He had changed from his dinner finery, but to Maris it really didn’t matter what he wore. He was too lovely to cover up.
“It’s my turn.” Her hands shook too badly for her to unfasten his breeches. With a cheeky grin, he helped her. The grin vanished when he realized what she meant to do. “Maris,” he warned.
She looked directly into his sin-dark eyes. “I want to.”
There had been no time for this before, not when his seed had to be spilled into her womb. Maris was no expert. She took his member gingerly in her fist, but he placed his broad hand over hers and squeezed, showing her he couldn’t be broken. He was hard and so very warm, so very beautiful. She bent to cover him with her mouth, her unraveling braid falling on his thigh.
Reyn’s entire body convulsed with her capture. She had him precisely where she wanted him—flat on his back, at her mercy, for a change. She, plain Maris Kelby, could do as she liked with this gorgeous young man and all he could do was groan with pleasure.
He was so large, she divided her attentions to shaft and head, pulsing vein, and heavy stones. Reyn’s eyes were closed, his thick brows knit in what looked like agony. Maris knew better. She sheathed as much of him as she could in her mouth as he cupped the back of her head, gently guiding her movement until she tasted the beginnings of salt and sin.
He struggled to push her away in time, then tumbled her on her side, sliding in effortlessly behind her as if they’d practiced the movement a thousand times. He’d been worried, she’d remembered, about crushing the baby, and in this position she was safe. His hand swept with possession over her breasts and belly as he lost his control, whispering prayerful words she didn’t catch. With unerring precision he found her swollen center and brought her to climax, yet again.
Maris heard one of the horses snort, the driving rain, and Reyn’s jagged breath behind her. She was on the floor of a barn like a common trollop, the itch and smell of the horse blankets no aphrodisiac. Somehow, she didn’t mind a bit.
Reyn held her close, their skin slick and too hot. “Are you all right, Countess?”
She wiggled against him. “I could not be better, except if I could see your face.”
“This scarred old phiz?” he chuckled. “I can arrange that, but I’m not quite ready to give up your sweet sheath. Nature will deny me, soon enough.”
The tension had left his body, and, she hoped, his mind. Her actions spoke to him, did they not? She wanted him to be happy, to know—
Dear God. She had fallen in love with him, and it could no longer be denied.
When Henry died, she’d lost her husband and dearest friend. And she’d had to send her lover away, a man who in such a short time had breached her reserve and awakened her to the possibilities of—what?
There was the baby to consider. And David. And her own conscience. Maris had come to soothe Reyn, but was suddenly as agitated as ants under a quizzing glass in the sun.
They could engage in an affair, as long as her pregnancy was not an impediment. It was not the ideal solution. That would be a complete break, but Maris was not brave enough to do it. She wanted Reyn.
Did she still want the earldom for her son? That was not her dream, but Henry’s.
To have one’s cake and eat it too. Maris had never understood the phrase quite so accurately before. She was a gambler hedging her bets, and it was not a pleasant feeling. She sighed her frustration.
“What is it?” Reyn withdrew and rolled her on her back. She stared at the hatch-work of beams in the ceiling.
“Nothing much. Everything.”
He kissed her fingertips. “We must be modern. Don’t make things more complicated than they are. I know you cannot marry me. It would not suit. I was impertinent to ask, given the difference in our rank and situation.”
Maris wanted to punch him. “Do stop. This has nothing to do with you.”
“Nothing? Then why are you here?”
“That’s just it. I shouldn’t be . . . but I am . . . and I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
Reyn had the effrontery to laugh. “As I said, stop thinking. Let’s just enjoy what we have, for however long we have it. It will have to be enough. But when we do this again, we should aim for a bed.”
She was heartened by the when. Was it enough? Could she have a simple affair with Reynold Durant? Maris didn’t know. Things had not been simple for a very long while. She’d spent so much of her life under a thundercloud of guilt, recently, and she wanted to walk in some sunshine.
At least I won’t get pregnant from an affair, she thought. And then she laughed too.
Chapter 28
Reyn picked a bit of straw from Maris’s hair. Playing ladies’ maid had always been amusing, though tonight it was important he take his job seriously. If Maris was discovered re-entering Merrywood, there should be no trace of how they’d just spent the last perfect hour.
“Hold still. How am I to plait your hair if you’re hopping about like a rabbit?”
“Sorry. I can do it myself, you know.”
“And deprive me of touching the silk of your hair? You are too cruel, madam.” Abandoning his ministrations, he bent to kiss the spot below her left ear.
“Stop that or we’ll have to begin all over again. Where did the ribbon go?”
“It’s in my pocket. I’m keeping it as a token so I may tie it to my lance when I next go out jousting.”
“Silly man.” She sounded pleased though.
He set his hands on her shoulder and turned her to him. Her cheeks were pink in the dim lamplight and her eyes glowed. She looked like a well-tumbled woman despite the virginal white nightgown and even braid.
“It’s not raining quite so hard anymore. You should go.”
“I know.”
Yet he was loath to release her. The evening had been full of surprises for both of them. Miracles. Maris accepted him for who he was.
She wanted him anyway.
They had spoken just a little of the future. Reyn understood her reluctance to engage in anything else except an affair. How could she betray Henry’s memory with a hasty marriage? And what would happen to the child everyone thought was her dead husband’s?
Reyn could never go to Kelby Hall and watch his son be raised as the Earl of Kelby. He’d never belong there, would be a useless consort to Maris, and an inadequate “stepfather” to his own child.
So Reyn prayed wit
h all his heart for a girl, a girl not cursed with his long Durant nose or bushy eyebrows. A little girl with toffee-colored hair and wide brown eyes, who was smart and beautiful as her mother. The old earl had dowered a girl child with Hazel Grange and a substantial income. Reyn would have to keep his wits about him repelling fortune hunters.
Yes, a daughter would be ideal. Maris could relinquish her guilt and that damn David Kelby would leave her alone forever. Reyn and Maris could marry after a decent period of mourning and all might be well. If he was writing a book, that’s precisely how he’d arrange the plot.
Ha. Write a book? Not likely. Reyn was being fanciful, thinking too far into the future and had to rein himself in. For now, he was having a secret affair with his widowed neighbor, and bloody grateful he was about it.
He fastened the top button of her night rail. “There. All prim and proper. Except for your bare feet. What were you thinking of coming out without shoes?”
“I didn’t want to make any noise.”
“You are a scandal, Lady Kelby.”
Maris blinked. “Oh, I do hope not. We must be discreet, Reyn. I don’t want David to catch wind of what we’re up to.”
“Look, my love, even if he discovers our relationship, it doesn’t mean anything. You are a widow. A neighbor. I’m offering you comfort.”
“He could take the baby away after it is born, Reyn. Say I was unfit. A harlot.”
“How could he do that? Surely Henry didn’t make him any kind of guardian or trustee.”
“No, of course not. But he’s the nearest male relative. The courts are sympathetic to the wishes of men, not women. He could claim he was the temporary head of the family until our son reached his majority. I’d have no say in the raising of my own child.”
“That cannot happen, Maris. You are borrowing trouble.”
Jesus, no wonder she was so afraid. But if she married him, that would circumvent any nefarious plans David had, surely?
It was too soon to petition her further for a marriage between them. Whatever he had to do to protect her and their child would be done, one way or another. He would be her White Knight, ribbon or no.
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