Ainsley looked back at the water, giving his friend the opportunity to grapple with his gracelessness in private. His first inclination was to rush over to assist him, but he knew Walfort would resent the interference, the implication that he couldn’t attend to his own needs—even if in many areas he couldn’t. Like himself, his friend was a proud man, probably too proud for his own good. He didn’t want to consider what it had cost Walfort to ask him to get his wife with child. He wasn’t certain he’d be willing to pay the price, no matter how much he loved the woman.
“You had the right of it,” Walfort eventually said, sounding winded, as though he’d run a great distance. “She was none too happy with me. Afraid that leaves it up to you, old chum.”
Ainsley swung around. “Pardon?”
“You’ll need to charm her, wear down her resistance to the idea.”
“You have gone mad.” His voice held a biting edge. Walfort might find all of this amusing; Ainsley did not. He remembered the chill that entered the breakfast room with her. But more, he remembered the tantalizing scent of her as he assisted her with her chair. Jasmine. Exotic. Enticing. Her flawless skin beguiled him. He’d been so tempted to slide a finger along the column of her throat. He’d wanted to kiss away the firm set of her lips. The last thing he wanted was for Walfort to grant him permission to seduce his wife. He suspected Walfort had no clue regarding how much Ainsley would enjoy doing so. Walfort might view it all as an uncomplicated transaction, but Ainsley viewed it as a quick journey directly into hell.
No matter how short a term he spent with any woman, he shared not only the physical, but the emotional as well. Warmth, caring, concern, enjoyment. Love he held in reserve. He wasn’t certain he could withhold that elusive emotion from Jayne. She struck him as a woman who would demand all—even if she came to him expecting naught but his seed. Time with her would not be simple. Complications abounded. He was certain of it.
“You are on the verge of having a hundred guests,” he said now, “and you wish me to flirt with your wife?”
“Not openly. I’m not daft. But surely you can arrange moments alone with her. You’ve done it with other women.”
“Your wife is not other women.” He was surprised by the roughness in his voice. He turned his attention back to the stream. Leaves were drifting to the ground on the slight breeze. Those killed by the advance of winter. He wondered if Jayne’s frigid mien toward him would kill him. Quite possibly.
“Pity both your brothers are married,” Walfort said. “I doubt either of them would lack the courage—”
“Courage has nothing to do with it!” Ainsley snapped. Although it did. He feared he could easily lose his heart. But he couldn’t confess that to Walfort. “It is simply a bad idea on so many levels, and I believe you and I have already reached our quota for bad ideas.”
“I did have a jolly good time of it that night, Ainsley. Until the end, of course. How are my jewels?”
His pet name for the girls he loved. Glancing back, Ainsley met his friend’s gaze. “Well taken care of.”
“I’ve thought about telling Jayne—”
“I advise against that course. No good would come of it.”
“It might make her appreciate you more.”
“I see her but once or twice a year. You see her every day. It’s a very bad idea, Walfort.”
“I suppose— Good God! I’ve got something here!”
It was the laughter that drew her to them. It had been a little over three years since she heard it, but she would have recognized Walfort’s boisterous, reverberating laugh anywhere.
She’d been following close to the stream when the sound echoed its way through the trees, and then she guided her horse toward it. Now she sat at the edge of the copse of elms and watched as her husband continually lost his balance, righted himself, and tugged on his pole and line. With net in hand, Ainsley waded out into the water and snagged the elusive creature. His laughter mingled with her husband’s, and when Ainsley turned back to shore, net held high triumphantly, his smile broad with victory, she wished she could see her husband’s face. Surely his held the same joy. She cast a quick glimpse at the groomsman who’d accompanied her. He was wearing a bright smile, and it was only then that she realized her own lips had curved up. And that her eyes misted over with unshed tears. So many in the years since the accident.
“Shall I help them, m’lady?” Chester asked.
“No,” she said. “I believe they have it well in hand.”
Her voice must have carried on the slight breeze because Ainsley looked up sharply from wrestling the fish free of its hook—
“Damnation!” He shoved his thumb into his mouth at the exact moment the fish plopped free onto the bank.
“Get him, Ainsley, for God’s sake!” Walfort yelled.
“Yes, yes. Quite!”
It was a slippery beast, flopping about, evading Ainsley’s grasp. Walfort was dragging himself through the mud to assist. It tore at her heart to see him reduced thus, and yet each man acted as though nothing were amiss as they both struggled with equal determination to recapture what had been lost.
Eventually, Jayne couldn’t help herself. She slapped her gloved hand over her mouth, refusing to laugh at their antics—quite beneath men with such esteemed titles. “Chester, perhaps you should lend a hand.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
He dismounted and was rushing forward when Ainsley held the fish aloft. “I’ve got it!”
And promptly lost his balance and landed in the stream. She almost released her laughter then, but refused to be entertained by him—when she didn’t even like him.
She watched as he tried to regain his footing while maintaining his hold on the fish. If Chester had not waded in to help, Ainsley would have had to let it go. A shame when Walfort was so frightfully proud of catching the silly thing.
He must not have realized she was there until Chester arrived to help Ainsley, because only then did he twist around to find her. His smile was certain to be causing his jaw to ache. “Do you see, Jayne? Do you see what I caught?”
The tears stinging her eyes moved down to clog her throat. He was lying there, raised up on an elbow, and for the first time in so long, he didn’t look pitiful or sad. He appeared triumphant and so very happy. She smiled. “Yes, darling.”
“I want him prepared for supper.”
Nodding, she realized then as she watched Chester help Ainsley to his feet that the duke would have never released his hold on the fish. Never. He’d have not let Walfort’s small victory escape him. She watched now as Ainsley staggered to the shore and dropped the fish into the wicker basket.
Walfort straightened as best he could. “What are you doing here, Jayne?”
“Searching for you. Our guests will begin arriving at any moment.”
“Blast it all! I’d forgotten about that. Wouldn’t do for the host to be absent, would it?” She didn’t think he was truly expecting an answer, then he added, “Have you seen what Ainsley brought me?”
Only then did she notice the saddle with a high back and sides on the horse the duke led toward Walfort. It looked almost like a chair. She’d never seen anything quite like it. She eased her own horse forward.
“Ainsley’s brother raises horses now,” Walfort said. “And the saddle.”
“His brother raises saddles?” she asked, not certain why she wanted to tease him when she hadn’t in so long.
Walfort laughed. “See there, Ainsley? My wife has quite the sense of humor. No, darling. He raises only horses, but he designed the saddle. It holds me in.”
Ainsley gave a command and the horse knelt. With some effort, Ainsley and Chester finally got Walfort situated in the saddle. She wondered how they would have managed if she and her groom hadn’t happened along. Somehow, she suspected her husband and Ainsley would have persevered. With leather straps and buckles, Ainsley belted him in, and with another command had the horse rise. Her breath backing up into her chest, she
waited for her husband to flop over onto the ground just as the fish had, but he stayed seated, his feet latched in the stirrups. When Ainsley patted the beast on the hindquarters, it lumbered toward her, Walfort holding the reins.
Ainsley strode to his horse and mounted with a graceful ease. He joined them quickly enough and surreptitiously reached down, grabbing the tether to her husband’s gelding. Chester remained to gather up all they’d left behind, including the fish in the wicker basket.
As the three of them wended their way through the woods, Walfort said, “Did you ever expect to see me riding again, Jayne?”
She glanced over at him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him look so confident. “No.”
“I think I could jolly well go on the hunt tomorrow.”
“You don’t want to rush it,” Ainsley said quietly. “You’re not completely in charge of the horse, you know.”
“Don’t think you could keep up with me?”
“I think you and the horse need to grow accustomed to one another before you subject him to a hunt.”
“Oh, my overly cautionary friend. I suppose you’re right.”
If only he’d been overly cautionary three years ago, she thought, and bit back the scathing retort. Ainsley had brought this bit of happiness into Walfort’s day, and in so doing, into hers.
“I’m going to name him Second Chances, Jayne. What do you think?” Walfort asked.
“I think it’s a lovely name.”
“Did you know he’d brought the horse? Blighter didn’t say a thing to me yesterday. Marvelous, marvelous surprise. It’s going to be a good day. A good few days with friends.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m glad we’re doing this.”
“As am I.”
Her gaze went past her husband to Ainsley. He was watching her solemnly. Perhaps it was the sunlight dappling through the trees or the fact that he was drenched and muddy, but he appeared mournful, regretful. For the first time, it occurred to her that perhaps he’d not escaped from that dreadful night as unscathed as she’d always assumed.
Chapter 3
Jayne had rather dreaded the arrival of their guests, fearing that most were coming out of curiosity regarding her husband. Since his accident, they’d not been to London. She’d expected Walfort to put up a convincing front that all was well. She’d intended to do the same.
She didn’t know if it was the result of the fishing excursion or his riding the horse or his being in the company of Ainsley, but he was more relaxed and confident greeting their guests than she’d anticipated. He put people at ease with his limitations. During dinner, when his fish was brought to him, he regaled everyone with his tale of how he’d caught it. Sitting beside her husband at the head of the table and across from Ainsley, she was surprised by the grace with which Ainsley accepted his portrayal as a bungler while attempting to land the fish her husband had so expertly caught. She wasn’t certain she’d smile as benignly if the laughter came at her expense.
They were in the grand salon now, listening as Lady Louisa Mercer danced her fingers over the pianoforte with amazing dexterity. She’d had her coming out last Season, and while she was presently unspoken for, it was rumored that she had at least three suitors vying for her hand. She was a lovely girl, small-boned and delicate. Strange, how watching her Jayne couldn’t recall ever being that young. In a single night, a few days, she had aged well beyond her years, which was probably why the more elderly of her guests gravitated toward her while the younger, unmarried ladies tended to keep their distance.
“I cannot tell you how much my husband has been anticipating our visit here,” Lady Inwood said quietly. “He has always said there are no finer hunting grounds in all of England than Walfort’s estate.”
Jayne smiled. “We’re very pleased you were both able to join us.”
Lady Inwood was nearly fifteen years older than Jayne. She’d provided her husband with an heir and three spares in record time, and with each child, her figure had rounded more and more. Yet she still managed to carry herself with incredible grace.
“The girl is quite talented,” Lady Inwood said.
“Quite. Lady Florence will entertain us next.”
“I have far more interest in other entertainments.”
Jayne snapped her head around and followed Lady Inwood’s gaze to where a good many of the bachelors stood on the opposite side of the room, near one of three massive fireplaces. Among them Ainsley, his pose more relaxed than the others. He stood in their midst and yet he seemed apart. While he appeared to be watching Lady Louisa, he was not truly focused on her.
“Who do you suppose Ainsley will entertain while he’s here?” Lady Inwood asked slyly.
Jayne shifted her attention back to the woman. “Pardon?”
“It’s no secret, my dear, that some fortunate lady always ends up in his bed at these affairs. Many a silly chit has ruined her reputation because she couldn’t resist boasting that she’d been with him. My money is on Lady Anna St. Clair.”
“Your money?”
“Quite. A few of us married ladies—the older ones especially—always wager. Would you care to place your own wager on whom it shall be?”
She was both intrigued and repelled by the notion. “No.”
“Probably to the best. A few have wagered it will be you.”
Jayne’s jaw dropped, but she recovered quickly enough to snap her mouth shut. If she tried to speak, she’d no doubt be blathering.
“I daresay I think it a fool’s wager, however,” Lady Inwood continued, as though she’d not just insulted Jayne to her core. “It’s well known that Ainsley never takes a married woman to his bed.”
As though the ultimate decision rested with him and not her. She almost commented that perhaps married women didn’t want him in their bed. Having known their husbands, they were content with that. But she didn’t want to prolong this discussion any longer than necessary. “Then why would anyone wager on me?”
“You’re young.” She lifted a bared shoulder carelessly. “Speculation is that since his accident, your husband—”
“My husband satisfies me in all matters, I assure you.” She was pleased that the practiced words had escaped her lips so smoothly. She’d not been certain if the opportunity presented itself that she would be able to successfully protect Walfort’s manhood. He considered these people friends, equals, and here they were gossiping about him as though he were little more than gutter garbage. She’d feared it would be the case, hence the hours of practicing the precise words and tone in order to deliver them effectively.
She took satisfaction in Lady Inwood’s brown eyes widening. “I meant no insult. It is simply that you have still failed to produce an heir—”
“Did it occur to no one as they were doing all this damn gossiping that my husband and I required time to adjust to the obstacles thrown at us?”
“Yes, of course. As I said, I meant no insult.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to see to my other guests.”
Inwardly, she was seething, but had she learned nothing else in the past three years, she’d learned to bury her emotions so far down that even she had a difficult time finding them. She wanted to leave this suffocating room, but she was the hostess, so she smiled and introduced to the assemblage each young lady who had requested an opportunity to perform, hoping that her music would capture some gentleman’s fancy.
At one point the hairs on the nape of her neck rose and she turned to find Ainsley’s gaze riveted on her. She could see the speculation in his green eyes, the furrowing of his brow. His intense perusal only served to inflame her fury.
She wished this entire affair were over, that she could send all her guests on their merry way. Instead, she smiled and pretended to give a fig about the latest fashions, books, and betrothals. It was all so damned frivolous. She thought her world had stopped falling apart, but she was wrong. It had simply become isolated, her focus narrowed to struggling not to conti
nually grieve for all that had been irrevocably lost.
After the recital, Walfort adjourned to the billiards room with some of the gentlemen. She saw to it that the remaining guests had all they needed to retire for the night. Most had brought their own servants, but hers were still available to help as needed. A few of the guests were sleeping in luxurious tents on the front lawn, but the more prestigious were given rooms. Lady Inwood had been correct: Walfort’s estate was known for its hunting grounds, and royalty often visited. Over the centuries, new wings and additions had been added to accommodate them, until the residence resembled a palace.
When the rooms finally settled into quiet, Jayne rapped on her husband’s bedchamber door and discovered he was not yet abed. No doubt he remained in the billiards room with his liquor and cigars—and Ainsley. She didn’t want to contemplate the direction of their conversation tonight. Who knew what other madness the two of them might conjure together? She should retire and spare herself the irritation of wondering about their conniving. Tomorrow would be another busy day. But she knew sleep would elude her. Instead, she settled her cloak over her shoulders and decided to seek solace in the gardens.
Once outside, she inhaled deeply the brisk night air. The sky was so incredibly clear. A thousand stars and a full moon guided her steps, each one taking her farther away from the residence and her role as gracious hostess. Usually a walk through the grounds relaxed her. Even in winter her gardens abounded with color. Pansies, in particular, nestled in the soil and brought her smiles. But in the moonlight they were little more than silhouettes. A reflection of her life. A mere shadow of what she’d expected it to be.
She gave herself a mental shake. She despised giving in to the morose musings. She had legs, sensations, and a husband who had disappointed her but once in his life. Some women had far less.
She reached a curve in the path and turned onto a less-traveled stretch until she reached a wrought-iron bench. She sank onto it. This isolated section of the gardens was her sanctuary, the place where she’d come to weep copious tears in solitude. She thought she’d succeeded so well in hiding her numerous disappointments and heartaches from Walfort. But then last night when he made his ludicrous suggestion . . . Perhaps he read her far easier than she realized. As much as she fought not to, she did regret not having children. She’d always envisioned herself with several dark-haired sons and daughters.
Waking Up With the Duke Page 3
