“It is only as remarkable as my subjects. Perhaps someday you will honor me by allowing me to put you on canvas.”
Her gaze jumped to Ainsley. “Perhaps. I must apologize for being late. I took a nap and fell quite asleep. My maid didn’t think to wake me.”
Ainsley was certain her words were a lie. He had no doubt she’d been fighting with her conscience, trying to determine if she should join them.
“It was no hardship to wait for you,” he said. It would, however, be a hardship to be with her all night and not touch her. He, too, would be playing a part: uninterested host. When all he wanted to do was approach her, slip his arm around her and nestle her against his side.
“Shall we go into dinner now?” his mother asked, as though aware that Ainsley was too preoccupied with Jayne to think about anything as mundane as food.
“By all means.” Before he could reach Jayne, his mother was escorting her out, murmuring low as though they were sharing secrets. Leaving him with little to do other than glare at Leo.
“I’ll have your mother in her carriage and on our way as soon as possible in the morning,” the artist said.
“Stay as long as you like. As I said, Jayne is merely here on holiday.”
“And I’m a descendent of Rembrandt.”
“Are you? Is that the reason you’re so secretive regarding your last name?” Leo never discussed his family, his parentage, or his last name.
“Let’s join the ladies, shall we?” Leo asked, ignoring Ainsley’s inquiry.
As they strolled toward the dining room, Ainsley said, “I know Mother has a tendency to be dramatic. So how bad off is Lady Lynnford?” The earl had served as guardian for him and his brothers after his father died. He’d always felt loved by the earl and his countess.
“Very, I’m afraid. I suspect Lynnford will be a widower before the next Season is upon us.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that. Although I have always wondered if he is the reason you’ve yet to make an honest woman of the duchess.”
“Who is to say? She craves her independence.”
“I don’t see you taking that from her.”
“It is not an easy thing to love a woman knowing she belongs to another. But I don’t suppose I need to tell you that.”
“She is here on holiday,” Ainsley repeated.
“And who said I was referring to Jayne?”
Ainsley cut his gaze over to Leo. “I’m beginning to understand why Westcliffe found you irritating when he and Claire were trying to reconcile.”
“Why? Because I knew he loved her long before he did?”
Because he was too observant and meddled more than his mother. “I shall have your carriage readied at dawn.”
Leo gave him a sympathetic look. “Love is hell, my friend.”
Ainsley knew he wasn’t in love, but he was damned glad Jayne had decided to join them for dinner, because in truth, he wasn’t certain he’d have had the strength to carry through on his threat to return her home on the morrow.
J
ayne had expected the evening to be awkward, with the duchess prying and seeking to get to the truth behind her presence, but the woman spoke of her travels, her sons, her grandchildren. It was the talk of her grandchildren that put a pang in Jayne’s heart. The duchess would have a grandchild she would never know—although Jayne knew she certainly could find a way to involve her in the child’s life. Oh, why had they started down this path? But even as she questioned it, the ache for a child blossomed into something almost unbearable. If she were fortunate to meet with success here, she would find a way to make everything right.
“You know,” the duchess began, directing her attention to Jayne, “I thought Ainsley was tossing good money after bad when he set about putting this cottage to rights. It was fairly a hovel when he purchased it. But I find it rather peaceful now. It is as though one can leave one’s troubles at the door.”
“Quite,” Jayne concurred. “It has been a welcome escape.”
“I’m sure it has, m’dear. You are so young to carry such burdens. I was not much younger when my first husband passed. Left me destitute. I had not a clue we were in such unfortunate circumstances until the solicitor paid his visit. Westcliffe and I did not converse much at all. I was to provide him with an heir and little else. I did my duty by him, but I must confess they were the longest—and the loneliest—years of my life.”
Although the circumstances were different, Jayne had to admit that the past few years were the longest, loneliest, and most nightmarish of her life. “And your second husband?”
Even as she asked, she knew she was being rude, but she wanted to keep the conversation turned away from her.
“Ainsley’s father was a dear. I would not go so far as to say we loved each other, but we respected each other, cared for each other, enjoyed each other’s company from time to time. He was a good man, your father,” the duchess said to Ainsley.
“I barely remember him,” Ainsley said.
“He was fit, an excellent horseman, and a good conversationalist.” She shifted her gaze to the artist. “But I believe it is only Leo who has ever made me laugh. We underestimate the importance of laughter, I think. It did my heart good to hear yours echoing through these halls this afternoon. You’ve been too somber of late.”
“You shouldn’t worry about me, Mother.”
“But I do. I worry about all my boys.” She glanced over at Jayne. “No matter how old they get, you still think of them as boys.” As though realizing that she might have stepped in it, with sympathy in her eyes she reached over and patted Jayne’s hand. “No matter. I have heard wonderful things about the fox hunt you hosted. I daresay, you outdid yourself.”
“Thank you, Your—Tessa. I believe we shall return to making it an annual event.”
“So much effort, though, isn’t it?”
“We enjoyed having the company.”
“I’m sure.”
The topics moved on—to the weather. Would the rain cease by morning? Christmas. Where would the family gather for the holiday? It seemed Westcliffe’s ancestral home had become a favorite haunt. His wife, Claire, was apparently an excellent hostess. Jayne thought of all the children who would be there. The squeals, laughter, and pounding of running feet. She wondered if Walfort wanted her to have a child so their home wouldn’t be quite so quiet.
She felt the weight of Ainsley’s gaze and wondered if he was thinking the same thing—or if he was contemplating all the Christmases he would have without his child.
After dinner, they played cards until the clock chimed ten, then retired to their separate rooms, all saying good-night in the hallway. Closing the door behind her, Jayne pressed her back to it. Ainsley wouldn’t come see her tonight. She would be alone.
Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she wondered how it was that she could
miss
him.
B
efore his next visit to the cottage, Ainsley intended to have a door placed between his bedchamber and the one next to it. Meanwhile, he prowled his room, listening to the infernal ticking of the clock, marking away the time he would have with Jayne.
Finally, at midnight, he opened the door, stepped into the hallway, and froze, as Leo was apparently concluding the same actions. They stared at each other for the span of a heartbeat before Leo finally nodded and sauntered into the bedchamber that had been given to Ainsley’s mother.
He knew they were lovers, of course. They’d been together for years now. He wasn’t naïve, believing his mother kept Leo around simply for his talents with the paintbrush. Still, it was unsettling to have proof of their dalliance. It was time he found out what the man’s intentions were regarding his mother. Only he knew his mother well enough to know she’d have none of that, none of his interference. Unfortunate for her, but there was no hope for it. He would talk with Westcliffe and Stephen about this matter when next he saw them.
Leaving behind thoughts of his mother and what might be transpiring across the hallway, he slipped into Jayne’s room. She was perched in a chair beside the window, gazing out. Horror washed over her features.
“You can’t be here tonight,” she said in a harsh whisper.
He ambled over to the window and pressed his shoulder against it, much as he had that first night. Odd to think how much had changed between them in such a short time.
“What if tonight is the magical night?” he asked.
With a quick shake of her head, she turned her attention back to the rain. “I don’t know if we should be doing this.”
“Why not? You want a child. I want to give you one. Walfort wants you to have one.”
“Your mother will never know he or she is her grandchild.”
“Jayne.” He knelt in front of her, took her hands. “She’d understand.”
“I don’t see how she could.”
With a sigh, he released her, pressed his back to the wall, raised his knees and draped his wrists over them. “If I tell you a secret, you must swear to never tell a soul.”
“I’m slightly insulted you don’t realize that all you have to tell me is that it’s a secret. I understand the importance with which they are kept.”
“We’re alike in that regard, yet here I am, considering sharing this one with you.”
“I swear.” She settled her chin on her upturned knees. “Does it have to do with your mother?”
“Everything has to do with my mother.”
“She loves you very much.”
“She loves Stephen more . . . because she loved his father.”
“But I thought she detested Westcliffe. She even implied so during dinner with veiled mentions of her loneliness.”
Ainsley arched a brow, gave her a pointed look. He could almost see the wheels turning through her mind, then her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide.
“Are you implying Westcliffe isn’t his father?”
“I’m implying that my mother would understand—and forgive—your situation.”
She was watching the rain again. Her toes curled around the edge of the cushion as though she was thinking so hard she needed the purchase to remain where she was. He wanted to slip his hand beneath the hem of her nightdress, slide it along her calf and find that little scar he’d been giving attention to earlier. Complete the journey that had haunted him all day.
“That’s why she loved Stephen,” she said on a whispered breath, before jerking her gaze back to him. “She loved her lover. Do you think that’s it?”
He shrugged.
“It must be,” she insisted. “Who is he?”
“That, I can’t tell you.”
“Do you know who he is?”
He nodded. “But the man’s family never knew. His parents didn’t know that Stephen was their grandchild.” He couldn’t help himself. He reached out and wrapped his hand around her foot. “My whole point in sharing this is that it’s something we’ll live with, but we needn’t feel guilty over it.”
“That’s what prompted your condition, your rule. You were afraid if I didn’t love you, I couldn’t love your child.”
“It was a consideration, yes.”
“When your mother was talking about her grandchildren, all I could think about was how desperately I wanted a child. Am I selfish, do you think?”
“No, I think you give too much of yourself to be selfish.”
She gave him a winsome smile. “I’d not expected to like you so much.”
“Well, that is a blow to my self-esteem. I thought you liked me the moment you met me.”
“I’m not really certain I gave it any thought. Walfort occupied all my attention. He was so dashing.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “I promised not to talk about him, and yet here I am doing exactly that.”
“You can talk to me about anything, Jayne.”
“Can I? I’ve also discovered that I can be quiet around you and not feel awkward about it. That’s almost as important as being able to talk. I think your mother loves Leo.”
“I don’t know if she loves him enough.”
“What would be enough?”
“To give up on the promise of love from another.”
“Can she not love two men?”
He almost asked Jayne if she could. Could she love two men? Could she love him and Walfort? In all likelihood no, so he didn’t ask.
Instead he listened to the rain patter and let the silence weave around them. He studied her, sitting there contemplating the raindrops. He tried not to imagine her swollen with his child. He might never have the opportunity to gaze upon her in that condition, might never feel the movement of new life growing within her.
But it was too late now for regrets. His seed could have already taken root. If not, the truth was that he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman. Unfolding himself from the floor, he reached down and tugged on her hand. “Come on.”
Pulling free, she shook her head vigorously. “No, we can’t. Not with your mother down the hall.”
He tugged again. “We shall be very quiet.”
She again pulled free. “As the past nights have proven, I cannot be quiet with you.”
That gave him pause. Had she been quiet with Walfort? Had his cousin not brought her the most exquisite of pleasure? He couldn’t contemplate what he might be giving her that Walfort never had, couldn’t compare his cousin’s prowess against his own. None of it mattered. All that mattered was the moments he had with her now.
This time he leaned in, cupped her elbows and said, “Press your mouth against my chest to muffle your cries.”
He brought her to her feet.
“It will be a disaster,” she insisted. “I will not be able to relax.”
He gave a slight tug and unraveled the ribbon at the front of her nightdress. “I so love a challenge.”
“Is that what I am?”
He loosened a button. “Most assuredly. A delightful challenge.” Another button.
“The lamp.”
An irritating, frustrating challenge.
Moving past her, he bent down and extinguished the flame in the lamp. As he straightened, he felt the press of warm, pliant flesh against his back and smiled. Not so frustrating after all.
Turning, he wound his arms around her. “Oh, you wicked girl.”
“We must be quiet,” she whispered.
“As two little dormice.”
Tumbling her onto the bed, he chuckled low when she released a tiny squeal that she abruptly cut off with a choking sound, trying to swallow the noise. He quickly shed his own clothes and joined her.
Jayne knew this was an awful idea. Where he was concerned, she seemed unable to keep quiet or still. Already her body was writhing over the sheets with the attention he was lavishing on her. His mouth was so incredibly talented.
She remembered their kiss on the terrace. What a fool she’d been to deny herself his questing mouth toying with hers. But it terrified her: the hunger he could elicit so easily. It started with their lips and carried a sensation of pleasure through her that made her want more. So much more.
So she’d been determined to deny herself that much at least. She wanted her encounters with Ainsley to be the unemotional business dealings that Walfort had promised her they would be.
But even now her skin was singing with joy—everywhere he touched. And he had no qualms about touching her everywhere, with his fingers, his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. He nipped and soothed. He caressed so lightly, until she was straining for more pressure, and he would deliver it at the most perfect moment.
It was as though he knew her body, knew what would bring her pleasure better than she did herself.
She found it just as joyous to touch him. To skim her hands over his shoulders, his back, his chest. Her fingers would journey through the light sprinkling of hair on his chest, creating even more sensations for her.
“Shh,” he warned, and she realized she was emitting little mewling sounds.
She swallowed down the noises, but trying to hold everything in only made matters worse. The pleasure clawed at her, demanding freedom.
She was more than ready when he slid into her, burying himself deeply, the weight of him welcome and satisfactory. Her low moan was greeted with his deep sigh as he held still. She dug her fingers into his backside, urging him on, but his movements were as slow as honey dripping onto a scone, as measured as the beat of a drum in a regimental parade.
“Ainsley?”
“Shh.”
His mouth traveled along her throat, licking, kissing, nibbling. In the darkness nothing except sensation existed. Warm and sultry. Dew coated their skin and they skated over each other. She shoved the sounds deep down, and it served to increase the pleasure, to make her want to cry out.
It was torment to hold so much in. It was ecstatic. He slid out, glided back in. Over and over. With deliberate slowness. Beneath her fingers, his strong body undulated with his controlled actions.
She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Stars appeared. Dancing, shooting across her vision. Her body curled into itself. She wrapped a hand around his neck, forced him nearer, pressed her open mouth to the juncture of his throat and shoulder. Tasted the saltiness of his skin, inhaled the earthy muskiness of their lovemaking.
Lovemaking. In spite of all Walfort’s reassurances that it wouldn’t be so, in spite of her insignificant rules, he’d slipped beneath her armor, had leaped over her pitiful hazards, wended his way through a maze of obstacles to establish something magical and wonderful between them. She’d been sitting by the window mourning the fact that he’d not be able to visit her tonight with his mother in attendance, and yet here he was. Solid. Strong. Determined.
What they shared was not what she’d been led to believe they would. No distance separated them. It wasn’t casual and cold and stiff. It was warm, hot, and encompassing.
He moved with deliberate purpose and she responded in kind.
Her mouth pressed to his neck muffled her small moans, her tiny squeals as the pleasure built to unbearable proportions, more intense than anything she’d ever known.
When the cataclysm came and she bucked against him, wrapping herself more tightly around him to contain everything, to keep them both earthbound, she was jarred by his shuddering, his final powerful thrusts, the strangled groan deep in his throat as though he were in excruciating agony.
Afterward they both lay still, except for their trembling and shaking. Their harsh breaths echoed between them.
“Christ,” he finally whispered, the word sounding as though it were torn from the depths of his soul.
“Were you in pain?”
He laughed low. “No. God, no. But I will confess to never having experienced anything quite so . . . intense. I did think for a moment there that I might expire on the spot.” He brushed a kiss over her temple. “You seemed to enjoy things.”
“It was . . . yes, I think you have the right of it. Intense.” She curled inward and spoke even lower. “I’m not accustomed to talking afterward.”
He kissed her throat, her chest, the side of one breast before rolling off her and sprawling out beside her. “Do you prefer the silence?”
“No. I don’t think so. But sometimes. It can be nice.”
She felt a slight tug on her scalp as he combed his fingers through her hair, and she wondered how it was that he could find her so easily in the dark. It seemed he was aware of every aspect regarding her.
“Will you weep tonight after I leave?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t think so. I’m too sated.” Then the full impact of his words struck her. “You know I cry?”
“I suspected.
Now
I know.”
“It was not very nice of you to trick me like that.”
“Sometimes I’m not very nice.”
Not true. He was always remarkably nice even when she was a shrew. Nice, kind, and considerate. A gentleman to the core. She wished he wasn’t. It would make it so much easier to leave here unscathed.
“S
he’s going to break his heart.”