“I do believe there are no finer hunting grounds in all of England than those owned by Walfort,” Ainsley said. “The fences and hedgerows are so high that they make for challenging hazards. Sets the heart to racing. The foxes are quick, the hounds quicker. I remember the first hunt after you and Walfort married. I’d never seen a lady partake in the sport before. I thought Walfort was simply indulging you—new husband and all, trying to earn your favor—but you flew over the hazards with the best of us. I was quite enthralled by your performance.”
She loved riding over the countryside. Her horse was a fine fencer. While she didn’t want to, she had to agree with his assessment of the joy to be found in the hunt. “There is little that is quite as exhilarating.”
“You must be anticipating tomorrow.”
She shook her head. “I shan’t go on the hunt.”
“Why ever not?”
Glaring at him, she said, “I will not leave Walfort to plod back to the residence on his own.”
“You love the hunt.”
“I love him more.”
She could feel his penetrating gaze as he scrutinized her. It made her skin prickle.
“It is rude to stare.”
“Why would you not take part in the hunt?”
“I explained my reasoning.”
“No, you provided a reason, but not the true one, I wager.” As he studied her further, she heard the tapping of his foot, a steady beat—
“You’re going to draw the attention of the boar,” she muttered.
“You seek to punish him,” he said.
“Why should I care about punishing a boar? You’re the one who sought to escape him.”
“Your husband. You’re not joining us in the hunt because he can’t.”
Irritation swelled. “My purpose is not to punish him.”
“Not intentionally perhaps, but the result is the same when you deny yourself pleasure and enjoyment. The guilt adds to his burden.”
“I will not throw in his face what he is no longer capable of.”
“He may not be able to chase after the fox, but he brings pleasure to others by inviting them here. Unselfishly he offers them the challenges and victories offered by his land. I think that is far more noble than riding a horse.”
She’d never considered that. She had always concentrated on what he’d lost, what he could no longer accomplish, rather than on what he could. She didn’t want to contemplate that Ainsley was right or that he was wiser than she. Was she responsible for Walfort’s melancholy? Not pleased with these doubts surfacing, she was anxious to change the topic. “I extended invitations to your brothers. They both sent regrets.”
“Their wives are . . . in the family way.”
She felt a tightening in her womb, an ache for what she would never have. She refused to acknowledge it, to not take joy in another’s good fortune. “I fear I’m not quite up on all the family news. How many is this now?”
“It’ll be the third for them both. Westcliffe has a son and daughter. Stephen two sons.”
“Does Sir Stephen desire a daughter, then?”
“I think he only desires that the child be healthy and that his wife survive the ordeal of birth.”
“The ordeal results in such joy.” One she was not likely to experience, unless—
Ainsley’s gaze clashed with hers, and she knew—
knew
—he was thinking of her husband’s silly proposal. She couldn’t deny his attractiveness, and his skills in the bedchamber were legendary. But she had little interest in legends. She was the first to look away.
“Do you think he’s still about?” she asked. “The boar?”
“Probably. I’m willing to risk having a look, if you like.”
She shook her head, not certain why she was suddenly reluctant to leave, to be alone. “I suppose no harm can come from waiting for a few more moments.”
“Except that you’re getting cold.”
Before she could respond, he stood, removed his coat, and draped it over her shoulders. It enveloped her in luxurious warmth and his rich fragrance. She made to remove it. “Now, you’ll get chilled,” she said.
He closed the coat more securely around her, taking his seat as he did so, suddenly closer than he was before. “My comfort has no bearing here.”
“I will not be influenced,” she stated succinctly.
“Pardon?”
“I’m well aware that you’re attempting to gain favor.”
A corner of his mouth hiked up. “Believe me, if that were my intent, I would not be so subtle. I would not speak of my brothers or wagers regarding my possible conquests or my habits when it comes to ladies. No. I would focus on you and you alone.” He skimmed his warm fingers—how could they be so warm when the air was so cool?—along her chin, the soft skin beneath it, somehow causing her to face him more directly. “I would tell you how beautiful you looked during dinner. How much I enjoyed the way your eyes sparkled when Walfort ridiculed my attempt to help him land his fish. I would unpin your hair and bury my fingers in it. I would trail my mouth along your throat, your cheek, across your lips, and I would settle in for a kiss that would warm you much more effectively than my woolen coat.”
As though he’d actually done all these things to her, her traitorous body heated and yearned for more. She was starving for affection. “Don’t,” she rasped. “I don’t wish to play these games.”
“It’s not a game to me, Jayne. I take Walfort’s request seriously.”
“You shouldn’t. It’s ludicrous. Disgusting. Abhorrent.”
“He wants you to be happy.”
“Then he shouldn’t have been friends with you.” She shot to her feet, knowing her words were unfair, but she didn’t like his nearness, his sultry voice, his titillating touch. His coat promptly dropped to the ground, and she immediately missed the warmth. But she refused to snatch it back up. Instead, she desperately scanned the shadows. “How will we know when the boar is gone?”
“Considering the time, I suspect by now he’s returned to his wife. She never allows him to stay out past midnight. Not even at the clubs.”
She swung around. He was sitting negligently on the bench, his long legs outstretched, his tanned breeches hugging his firm thighs. Why did she have to notice every bit of his perfection? “Pardon?”
“I suspect Lord Sheffield has retired to his bedchamber and his wife by now.”
“Lord Sheffield? You said there was a boar you were seeking to escape.”
“Yes. Quite. Lord Sheffield is a bore. The man’s conversations are far less interesting than watching grass grow.”
“I thought . . . you led me . . .” She narrowed her eyes. “I thought you meant a creature. A wild hog.”
“I daresay that would be far more interesting than Lord Sheffield.”
Oh, the man! She wanted to stomp her feet, shake him, make him behave. But she did nothing except express her displeasure with words. “I think you knew what I thought and were content to let me think it so you could work your wiles upon me.”
“You are a suspicious wench, Jayne.”
“It is Lady Walfort to you. Good night, Your Grace.”
With that, she turned on her heel and marched back to the house. The man was insufferable.
And yet for the span of a heartbeat there, as she gazed into his eyes, felt the touch of his fingers, she’d yearned . . . for exactly
what,
she did not wish to acknowledge. But it had been a good long while since she’d yearned for anything that even remotely resembled a dream.
A
insley sat for the longest time on the bench, allowing the chilled air to seep into his bones, to cool his ardor. It had risen so easily with her nearness, with her fragrance teasing him, with images of kissing her taunting him. She’d been spot on regarding his motives. He’d known what she thought about the boar and had done nothing to correct her assumptions. He’d suspected she’d take her leave otherwise, and he’d been determined to have a few moments alone with her.
He and Walfort had been at the window in the billiards room, enjoying a bit of brandy, waiting their turn at the table, when they spotted Jayne on the garden path.
“You should take advantage of this opportunity to have her alone,” Walfort said quietly, his gaze focused on the darkness. “Not many will come your way with all these guests about.”
“I’m not going to seduce your wife, Walfort.”
“Fine. Then I shall secure another.” He twisted around slightly. “Braverton, perhaps.”
Ainsley’s gut tightened at the mention of a man whose title opened doors for him that his behavior would not. “He’s odious.”
“He has sired four offspring on his wife and three on his mistress, so he can certainly deliver the goods.”
“It’s no secret that he places his own pleasures first.”
“That you don’t is certainly a benefit Jayne would have enjoyed, but the ultimate goal here is to get her with child.”
Ainsley’s teeth were on edge as he watched Walfort’s gaze sweep over the gentlemen drinking his liquor, smoking his cheroots, discussing the hunt, and waiting their turn to smack some balls around.
“Langford, perhaps.”
“I’ve had the misfortune of seeing him without a shirt. Do you truly want to burden your child with the appearance that one of his ancestors may have mated with an ape?”
Walfort chuckled low. “Who do you suggest, then? If it’s not to be you, who? Stratsbury?”
In every endeavor, the man was as stiff as a corpse. “No.”
“Fitzhugh? He seems a fine specimen, beautiful actually. No apes in his bloodline. And women adore him.”
Because they had similar interests. A taste in men.
“This is a pointless exercise,” Ainsley grumbled.
“Then put an end to it and go work your wiles on Jayne.”
And so he had. Not that he thought they’d done much good. His heart wasn’t truly in the endeavor, because he knew that in order to seduce her, he would have to convince her to betray her husband, her belief in the sanctimony of marriage, and worst of all, herself.
For each of those, he suspected she’d never forgive him. But then he’d already given her a good many things regarding him not to forgive. What was adding a few more to the list?
She was so damned beautiful, so gracious, so remarkably strong. Many a woman would not have retained her loyalty to her husband as Jayne had. She was extremely proud and noble.
To give her what she wanted, he feared he might destroy her. In doing so, he could very well destroy himself.
Finally reaching down, he snatched up his coat. Jayne’s delicate scent wafted toward him, lingered to be enjoyed with another breath. He imagined her fragrance being held by his pillow.
Like his brothers, he enjoyed women and all the wonders they offered. But with Jayne, he feared he risked something he’d never risked before: his heart.
With a sigh, he shoved himself to his feet and began walking back toward the manor. It was going to require a good deal more than a meeting in a garden to convince her that allowing him to get her with child was as much for Walfort’s benefit as hers. His friend harbored a great deal of guilt regarding what had happened that long ago night. And well he should.
They’d both been fools, and Ainsley knew that if he did woo Jayne into his arms, the guilt would only increase. But the truth was—and he suspected Walfort damned well knew it—for Jayne, he would damned well carry any burden.
“I
want you in my bed tonight.”
Her heart pounding with unbridled excitement and tears stinging her eyes, Jayne stared at her husband, still dressed, sitting proudly in his chair, in
her
bedchamber. He’d not entered her chamber since he lost the use of his legs. He had certainly not invited her into his bed in all that time. That nothing more than holding and snuggling would occur wasn’t the point. He wanted her.
“Ainsley can then have this room.”
Her delirious musings came to an abrupt halt, as though she’d been running and smacked straight into a brick wall. Her entire body withered. Her joy crumbled. “Pardon?”
“I went searching for him and discovered he’s been given that atrociously small room that was designed to accommodate some king’s personal attendant. That simply will not do, Jayne.”
He was castigating her? Never had he taken such a tone with her. Straightening her shoulders to toss off the hurt, she informed him coolly, “Our chambers, our suite, are not to be offered to or shared with others. The notion is quite simply beyond the pale.”
“But that room—”
“Is sufficient for a bachelor. We have married couples and other guests who required the larger rooms.”
“Why not give that room to one of the other bachelors?”
“What does it matter, Walfort? He’s probably not sleeping there anyway. I have it on good authority that he will be warming another’s bed while he is here.” Even though Ainsley had denied it, she was more likely to believe Lady Inwood, who was closer to the gossip than anyone.
Her husband’s eyebrows lifted at that. “I daresay you’re probably correct.” He leaned forward slightly. “And that, Jayne, is precisely why he is such a good choice to get you with child. He has an insatiable appetite where women are concerned, and you’ll be but one of a hundred.”