Blackmoor Cottage
November, 1860
H
e was not nervous. By God, he was not.
When Ainsley strode through the cottage for the third time, he was simply ensuring that everything was as it should be when his guest arrived at any moment.
Blackmoor was his sanctuary. He never brought women here. The thought of sharing this residence with Jayne—he couldn’t deny the pleasure it brought him. It was an odd notion to entertain a lady here. It was a gentleman’s retreat. Hunting, fishing, and hiking abounded. The mountains in the distance and the nearby lake provided a magnificent view. He wished it were spring or early summer. He wished he could share much of the area with her, wished she would see it and appreciate it as he did. He wished she were coming here without dread accompanying her, but he suspected she wasn’t anticipating her time here at all.
For some reason, she had decided to journey here in hopes of getting with child. His kiss certainly hadn’t convinced her that she’d find heaven in his arms. Otherwise she would not have banned him from kissing her again. She’d seemed to enjoy it. So why had she forbidden him from kissing her? Had she enjoyed it too much?
The thought stopped him in his tracks in the hallway. She’d changed her mind about being with him, but put all those silly rules into play. Did she think something this complex could be handled so simply? She was a fool if she thought so, and he’d never judged her to be a fool. Twenty-eight days. Four weeks. The rules wouldn’t protect her from his charms, no matter how desperately she wished it. While he intended to honor them as best he could, he also intended to ensure that before she left she found satisfaction in his arms at least one night. It would be a crime to have her and not bring her pleasure.
He heard the clatter of the carriage wheels over the pebbled path. His heart sped up to match the whirring rhythm. Striding down the hallway to the front door, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d anticipated a lady’s arrival with such eagerness. He stepped out onto the landing and watched as the carriage rounded the bend, stirring the autumn leaves in the abundant trees that grew over his property. The sun was near the horizon, setting for the night, and it turned the burnished leaves a more coppery shade. He was glad she would be here when the days were shorter and the nights longer. Although he couldn’t deny that a part of him wished she’d be here in spring. And summer. Even winter.
But he would only have her for this short time in the fall. He intended to make the most of it.
The driver brought the carriage to a rocking stop. A footman leapt down to open the door. Ainsley made his way down the stairs as two footmen emerged from the house to assist with the trunks. He stood impatiently while Jayne’s footman handed her down.
She wore a black dress and black hat with a veil. The drab clothing could not disguise her elegance or her beauty.
The footman assisted another lady out of the carriage. Her lady’s maid no doubt. He’d not considered that she would bring her own. He approached Jayne. Her fingers were knitted together so tightly that he was certain if she weren’t wearing gloves he’d see that her knuckles had turned white. He bowed slightly. “Jayne, welcome to Blackmoor.”
“It is hardly a ‘cottage.’ ”
He glanced back at the three levels of structure with the ivy climbing its walls. “Compared with Grantwood Manor it is.”
“Nor did I expect servants about.”
“They are discreet. They know only that a Lady Jayne has come here for holiday. I thought it important that they realize a
lady
is here, but I saw no need to inform them of titles. They serve only the residence here. You’ll never encounter them elsewhere. If danger of discovery lies anywhere, I suspect it is with your servants.”
“They’re trusted.”
“Then all should be well.”
“Yes, of course, I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to imply—”
“Jayne, this is not the first time I’ve had an assignation that I wished to keep secret. If my dalliances are known, it is only because the ladies wished it so.”
She nodded jerkily and whispered, “I do not wish this one to be known.”
“Then it shan’t be. Now, come, let me show you to your rooms.”
She placed her hand on his arm. In spite of his jacket and her gloves, he could feel her slight trembling.
“It’s not too late to climb back into the carriage and return home,” he informed her. Although God help him, he hoped she wouldn’t.
She glanced up at him, and he hated the veil that prevented him from fully enjoying the rich blue of her eyes. “No, this is important to Walfort.”
“To protect your anonymity, perhaps while you’re here you should refer to him as Gus rather than by his title.”
“Gus?”
“His Christian name.”
“Augustus? I never liked it.”
“I did call him Wally in school.”
“That’s even worse. No dignity to it.”
“Then perhaps it would be best while we’re here not to mention him at all.”
“Yes, quite.”
He led her up the steps and into the entry hallway. He watched as her lips parted slightly, lips he was forbidden from tasting.
“I was expecting one room, a cot, and a fireplace,” she said, glancing around at the portraits, statues, and greenery.
“That sounds like a hovel, not a cottage.”
“Is this part of your entailment?”
“No. I was visiting the area when I was eighteen. It simply . . . called to me. I made the owner an offer on the spot. Fortunately, he was agreeable. I always find peace here. It is my hope that you will as well. I’ve shared it with very few.”
“Well, it’s lovely.”
Not as lovely as you, he almost said, but he doubted she’d appreciate any flirtatious banter. Even if the words were heartfelt and not intended to woo.
The butler stepped into the entryway. Immaculately dressed, he stood tall and proud.
“Manning, be so kind as to show Lady Jayne’s maid to her room,” Ainsley said.
“Yes, Your Grace.” He turned to the woman in question. “Miss?”
“Lily.”
“If you’ll come with me.”
The girl hesitated. Ainsley guessed her to be not much older than Jayne.
“It’s all right, Lily,” Jayne reassured her. “I’ll ring for you when I have need for you.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
When they’d left, Jayne asked, “How many servants do you have here?”
“A dozen. They are at your beck and call.”
“I intend to trouble them as little as possible. Easier to be forgotten that way.”
“You are not easily forgotten.” He wished he’d held his tongue. He immediately read the discomfort on her face. “This way.”
He led her up the stairs. They were not as grand or as sweeping as the ones at Grantwood Manor, but they were wide enough to allow them to walk side by side. Their legs brushed and she nearly stumbled. He was beginning to gain a better understanding of the courage it had taken her to come here. When the initial attraction was strong enough, he’d taken to his bed women with whom he had little more than a passing acquaintance. But he had no doubt that Jayne’s experiences were limited to Walfort, that she’d been a virgin on her wedding night. Giving herself to him now was not something she did lightly. Betraying her vows, regardless of the circumstances, could not be very palatable.
At the landing, he guided her to a room next to his. “I have no bathing chamber here,” he told her, “but the servants can bring you a tub and hot water whenever you wish it.”
She nodded. He opened the door. Her fingers slid off his arm as she wandered into the room. The velvet bed covering, the canopy, and the drapes at the window were blue, matching the shade of her eyes. A week ago everything had been green. The fainting couch near the window, the plush couch and armchairs near the fireplace, were new. Flowers from the greenhouse filled vases. Everything had been arranged with her comfort in mind.
She gave the bed a brief glance in passing. Removing her cloak, she set it on the chaise longue and walked to the window. “What a lovely view of the lake.”
“I’ve always liked it.”
He watched as she lifted her veil, exposing the profile of her exotic features to his perusal. His gut tightened as though she’d removed everything, as though she stood before him in total nudity. She pulled out two hat pins, removed her hat, and set it on her cloak. Her gaze shot to the bed again. Straightening, she began tugging on a glove.
“Shall we get to it, then?”
Any ardor he may have felt building plummeted. She looked as though she was on the verge of being escorted to the gallows. He strode toward the bed. She stiffened, backed up a step, caught herself retreating and angled her chin defiantly. He leaned against the bedpost. “I thought we’d have a relaxing dinner first. Perhaps you’d like to bathe, even nap, after the long journey.”
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep. A bath might be nice. And dinner. Although I hope your cook didn’t go to a great deal of bother, as I doubt I’ll be able to eat much.”
“Are you afraid?”
“No, I . . .” Her gaze darted to the bed, the window, the seating area, anywhere except to him.
He walked over to her, acutely aware of the tension radiating from her. “Don’t think about what’s to come, Jayne. Simply leave everything to me. I promise it will not be nearly as awful as you’re imagining.” He skimmed his fingers over her cheek, taking satisfaction when she finally met his gaze, fighting the urge to take her in his arms because she looked so damned uncertain. “Come to the library when you’re ready for dinner. Meanwhile, I’ll have the servants bring up bathwater.”
He turned and strode from the room. He didn’t appreciate at all seeing the apprehension in her eyes. He had his work cut out for him: getting her to relax and enjoy what was to come. Fortunately, it was a task he was greatly anticipating.
N
ot think about what was to come? Had he gone stark raving mad? It was all she’d been able to think about since the meeting held in the sitting area of Walfort’s bedchamber at twenty-two minutes past three in the morning.
As she sank into the warm water in the tub set up near the fireplace, she wished that they’d simply gotten it over with as she suggested. Instead, the specter of what was to happen later would simply hang over them.
Why had she agreed to this? It wasn’t too late to call for the carriage and begin the journey home, before any damage had been done. But Ainsley would correctly judge her a coward, and Walfort, drat him, would be disappointed.
During dinner last night he’d asked her to come to his bed.
“I do wish you’d reconsider your determination to take no pleasure in what is to come,” he’d said as she lay in his arms.
“How can you ask that of me?”
“Because I love you, and I want you to be happy.”
“What if I don’t get with child?”
“Then we shall arrange another time for you to . . . be with him.”
If she didn’t get with child, then she would find her own lover. Of course, there was the matter of the Seymour blood to consider. Which made Ainsley nearly perfect.
“Will you kiss me?” she asked.
“Pardon?”
She sat up. “Will you kiss me?” She lowered her lips to his. “Please?”
He threaded one hand through her hair, holding her head in place as his mouth nibbled at hers, before settling in with more purpose. Still, her heart very nearly shattered. Where was the passion they’d once shared? Where was the heat? It was as though they were merely going through the motions.
When he finally guided her head back to the nook of his shoulder, she felt even more lonely, more devastated. They lay in silence with a chasm widening between them that she didn’t understand.
“M’lady, are you ready to leave the bath?”
Lily’s voice brought Jayne from her reverie. “Yes.”
She stood, stepped out, and wrapped the large towel around herself.
“I’ve prepared the violet gown for this evening,” Lily said.
Jayne had brought few clothes, assuming she’d spend most of the time in bed. She’d planned to wear the black again tonight, but supposed she should at least play the part of harlot.
Although Ainsley certainly wasn’t treating her as such. He’d been the perfect gentleman upon her arrival. No leering. No sense of victory or conquest. Based on his libertine ways and rumors of his prowess, she’d expected him to take her straightaway to bed. She certainly hadn’t expected him to delay the inevitable. She was both grateful and resentful of the reprieve.
By the time Lily had arranged her hair and helped her with the gown, Jayne could barely breathe. She doubted it had anything to do with her corset. She was simply nervous, which irritated her. Many a lady knew no more of her husband on her wedding night than she knew of Ainsley. She would simply pretend they were married and . . .
As though that would ever happen. Never in a million years would she truly entertain the notion of marrying Ainsley. With the man’s rumored insatiable appetite, faithfulness would be foreign to him. She wondered how many ladies had frequented his bed between the time he left Walfort’s estate and now. Dear God, she did hope he wasn’t diseased. Surely he’d have not agreed to this if he were.