Waking Up With the Duke (25 page)
“I mourn so much more than his passing. It was all a lie. He made a mockery of our life here. He loved someone else.”
“He loved you.”
“He did not! And you knew!” She slammed her balled fist into his shoulder. “You knew! I thought . . . I thought you had a care for me.”
“I do have a care for you.”
I love you
, but now was not the time to tell her the truth of those words.
“No, you don’t. You would not have kept his secrets from me. The guilt over what we did gnawed at me. As much as I wanted this child, I betrayed everything I held dear. It was so easy for the two of you because you place no value on loyalty, on vows. I thought I knew you, but the man I knew would not have condoned what Walfort did. You are cut of the same cloth. Please leave me.”
“I am not like him. I would never betray you.”
“You already have.” She hit him again. And again.
His heart died a bit with each blow. He had never meant to bring her this pain—even as he’d known when the proposition was first made that she would have to betray herself to embrace it.
He wrapped his arms around her to stop her flailing and rocked her. “Easy, Jayne, easy, sweetheart. You don’t want to hurt the child.”
Her sobs broke free, racking her body. “I wish I’d said no, Jayne. I swear to you, I wish I had.”
“I hurt so bad, Ainsley.”
“I know.”
“Why did he have to leave me now?”
And he knew in spite of the betrayals, she still loved Walfort.
“It’s all right, Jayne. It’ll be all right.”
He didn’t know how the bloody hell it would be, but he would find a way.
T
wo weeks had passed and Jayne’s lethargy seemed to worsen. She couldn’t seem to decipher her feelings regarding Walfort or Ainsley. The only feelings she truly trusted were those she felt for the babe. She knew she should return to Herndon Hall, but she seemed unable to work up the energy required to order the servants about.
With her elbow resting on the sill, and her chin propped in her hand, she sat at the window in her bedchamber gazing out on what she could see of London at night. Which wasn’t much. Trees blocked her view of the street. She saw the lighted drive but knew it would remain empty. The Duchess of Greystone was hosting a ball this evening. It was always well attended, so Jayne knew no one would call this evening.
From time to time since the funeral a few of the ladies made a morning call, but it was always awkward, and they were all so incredibly boring. Except for Lady Inwood, who had no qualms whatsoever about spreading gossip. She’d even offered to let Jayne join in the wagering surrounding Ainsley. It seemed he’d made it known early on that he intended to select a wife this Season, and while he had yet to attend a ball, speculation was high that he had already made his selection. Jayne did not want to acknowledge how it unsettled her to know that he was searching for a wife.
She certainly had no desire to marry him, doubted she would ever marry again. She heard the clatter of horses’ hooves and the whir of wheels on the cobblestone. A coach approached. As it drew near, she recognized the crest on the door. Ainsley.
Her heart leaped, and she fought to calm it. But it increased its tempo as he stepped out, obviously on an outing, dressed in a swallow-tailed jacket. In one hand he held his top hat and walking stick.
He disappeared from sight, and she refrained from opening the window to lean out and strive to catch another glimpse of him. He’d not visited since the night of the funeral, the night he held her while she wept. The night, to her immense embarrassment now, she lashed out at him. A thousand times she considered sending a note of apology for her outburst, because she missed him. As much as she didn’t want to acknowledge it, she did. Often since leaving Blackmoor she thought of him—always with guilt. All of her thoughts should have been on Walfort, although she now knew most of his were not on her.
The knock on her bedchamber door had her coming to her feet. “Yes.”
Lily stepped inside. “His Grace, the Duke of Ainsley would like a word.”
She felt so drab and dour, already in her nightdress. But for her this Season there would be no balls. “Tell him I’m not at home. No.” She shook her head. That wouldn’t stop him. “Tell him I’m already abed . . . no.” Drat him! “Send him up.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
Jayne moved over to the sitting area, positioning herself so a sofa was between her and the door, would be between her and Ainsley. She didn’t want to give the impression that she was extremely glad of his presence. It was inappropriate. A woman in mourning was supposed to be sedate, not anxious for her caller to arrive.
When he strode in, she thought she’d never seen a more handsome man. Based on his expression of horror, however, he’d never seen a more disheveled woman.
“Your Grace, how good of you to call.”
“For God’s sake, Jayne, after all we’ve been through don’t be so damned formal.”
“It’s late and this is my bedchamber. Formality is required. You appear to be on your way to a ball.”
“I was, but I changed my mind when I saw all the carriages lined up. I wasn’t in the mood for a tedious night.” He set his hat and stick on a chair near the door before prowling toward her.
“You’re near enough,” she said when it became obvious the sofa would not serve as an obstacle for him.
Thankfully, he did stop, but his gaze wandered over her and she felt it almost like a touch.
“You’re not eating,” he said.
“I am . . . just not very much. I suppose your mother told you that.” She dropped by each afternoon for a few moments.
“I don’t need her to tell me what is quite obvious. I daresay, you’re not sleeping either.”
“Some . . . I—” She sank down into the chair. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You’re grieving.”
“I don’t know if that’s it, Ainsley. I feel nothing.”
He studied her for a moment before saying, “I’ve come to invite you to have dinner with me tomorrow evening at my residence.”
“I’m in mourning. It would be entirely inappropriate.”
“Jayne, you need a few hours away from all this. Wear your widow’s weeds. I’ll bring my carriage ’round at half past seven. I’ll carry you out if I must.”
“Ainsley—”
“Jayne.”
She wanted to shriek. She didn’t know if she’d ever known a more obstinate man. Yet neither could she deny how lovely it would be to be with someone who didn’t treat her as though she might break at any moment.
“Very well,” she said petulantly. He must be given the impression she wasn’t giving in too easily.
“Good.” He removed his jacket and laid it over the arm of the sofa.
She sat up straighter. “What are you doing?”
“Going to ensure that you sleep well tonight.”
“Ainsley—”
“Jayne.” Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he removed a small vile.
“What is it?”
“Oils. I’m going to rub your feet. It’ll help you relax.”
“No.” She tucked her feet beneath the chair. “You’ll start with my feet and then you’ll journey upward and . . . it would be entirely inappropriate.”
“I promise I will not venture higher than your ankles.”
She shook her head. “My ankles are swollen. You don’t need to see them.”
“Move to the sofa. Or better yet, the bed.”
“Do you not listen to a thing I say?”
“What are you afraid of, Jayne?”
That I’m swollen and miserable and that you’ll be repulsed by me.
“I’m so sorry,” she blurted.
He furrowed his brow. “For what, pray tell?”
“For lashing out at you . . . the last time you were here.”
“I didn’t take your words to heart. I know how difficult all of this has been for you.”
“Unbearable sometimes.”
“So tonight I’ll give you something pleasant to take into your dreams.”
He held out his hand, enticing her with those long, strong fingers. “Come along, Jayne. Move to the sofa.”
Against her better judgment she did as he bade. When she was settled in the corner, pillows at her back, he sat at the opposite end and lifted her bare feet to his lap. Mesmerized, she watched as he poured several drops of oil onto his palm before setting the bottle aside. Then his palm kneaded her sole.
“Oh, dear God.”
“Nice?” he asked.
“Wickedly wonderful. You’ve done this before.”
“I once knew a lady who knew a great deal about the sensuous arts.”
“And you did not keep her?”
“She was not mine to keep. Close your eyes.”
She did, as his fingers worked their magic over the balls of her feet. “Tell me a story, something from your youth.”
“My youth. Well, I was a very clever lad.”
His melodious voice droned on as he told her about playing a game of hiding with Claire. The deep timbre and his constant massaging of her feet lured her away to a place of no troubles, no grief, no sorrow.
She awoke from a deep sleep with only a bit of sunlight dancing into the room. She didn’t remember climbing into bed, nor could she remember the last time she felt so rested. She was beneath the covers but aware of a weight on her hip. Ainsley’s hand cupped over her. He lay on top of the covers, his waistcoat gone but his shirt and trousers still in place. He must have carried her to bed. How tired she must have been not to stir when he moved her.
His long dark eyelashes rested on his cheeks. She did hope her child would inherit those. In truth, there was nothing about him that she didn’t want to see in the child. She had missed him so. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but the truth mocked her now because it was so lovely to wake up with him in her bed.
Slowly he opened his eyes. “Good morning.”
His voice was rough from sleep, stirring her in ways she should not be stirred, reminding her of other mornings.
“Lady Inwood told me that you had intended to find a wife this Season.”
“Hmm. Yes, I’d considered it. I still might.” He gave her a devilish smile.
“The ladies are wagering, you know . . . on whom it will be.”
“So are the gents, from what I hear. Even my brothers, blast them.”
“Who do they think it will be?”
“They’ve both chosen different ladies. They are both wrong. One lady talks so quietly that I must always bend over in order to get near enough to hear what she is saying. Marriage to her would give me an aching back before too long.”
Jayne laughed lightly. “And the other?”
“The opposite problem. When she begins to speak, I must pull back in order not to go deaf from her caterwauling. Makes me appear to have some sort of twitch.”
“I had no idea that the wife hunt was so troublesome.”
“It is quite the bother. Perhaps you should marry me to spare me the horror of it.”
He was teasing, surely. Still, she shook her head. “I think I shall be like your mother. A woman of means who can do as she pleases.”
“I would always allow you to do as you please.”
“Oh, Ainsley, you don’t half tempt me.” She rolled into a sitting position and saw the time on the clock on the mantel. “Good God! It’s half past ten! If someone sees that your coach—”
“I sent my driver on.”
She glanced back at him, and he gave her an innocent shrug. “I never leave my coach outside a lady’s residence.”
“And if I’d not admitted you?”
“I’d have walked, caught a hansom. I’m resourceful.” He pushed himself up, leaned in and kissed her cheek before she could stop him. Then he was out of the bed and crossing the room to retrieve his waistcoat, neckcloth, and jacket. “Let’s have some breakfast, shall we?”
It was the oddest thing, but she was suddenly quite ravenous. “You must leave immediately afterward.”
“You have my word.”
“You may borrow one of the rooms if you wish to freshen up.”
After bowing, he took his leave. When she reached for the bellpull, she realized she was smiling.
S
he looked better, much better, this morning. The circles were still there, but not as dark. He would see to it that she slept well tonight, so perhaps tomorrow they would be gone completely. And she was eating. It was ridiculous the pleasure that realization brought him.
She wore black. He wanted to see her in red.
“How long do you intend to stay in London?” he asked.
Her brow furrowed, she glanced up at him. “I’m not sure. Another week or so I suppose. Not much longer. I rather dread returning to Herndon Hall.”
“Come to Grantwood.”
With a sigh, she shook her head. “Ainsley—”
“You have few memories there.”
“You do know it is quite rude to interrupt.”
“My apologies. But I can decipher the objection written on your face. Hear me out.”
“Extend to you a courtesy you do not extend to me? Why ever should I?”
“You are irascible when you are with child.”
“You are stubborn,” she said.
“Quite.”
“Perhaps we’ll discuss it during dinner this evening.”
“So you will join me?”
“Did you ever doubt it?”
His answer to her was merely a grin. He’d not been teasing when he suggested she marry him, but based on her expression and response, she was still too fragile to consider such a proposal. He had won her over once before. He could do it again. It required only a bit of patience.
