Captain Durant's Countess(16)

So, he liked to put his mark on things. Most men did. It was why Henry could collect artifacts thousands of years after their makers were long in their graves.

The captain poked and prodded until a merry little flame sprang to life. “There. That should take the chill off once it gets going.” He bounced back up and rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s get at some of these boxes. Lay on, Macduff.” He grabbed the crowbar from the table.

“Most people say ‘lead on,’ ” Maris said with surprise. “It’s one of the most misquoted phrases from Shakespeare.”

“Good to know something sank in after all the canings.”

Maris knew corporal punishment was common. “I take it you didn’t like school much.”

“School didn’t like me either. I was thrown out six times, if I can count correctly.”

“You were expelled from your school six times?” That must be some sort of record. Maris pictured Captain Durant as a mischievous boy, not all that different from the present.

“Only once at each institution, but there were six of them. The army kept me, however.”

Goodness. He must have been a handful. “I see. I don’t think we need open anything up today, so you can leave the crowbar. I’ll just point out the boxes. As I said, they’re labeled, but you may want to add some sort of notation of your own.” She handed him a stick of charcoal from a box on the table.

“Hold still.” He pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and Maris gaped as he wiped the black dust from her fingers . . . taking a little longer than was absolutely necessary.

It was just her hand that he touched, nothing more. His own hands were steady. Callused. He had fine dark hair along his knuckles and forearm, so different from her pale body with its golden fuzz. His nails were clean and standing so close, she could smell whiskey and leather and the special soap she had milled for Kelby Hall.

“Good as new.” He didn’t drop her hand, but held it between his own, rubbing his thumb idly over her palm.

“Generally, they’re ink-stained. But th-thank you.” Maris made no effort to step back and disengage. Their arrangement was beginning, and there really was no point in fighting it. She was curious where he would take his perceived duty to bring her pleasure. Surely Henry had not told him to provide it, had he? The thought of them discussing her like that was very vexing.

“I understand you are a great help to your husband. He told me about how you are assisting him with his book. That’s a bit unusual for a countess.”

She met his eyes, trying not to show her nervousness. They were very nearly black, much like Henry’s. In an odd way, that was comforting. “I wasn’t bred to be a countess. My father was Henry’s secretary, and I ‘helped’ them as soon as I could read. Both of them indulged me, and when I was old enough, took me on their digs. It was an unusual upbringing.”

Durant bent down and whispered, “I understand they let you wear breeches. I’d like to see that sometime.”

“I’ve given them up.”

“That’s a great pity.”

“What does it matter what I wear? You’re here for one thing, and one thing only,” she said, spoiling his flirtation.

“Am I? Then let’s get to work.” He drew her hand to his lips and kissed a fingertip. His mouth was warm, almost hot.

He had kissed her before. She remembered that kiss. It had practically crippled her until she came to her senses when she realized he was trying to disrobe her. His hand had slid under her chemise, gently stroking her as if she were a pet. Who knew the skin on one’s upper back could flare up in desire? One’s back could not be a source of pleasure, could it? She was familiar enough with the usual locations, although she’d not tried to bring herself to climax for five years.

Guilt. She was full of it and about to overspill. She had betrayed her husband, who’d been nothing but kind to her all her life, who had raised her with the same care he showed his daughter Jane. And who had saved her from a penurious spinsterhood by marrying her and making her a full partner in his academic endeavors.

Maris owed him everything. If that included a liaison with Captain Durant, she’d better get used to it.

The boxes could wait a few minutes more. Maris raised her face. “K-kiss me.”





Chapter 7


If the Countess of Kelby had asked him to conjugate Latin verbs, he could not have been more surprised. Reyn felt as if he was being tested, and he’d never done well when he had to think about something very long. If she’d just kept quiet, he would have kissed her anyway. It was where the delicate dance had been going.

But she stood stiffly with her big brown eyes closed and her lips pursed like she was some kind of fish.

He cleared his throat. “Where?”

Her eyes snapped open. “I beg your pardon?”

“Where would you like me to kiss you, Countess? On your hand? On your lips, or perhaps somewhere more intimate?”

“What do you mean? Just the usual kind of kiss, Captain. Nothing f-fancy.”

“But we’ve agreed you’re unusual. And when we’re alone together, I think you should call me Reyn.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“There’s no one to hear you. Say it. It’s just one syllable.”

The Countess of Kelby looked like she wanted to turn tail and flee the cozy workroom. But she took a deep breath. “Reyn.”

“Thank you. May I be permitted to call you Maris when we’re up here?”

She flushed, but nodded.

He’d never seen a grown woman color up so often. The earl was right. His wife really was shy. “Even your name is unusual.”

“My father was nearly as Etruscan-mad as Henry. That’s how he came to be hired. My parents married late, and there wasn’t hope of a boy, so they named me Maris, the Etruscan version of Mars.”

“You don’t seem at all warlike.” Except when she was storming the Reining Monarchs Society. He felt he should explain in more detail about all that at some point, but not right now.

“Mars was also the god of agriculture. In Etruria, that meant fertility as well. Ironic, is it not?”

He touched her cheek with the barest of pressure from his thumb. “Maybe not.”

“We had better hope I’m fertile so this dreadful business can come to a conclusion.”

“Dreadful business? And yet just moments ago you asked—no, told—me to kiss you.”

“That was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

He could feel her withdrawing into herself. What had she been like as a young woman, before she married a man older than her father? The earl said she’d been a rule follower. A good girl. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of frivolity or wickedness in her. She was so damned serious about doing her duty.

“What do you do for fun, Maris, when you’re not up here being long-suffering?”

“For fun?” She pronounced the word as if it was foreign. “And I am not being long-suffering. You must admit we are in an impossible situation.”

“Nothing is impossible. Your husband said you ride. What makes you laugh?”

She stared at him, her brown irises edged with blue-gray, and lit with gold around the pupils. If there was a child, he or she would likely have dark eyes.

“You know. Laughing. Ha-ha.”

“Things have not been funny around here for some time, Captain. My stepdaughter—my best friend—died, and my husband’s health was seriously affected. We’ve been busy trying to bring his life’s work to print. I haven’t had time or inclination for fun.”

“That’s a pity. I’ll have to see what I can do about that.”

“You don’t have to do anything! My life is perfectly fine the way it is.”

“If you say so.” The moment for kissing was lost, and it was all his fault. “Let’s see about these crates, eh?”

The attic had been divided into chambers, one leading to another. Some of the rooms had fireplaces, but most had been boarded up. The wooden floors were crammed with trunks, old furniture, and boxes. As she made her way through the slender path winding through them, Lady Kelby’s red dress caught on corner of a wash stand and she tugged it free.

“As I explained, the Kelby earls are expected to keep every blessed thing they’ve ever acquired, even if it needs mending,” Maris said, pointing to a broken chair. “But what we’re looking for—or to be more accurate, what I’m looking for—are the boxes with white ribbons on them. Those were shipped home from all over Europe and Asia over the last couple centuries. Henry’s father got as far as tying the ribbons on them before he passed. The Kelbys had very eclectic taste as you can tell from the furnishings throughout the house. Henry is convinced there are still hidden treasures to be found.”