Captain Durant's Countess(29)

“You cannot keep blaming me for Jane. I never made her any promises. Not once.”

Reyn felt like he was an unwilling actor in a play. The conversation was far too personal and charged to be overheard by the stranger he was supposed to be. “If that is all, Lady Kelby. You two may discuss your family business in private.”

“There is no family business to discuss. I want you to leave now, David. You’ve seen what you’ve come to see.”

Kelby raked Reyn with a considering stare.

Reyn felt his hair lift on the back of his neck. The man was dangerous, to the countess especially.

“Yes, I believe I have. You’ve been warned, Durant. Maybe I should volunteer to assist you in your task to speed the process up and protect my interests.”

“No!” Maris cried.

“That won’t be necessary. The work is tedious, Kelby. I doubt a man like you would enjoy it.” Reyn certainly wasn’t, except for the time it afforded him with the countess.

“You’re probably right. I understand you’ve already got a willing worker anyway. My aunt is such a ferocious bluestocking, she must be in transports rummaging through the attic alone with you.”

Damn. Kelby made it sound like they were doing exactly what they were doing. Reyn pretended not to understand. “Lady Kelby has been an enormous help so far. For a mere woman, she is very knowledgeable.” Reyn prayed she wouldn’t elbow him in the gut.

“I’ll be back soon to check on your progress. Maris, a word.”

Reyn was dismissed. What he really wanted to do was drag Maris upstairs to get her out of Kelby’s clutches. However, she would have to fight this battle without him if they were to maintain their ruse.

But when she did come upstairs, he wanted a word with her, too.





Chapter 15


“Who is he? I don’t like him.” David was sprawled in the chair again. His informality was insolent, deliberately so.

Maris would not let him rattle her again. One word could summon a fleet of footmen to remove him from the premises, but first she wanted to know how he came to be there.

“Henry’s f-friend in London found him.” David didn’t have to know about Mr. Ramsey and The London List.

“He doesn’t look much like a spindly scholar, long nose buried in some book. All those muscles. And he’s young, too.”

“I haven’t noticed his appearance,” Maris lied. “We’ve been much too busy. There’s a great deal of lifting involved, you know. Some of the boxes are very heavy.”

“Found any treasure yet?”

“Nothing that would interest you. You’ve made your opinion known about the family’s artifacts, haven’t you?” She would never give up the emerald to him. Never.

“Don’t hold out on me, Maris. As heir, I have a right to know what’s going on here.”

“A miracle could happen to prevent that,” Maris retorted.

A mistake. David’s bronze eyebrows lifted. “Are you enceinte, Aunt Maris? It was my understanding that you and Uncle Henry no longer shared a room.”

“One doesn’t need to share a room for intercourse, as you well know, David. Where are you getting this information anyway? It is incorrect. Your informant is leading you on.”

“I don’t think so.” He smirked. “Here I am in your boudoir. It’s as devoid of passion as a nun’s cell. Look at you, all dull in that brown sack. No wonder you don’t entice my uncle.”

Maris reminded herself that David was out to hurt her, to trip her up, to poison her life. How could she once have found him attractive? Oh, physically, he was handsome enough, but his tongue was vicious. When he’d used it spin tales about the ton, she’d found him amusing, shut away at Kelby Hall far from society as she was. Maris was no longer amused.

“And like a nun, I’m on my knees in prayer thanking God you no longer have an interest in me,” she said stiffly.

“I didn’t say that. I wouldn’t mind picking up where we left off, my dear. Before you got that inconvenient conscience. There’s a great deal more I could teach you.”

“I would rather die than let you touch me again.” Maris would never repeat her foolishness with him, especially now that she knew what could be between a man and a woman. She’d jump from the attic window if she had to.

“Brave words, but you’ll change your tune if I decide to tell your husband about our little affair.”

Once his threat would have struck her with terror. She’d heard it often enough, but today it was robbed of some of its power. “Oh, David. You disappoint me. Again. You are so predictable. How much money do you want this time?”

He smiled with no warmth. “Do you doubt I’d tell Uncle Henry? You shouldn’t, you know. I have nothing to lose by doing so, He can’t do anything about the entail, and before you start telling me he’ll get a baby on you at this late date, spare me. You’ve been married ten long years, Maris.”

Thank God he did not know he’d taken her virginity. That would have been the ultimate mortification for her. There had been no blood, and not even any pain. All her years of riding and climbing up and down the Tolfa Mountains must have taken care of that little detail.

He’d known she was vulnerable, though. An easy mark for his flattery and courtly concern. All false, as it turned out, but Maris had been such a needy, willing victim. Henry had left her home while he attended a symposium at the University of Edinburgh, and she’d been resentful. All her work for him, years and years of it, and she was “a mere woman,” as Reyn had said, unwelcome in his scholarly circle. David had pounced, and she’d not jumped away.

Henry had been away for over a month. Within the first week, Maris knew she’d made an unforgivable mistake, but it had taken her another to extricate herself from David Kelby’s arms. She’d been damned lucky to escape a pregnancy.

Maris could not imagine a worse fate than to bear David Kelby’s child. Jane was proof of that.

“I wouldn’t count my chickens, David. Stranger things have happened.” She flinched under his black stare.

“You’re up to something, aren’t you? Perhaps with that Durant fellow? I wager you think you can pass a bastard brat on to my uncle. I’ll tell him that, too.”

Maris felt her bravado evaporate. He was much too close to the truth, although at least he didn’t believe Henry to be complicit in their scheme. “You are ridiculous! I would never break my vows to Henry!”

“You did with me, Maris. Why wouldn’t you again?”

“I just wouldn’t.” Her words sounded empty even to her. “Captain Durant is only an employee. I don’t even know him. I’m not likely to invite him to my bed.” She tried to laugh and was not especially successful.

“See that you don’t. For I’ll find out, Maris. I’m paying good money to someone right in the bosom of your household,” he said, smug.

“If I find out who—”

“You won’t.”

Dear God. This is unconscionable. Maris had planned to be careful with Reyn, but now she had even more reason to worry.

If David suspected, what would he do when he knew? He thought he could carry tales to Henry. Wouldn’t he be surprised to learn her husband was the architect of this plan? But David could cause trouble for the child, whisper his doubts to the ton, and ruin the Kelby name. True, any child born to Maris would be acknowledged as Henry’s legal issue. There were plenty of children who were accepted yet did not have an ounce of their “father’s” blood. Some escaped society’s gossip, but others were under a cloud for life. The ton had a long memory.

“You are desperate. Grasping at straws. You had your chance to cement your standing in this family when you ruined Jane. Why didn’t you marry her? I grant you, Henry wouldn’t have liked it much, but he would have supported the match.”

David’s fair skin flushed. “As I said earlier, I never promised Jane marriage. If she told you I did, she was lying.”

“You didn’t care about her at all, did you.”

“Jealous, Maris?”

“Of course not! I cannot think of anything worse than to be your wife or the mother of your child.”

“You’re probably too shriveled up at this point to be anyone’s mother,” he sneered.

Maris eyed the heavy Chinese vase on the mantel, deciding it was too valuable to waste throwing it at David’s head. He really was the perfect villain though, almost too cliché. If he always knew the charming words to say to worm himself into favor, he was even better at a cutting, killing remark. “You dislike me. I dislike you. And we know my husband despises you. When I think about it, I doubt he’d believe anything you had to say. I’ll make alternate arrangements for your quarterly allowance so you will not have to come to Kelby Hall any longer to collect it.” She should have done so five years ago.