Captain Durant's Countess(31)

“At first I was fine with it all. I never expected to marry, and I’ve never really been domestic. Give me a book over a sewing basket any day. I was happy accompanying Henry to Italy and spending time in the library with him. But he grew weaker, and our foreign trips were curtailed. I-I was at loose ends. David was a frequent visitor then, and he was very flattering. Too flattering. I should have known better. He made me feel . . . wicked. And I liked it.”

Reyn was wrong. The confession was not making her feel any better. A horrible silence hung between them. It was suddenly very important to her that he not hold her in contempt. If she continued, it was inevitable that he would.

She lurched off the bench. “I must get back inside.”

“Sit down, Maris. You aren’t finished.”

“I am! I cannot discuss this with you! It isn’t proper and I-I hate talking about it.”

He rose too. “We left propriety behind quite some time ago, wouldn’t you agree? What you felt—what you feel—is natural. You are a flesh and blood woman, not like that statue over there. Come, let’s walk. It’s a beautiful afternoon, much too nice to be shut up in the attics.”

“S-someone will notice.” She felt eyes were everywhere. David had robbed her of security in her own home.

“Pretend you’re educating me about the statuary. Wave your arms about and point. I’m sure if I were really a scholar I’d be interested, wouldn’t I?” He grinned at her. Reynold Durant had an easy answer to everything, even if the questions were impossible.

“I really have nothing to add. I betrayed my husband for a few weeks for what was ultimately wretched. When it was over, I was little more informed of carnal pleasure than when I started.”

Reyn’s grin was wider. “So David was not a good lover?”

Maris wanted to slink into the shrubbery. “I was just there to be conquered. A challenge. David was much too selfish to care about me.”

“Nothing like me, then.”

“Oh! You are incorrigible.” How could he tease her about something so serious?

“Always. Look, you made a mistake over a man. These things happen, more often than you might imagine. David preyed upon your naïveté.”

“I was old enough. I was nine and twenty!”

“Well, coincidentally I am too. Today’s my birthday. I think I’m still young enough to fall for a pretty face and a sweet lie.”

Maris didn’t believe him for a minute. “You say that to be kind. And happy birthday. This is not much of a celebratory day, is it.”

“Oh, I don’t know. This morning was very pleasant.” He winked, still keeping his distance.

She remembered to gesture to a black marble plinth as they strolled by it. “How can you be so casual about everything?”

Reyn stopped on the path. “What would you have me do? Whip you with one of the crops from the Reining Monarchs? You’ve been punishing yourself enough for a long time. What is it now, five years? You cannot change the mistake you made, only learn from it. You haven’t been having it off with the gardener or the vicar since, have you? Or perhaps one of the Johns? And seriously, Maris, would it be too much to let the footmen keep their names?”

“What?”

“Never mind. My point is, you are not a serial adulteress. You were taken advantage of by a professional seducer. I recognized his type at once. If you’d had more experience—if you hadn’t grown up so sheltered here in this alternate world—you might have been better able to deal with the man. I imagine your husband would even understand and forgive you if you were to tell him.”

“No! And please don’t say anything.”

He looked affronted. “As if I would. It’s not my place to get mixed up in the affairs of my betters.”

“You know perfectly well you are as good as anyone here. Superior, probably.”

“Are you a Jacobin, Lady Kelby? The revolution did not end well. And if you do believe in democracy, would you please explain about the footmen?”

“This is the second time you’ve brought them up,” Maris said, confused.

“They’re all called John.”

“Um, yes.”

“Why?”

Maris had never thought about it before. From her infancy, she’d been surrounded by bewigged and green-coated Johns. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“How would you like it if I called you Harriet? Or Griselda? Antigone? Philomena?”

Her lips turned up a little. “I shouldn’t like that at all.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. Maris is a lovely name, and your parents picked it carefully for you, as you said. You’ve got a houseful of Aloysiuses and Timothys and Williams all skulking about under false names.”

“There can’t be more than one Aloysius.”

“Perhaps not, but would it be too much trouble to learn the men’s given names? Never mind. I guess it would. There are so damn many footmen here I suppose it’s convenient to holler ‘John’ and know for sure someone will turn up. What the devil is that?”

They had come to a stone sarcophagus. A rather short knight lay in repose, his sword at his side and a dog of indeterminate parentage at his feet.

“That’s the first Earl of Kelby. Don’t worry, he’s not inside. He’s buried somewhere in the Holy Land.”

“How lucky for you. I would hate to worry that every time a bulb was planted the gardeners might unearth a dead relative.” Reyn was diverting her, something he was very good at. It was impossible to feel too melancholy in his presence.

Was he right? Should she forgive herself for her stupidity? It had been five long years of scourging herself. Diminishing her pleasure in ordinary things. Feeling inadequate and unworthy. By God, she’d been frightfully boring, even to herself. Henry had not noticed, of course, but she hadn’t felt a spark of emotion in years.

Except for her anger at Captain Reynold Durant when he refused to keep his word. He still made her feel something, but it wasn’t anger.

If she could find the courage to tell Henry the truth, then David’s incessant requests for money would be moot. She didn’t believe he wouldn’t try for more despite what she’d said to him. Something had snapped when she’d tossed him the coin purse. But she wasn’t naïve enough to believe he’d stop importuning her for more money, because eventually he’d figure out she’d been bluffing.

She’d been brave today. And cold. Maris had found words she didn’t even know she possessed. Could she find more words to tell Henry?





Chapter 16


Reyn was jealous. He shouldn’t be, but there it was. He hadn’t shown his irritation to Maris, for what good would that have done her, blubbering on the bench like her dog had died? Speaking of dogs, how could she have fallen victim to a cur like David Kelby?

Well, he’d explained it to her himself. It didn’t make it any easier to swallow, however. He wasn’t angry at her, but for her. She really was such an innocent for all her scholarly knowledge.

She had been a twenty-nine-year-old virgin until her misguided affair with her husband’s nephew. It was sad, yet somehow touching. The poor woman had never enjoyed what should have been her right by marriage. The elderly Earl of Kelby may have been hopeful when he placed that large diamond on his young wife’s finger, but must have known his limitations.

She’d had five years of companionship and affection without intercourse. That may have been enough for some women. Maris had probably convinced herself it was enough for her until the snake slithered into the garden and into her.

Reyn was a firm believer that women deserved as much satisfaction in bed as their partners, but apparently David Kelby did not share a similar generous impulse.

Benefitting from her innocence—her wonder and eagerness were precious—was Reyn’s alone. No other man had seen her flame, not even her husband, so Reyn would have to be content with that. In all the ways that counted, he was Maris’s first lover.

It was rather daunting. Reyn felt a responsibility, as if he carried a banner to uphold all male honor.

Instinctively, he knew Maris would never engage in another love affair. If they were successful, he was sure she’d devote the rest of her life to their child. That would be a shame, really. She’d already sacrificed her youth to her elderly husband and her aspirations to an unworthy partner. She would never make time for her needs. No wonder she was so highly strung.

At least she wasn’t crying any longer. Their walk around the garden was almost normal. She did indeed describe the stone objects at the center of every garden room. Reyn was conscious that despite the brick walls and clipped hedges, their movements were visible from the upper stories of the house. He had spotted her from the attic window—a forlorn figure headed as far away from Kelby Hall as possible. They would have to be more circumspect than ever.