Captain Durant's Countess(42)

“You wanted to keep your secret to yourself.” He couldn’t help feeling resentful, but in a way he understood.

She nodded. “I knew I should write to you, but I was afraid . . . of so many things.”

“I made a bargain with you, Maris. I intend to keep my word.” It would be the hardest thing he’d ever do. “So Kelby might be out of the succession. No wonder he’s angry.”

“He believes I’ll smuggle in a boy somehow if the child is a girl. He says he’ll stay in Shere when my time comes. He says a lot of nonsense.”

“You are not safe.” What could Reyn do about it? Lie like some shaggy guard dog across her bedroom threshold? He had no rights to her or their child. Worse, he was supposed to never see her again.

“Shouldn’t you go back to Kelby Hall?”

“I don’t want to. I love it here. For the first time in my life I have a home that’s all mine, the way I wish it to be. I know it sounds stupid.”

Did it? It was very like how he felt about Merrywood. “You’ll have to if you have a son.”

Maris looked mournful. “I know.”

“This is absurd, Maris. Henry is dead and his plans with him. Let David Kelby inherit. Who cares about all the piles of rubbish in the Kelby Collection? Marry me. We can raise our child together.”

His impetuous words did not have the desired effect.

“M-marry you? I cannot do such a thing. May I remind you I just buried my husband. Not six months ago.”

“So, defy convention. Why should you lock yourself up like a princess in a tower? Life goes on, Maris.” Reyn knew he sounded desperate. He was desperate. Until that moment, he’d not known precisely how deep his feelings—his sense of possession—ran. Hang Henry Kelby and all the earls before and after him. Reyn wanted Maris.

He wanted his child.

“No. I cannot. W-we don’t even know each other!”

“That can be remedied. Let me court you. I’ll find out your favorite flower, your favorite soup, whatever it takes for you to think we’re well-enough acquainted. I should think after what transpired between us at Kelby Hall we have more in common than most couples.”

Her cheeks turned scarlet. “That . . . that isn’t everything.”

He was handling it all wrong. Maris was stepping back farther into the shade of the oaks, looking at him as if he were deranged—which, basically, he was. But he’d never proposed to anyone before, never felt the panic of his future sliding away.

“I know it. Forgive my crudeness. Maris, please think on my offer. I can protect you from David Kelby. I can take care of you and the child.”

“I don’t need taking care of! I’m older than you are!”

“But not by much. Is that what bothers you? A mere four or five years? The earl was decades older than you.”

“I cannot talk about this anymore. Please help me back on my horse.”

“See, you do need me, if only for something so inconsequential. I long to kiss you, Maris. Hold you. You’ve vanquished me completely without even trying. I’m yours to command.” Lord, he sounded like some half-baked hero from a gothic novel, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Maris Kelby did something to him no one else had ever done.

“Then leave me in peace, Reyn. Leave me alone.” Her voice shook.

In his heart, he knew she didn’t mean it. Couldn’t. He had to convince her that he was the man for her, without florid love letters or expensive gifts or a title he did not and would never have.

Suddenly he remembered a very minor weapon in his arsenal. “I can’t. I’ve been invited for tea next week, haven’t I? It would be impolite not to turn up, and Ginny would be inconsolable. She’s talked of nothing else since I got back from town.”

Maris stared at him in disbelief. “You’re saying you will come anyway, despite my wishes because you don’t want to disappoint your sister?”

“I’m saying I want that kiss. That embrace. A cup of tea as only you can brew it. I mean to have them, Maris, and change your mind.”

“You are impossible.”

“Yes. Just ask anyone.”

“Oh, Reyn.” She sighed his name and he’d never heard anything sweeter.

“We can figure this out, Maris.”

“It’s already figured, Reyn. This child will bear the Kelby name. I cannot ruin its life with scandal, no matter what I want.”

“What do you want?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know! I can’t think when I’m around you.”

He grinned. “That’s a very good sign, you know.” He felt the same way. The starchy Countess of Kelby made him stiffen in all the right places.

“I need to get back. They will worry about me.”

“So they should. You ought not be riding out without an escort, though I’m glad I got this time alone with you. Let me escort you back to the Grange.”

“No! What will people say?”

“I’m sure there will be no people along the way to say anything, and if there are, we should shoot them for trespassing. Ah, too bloodthirsty for you? Very well, we can tell these imaginary trespassers the truth. I found you unchaperoned, perhaps a bit faint, and did my gentlemanly duty accompanying you home. There’s nothing odd about that. We are neighbors.”

Maris looked worried. “If David hears of it—”

“Blast David and all his minions! We’re innocent, at least this time. I cannot promise for the future, however.” Reyn took her arm and marched her to her horse. “I promised not to take liberties, Maris, but I can tell you I want to. I want to feel the swell of the babe beneath your skirts and know I’ve done something right for once in my life.”

Maris was silent as he helped her back on her mare and nearly so all the way home. Reyn hoped she was thinking about his clumsy proposal, refashioning it in her head into words she couldn’t refuse.

He’d have the chance to propose again. He might do better—or worse—next time, but eventually Maris would be his, even if he had to read from a damned book of poetry.





Chapter 24


She was well and truly ruined. The fragile peace she’d assembled from scraps of her old life and basted together had been torn to shreds. Maris knew she’d been distracting herself over the past months with Henry’s work and getting settled into two new houses, but it was time she faced the truth. She had feelings for Reynold Durant. Improper feelings. Most improper feelings.

And she didn’t know what to do about them.

Last week, he had asked her to marry him, the wretched man, right out of the blue. A widow was meant to remain widowed, at the very least for two years. As she was an earl’s relict, it would be expected she might even remain such for the rest of her life. She had an extremely generous widow’s jointure, a lovely house, and the prospect of moving back into Kelby Hall if she bore a son. She would not want for any material thing. Her life should be complete.

But there was Reyn over the tea tray, temptation itself. His overlong dark hair was brushed back, his rust-colored coat clinging to his broad shoulders, his buff breeches leaving nothing to her imagination. He and his sister made an attractive pair, and their easy sibling banter made her a little envious. She had grown up with Jane, but the two of them had been naturally reticent, even with each other. Maris had striven to never put a foot wrong, aware she was privileged to be raised in an earl’s household. Jane had been painfully shy, more or less ignored by everyone but their governess Miss Holley. It had been much too easy for David Kelby to take advantage of Jane’s sweet nature.

The helpful Mrs. Beecham had not come with the Durants. Maris had no intention of discussing the impending birth with a gentleman present, particularly this gentleman. She was absolutely mortified she had discussed her menses twice with Reyn, though she supposed everything about her relationship with him resulted in mortification of the highest order. She wasn’t much of a lady, then, even after a lifetime of toeing the line.

To his credit, Reyn treated her like one, like a lady who was more or less a stranger to him. He’d made one reference to meeting her by chance in the garden at Kelby Hall, but said nothing of their working together in the attics.

Maris had been unable to forget those days, and she had tried, feeling so disloyal to Henry every time Reyn, naked and hungry for her, flashed into her mind. She had admired her husband, put him on a pedestal from the time she was a little girl.

Henry could not have been more different from Reyn. Where Henry was all intellect, Reyn was mostly physical. He had been so full of pent-up energy she could feel waves of it across the room as she’d catalogued items from the boxes, energy that was quickly put to use when he took her to bed. His wife would have no complaint in that area, but what would they say to each other once desire was spent?