“Consider me deselected. I shall return the advance at the earliest opportunity.”
“Why did you take the money if you did not plan to honor your word? Do you find me so unattractive?”
Reyn felt a stab of annoyance. He was not going to do the pretty when the woman had kneed him in the groin. “Don’t fish for compliments, Lady Kelby. You can hardly expect me to tell you I desire you when it’s clear you loathe me. I had need of the money. Still do. My sister is—well, she’s dying, just like your husband is—only she doesn’t live inside a thousand acre park with a thousand servants to tend her and a devoted spouse who will do anything, no matter how repulsive, to make her happy. You must love your husband very much to come here to find me.”
Lady Kelby flushed. “I-I do. He . . . he’s a wonderful man. Henry is very dear to me.”
“I’m sorry for you then. My sister is dear to me also, and I neglected her for years. I was quite desperate when I met with Mr. Ramsey. I really would have done most any job he offered to make my sister’s last months easier. But not this one.”
“N-no. I am sorry for you, too.”
Reyn smiled. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we? I’m a thief, and you were ready to let me steal your virtue if there’s any left to steal.”
Oh, he’d gone too far with that. The lovely blush that had stained her cheeks retreated. He expected her to curse him, to strike him, or flounce out of the room in high dudgeon like Patsy did.
Instead, Maris’s lips trembled and her large brown eyes filled with tears. “How dare you,” she whispered. “You cannot know the agony—” Her sob choked her words away.
Tears were usual at the Reining Monarchs Society as well as shouts, but Reyn had never been able to harden his heart against them. He walked over to Maris, intending to hand her his handkerchief and straighten her hat, but somehow put his arms around her and got a nose full of gray organdy ribbon. His cravat would have to be retied, for Lady Kelby clung to it as if it were a lifeline.
“There now. I’m sorry,” he said, patting the buttons on the back of what surely was the most unbecoming dress he’d ever seen on a peeress before. Did not her husband still have his eyesight? Perhaps he didn’t, although the man had stared quite sharply at him the day they met.
Henry Kelby’s eyes were black as a crow’s, much like Reyn’s own. Reyn had seen a portrait in the library of the earl in elaborate court dress from the last century, his hair covered by a wig. Maybe when the Earl of Kelby looked at him, he saw a resemblance to his younger self. It was impossible to know.
“Please don’t cry.”
Lady Kelby gave a great shuddering hiccup and continued to dampen Reyn’s shirtfront. The woman had been pushed to the edge over the impossible situation.
Durant was ashamed he’d made it worse. “I didn’t mean it, Lady Kelby. I always say the first foolish thing that pops into my head. I need a keeper, I do. Or a muzzle.”
All his life, he had spoken too soon, acted too soon. The latter had been useful in battle, but it wasn’t always welcome in civilian life. Sometimes he felt his skin itch from the inside out. Heard bees in his head. Couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t read a book without falling asleep or flinging it against a wall.
He also couldn’t walk away from a dare or a challenge. If he had a brain in his head, he’d set the woman aside and stride out the door. Find Patsy and fuck her if Blivens wasn’t already at the task.
Reyn didn’t have a brain. Not a useful one, anyway. He held Lady Kelby until she stilled in his arms, then lifted her chin. Her dark eyelashes were wet and spiky, but the little lakes that had pooled in each brown eye had dried. She stared at him so hard he thought he might forget what he wanted to do.
“Forgive me,” he said, and kissed her.
There was no kick, no struggle. Her lips opened in surprise and he swept in. She tasted of tears and tea. And innocence. She was inexpert at kissing him back, and that only made him more regretful that he’d started the whole thing.
What on earth was wrong with him? Lady Kelby was not his type, pale and gray and brown as she was.
She was married and loved her elderly husband. Reyn didn’t dally with married women unless they were free of such nonsense. Patsy and the others looked for him to replace the boredom of their arranged marriages with a bit of wicked spice. He’d been happy to oblige, even if he’d had to use a cane or a crop or wield his cock as a welcome weapon. He didn’t seduce innocents.
Lady Kelby’s reluctant tongue touched his, sending an electric jolt to his groin.
He frowned. He didn’t even know her first name. But there were so many things he didn’t know, and he’d managed to get along in life perfectly well. Well enough, anyway.
His mind might be a perfect blank at the moment, but his body was fully engaged with the woman in his arms, whose kidskin-gloved hands trembled against his throat. In fact, every bit of her shook as if she were immersed in a Canadian snowbank, which set off an avalanche of response within him. Her mouth was soft and yielding, allowing his very thorough exploration.
Reyn held her closer, his fingers busy with the line of fabric-covered buttons at her back, her bountiful soft breasts snug against his shirt. He brushed up past boned linen to the scoop of warm skin above her chemise, hoping the lush kiss might distract her into wantonness.
The touch of his fingers to her flesh alerted her to his intention, causing her tongue to stop mid-tangle. Reyn opened his eyes to see hers, dark as coffee. They blinked, and he felt her pull away.
He was still mostly a gentleman, so he released her, stepping back and banging his bad knee against the chair.
“W-what are you doing, Captain Durant?” She wiped the wet from her swollen lips.
He shrugged. “I’m sorry for that, too, if you didn’t like it.”
She said nothing.
He was not so full of himself to believe his kisses could leave someone speechless, but it had been a damned good kiss once the woman relaxed into it. He wondered if she still kissed her husband. . . or anyone else. Somehow he doubted it.
“Did it . . . does it mean you’ve changed your mind about coming to Kelby Hall?”
He should tell her no. What kind of man would he be to father a child and then walk away? The whole idea was insupportable. Reyn had no particular yearning for marriage and fatherhood, but that didn’t mean he was completely without honor, no matter what Lady Kelby said. What was the lesser of two evils—taking unearned money or abandoning a child? He opened his mouth and then shut it.
Lady Kelby stood proud, her chin raised despite the wobble of her bonnet. She would lose it soon, and good riddance. But her eyes betrayed her. They were damp again with desperation. Whether she was desperate for him to say yes or no, he wasn’t quite sure.
Reyn was certain she had not been in favor of her husband’s scheme, no matter how devilish David Kelby was. Saving books and silly statues was not enough for her to commit adultery with a complete stranger. Lady Kelby did not seem to be the sort to break any of the commandments.
“Let me do up your buttons.”
“You have not answered me.” She turned her back in acquiescence.
“I haven’t.” Reyn was never much of a thinker, but he felt obligated to make some sense of his scattered thoughts. He concentrated on each gray button, covering up inches of snow-white skin and linen. Would he want to release her from the confines of an equally ugly dress in the future? He just didn’t know. He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her gently.
“Give me a day to think this over again. Where are you staying?”
“Mivart’s Hotel on Brook Street.”
“I assume your husband is not with you.”
She shook her head and the hideous hat collapsed to her shoulder. “He does not know I’m here.”
“Here in London? Or here?”
Lady Kelby struggled to untie the double knot on her gray organdy ribbon. Her hands still shook, and Reyn felt it necessary to assist h
er. He was good with his hands, liked to keep them busy, even if it meant he played lady’s maid.
She stood solemnly still as he made quick work of the difficulty and drew the hat away. “He knows I am in London. I told him I had some shopping to do.”
Good. She needed new clothes. Lady Kelby looked like she was in mourning already.
“So he doesn’t know you came to find me?”
“He did not send me. I’m not sure he would approve.”
“I should say not. It’s very shocking that you are here,” Reyn replied. “Have you a chaperone lurking somewhere downstairs?”
“I sent my maid back to the hotel once I found out where you were. Bad enough one of us had to enter this place,” Maris said tartly, taking back her hat from him and pinning it back on with a wickedly sharp hatpin.
Reyn picked up his yellow silk waistcoat. He was in need of a shopping trip himself. Now that he was no longer constrained by a uniform, his taste in civilian clothing had yet to be discovered. He feared the waistcoat was undoubtedly a mistake. “You were foolish to come, and I don’t believe you are usually a foolish woman.”
“I wrote,” she reminded him. “That seemed to do no good.”
He was not about to explain the trouble he had reading her handwriting. It was probably perfectly formed, but it had given him a headache. He had enough difficulty with a printed page without trying to decipher Lady Kelby’s pretty loops and curlicues.
He could read. Barely, and certainly not for pleasure. The number of books in the Earl of Kelby’s library had failed to impress him.
“Let me escort you back to Mivart’s.”
“Won’t Patsy miss you?”
Surely Lady Kelby was not jealous. “I’m sure she’s found an adequate substitute,” he said, squeezing himself into his coat. He saw her hesitate, then drop her veil.
“All right. The quicker I can get out of here, the better.”
He offered an arm and they left the room. “How is it you got past Mick Fisher?”
“I lied, sir. Just as you have.”
“Ouch. I don’t suppose you even need a knife to cut your dinner when your sharp tongue will do. I also take it lying does not come naturally to you?”
In the long hallway, she took a misstep, causing them to careen toward a marble-top table.
“Easy, Lady Kelby. One foot in front of the other. Don’t worry if anyone sees us. The Monarchs are a discreet bunch, believe it or not.”
“D-do you require all those peculiar implements on the wall to . . .” Her words faded.
Reyn wished he could see her face clearly. She must think the absolute worst of him. He laughed. “To perform? You need have no fear, Lady Kelby. I bought a subscription to the club as a lark. A dare.” He had beyond bored, and it had seemed a good idea at the time. He was as normal as the next man, more or less, with some significant exceptions.
“Shouldn’t the money you spent have gone to your sister?”
Yes, he should have settled the extra sum on Ginny, but she had been safely set up in the country before he won his little windfall. Lord Kelby’s gold had seen to that. Reyn was spared from answering by the sight of a contrite Mick Fisher at the bottom of the stairs.
The butler began his effusive apologies from the hallway below as Reyn steered Lady Kelby down the marble steps. “Beggin’ your pardon, Captain. I told the mort not to go up to bother you. She promised me she’d stay put.” Fisher gave Maris a pugnacious glare.
“No bother at all, Mick. Really, it was quite delightful to have her join me.”
Lady Kelby stiffened under his hand, but did not contradict him.
“Mrs. Rumford weren’t none too pleased to be interrupted, Captain, I can tell you that. You’ll have some fences to mend there. Lady Kelby, I believe Mrs. R. said her name is?”
Damn the man, and damn Patsy. The countess’s reputation would suffer if it was discovered she’d been entertained at the Reining Monarchs Society even for so short a time as a brief conversation.
And especially after that kiss.
“I think you misheard, Mick.” Reyn stuck his hand in his pocket and brought out the coins Lady Kelby had refused, dropping them into the butler’s open palm and praying he kept quiet. The man must be getting quite rich working there, and it was easier than getting pummeled nightly in a boxing ring. “Is Mrs. Rumford still about?”
“Went home, she did. Called a hack for her myself. If I was you, I’d go visit her with a peace offering right quick.”
“Thank you, Mick. I shall do that immediately. Lady Trilby, shall we leave?”
In what passed for a sprint in so large a man, Mick made it to the front door before they did and held it open. “Good afternoon, Captain Durant. Good afternoon, Lady Trilby.”
Reyn took a left turn at the sidewalk.
“Mivart’s is in the other direction,” Lady Kelby objected.
“I know that. We’re giving Mick some misdirection. He may seem as if he’s been hit in the head too many times, but he’s very shrewd. Did he see your face?”
“Oh. Oh dear.”
“I take it that’s a yes. We’ll just have to hope my little bribe was sufficient. Patsy will be more difficult to silence, but leave her to me.” Reyn patted Maris’s arm confidently, hoping his words were true.
“Do you have a paddle in your pocket to persuade her?”
“Lady Kelby, you have a very prurient mind. I trust my natural charms are sufficient to assuage Mrs. Rumford.”
Maris sniffed as they passed gated front gardens with pruned boxwood and urns of hardy pansies. The neighborhood was lovely, if one liked bland and orderly—with the exception of the Reining Monarchs in its midst, of course.
Reyn looked around. “Is it not a lovely day?”
“I am not going to waste my time discussing the weather with you, Captain Durant.”
Ha. That was his usual reaction to such talk, was it not? Conversations about the weather put him to sleep, unless he was on patrol in Halifax, where it paid to wear some extra layers and complain accordingly. “How are we to get to know each other better, Lady Kelby?”
“I don’t wish to know you.”
Her kiss told him otherwise. “If I agree to your husband’s plan— and that’s a big, Mt. Olympus–sized if—it will be easier if we are friends.”
“Friends!” Maris stopped dead on the street and dropped his arm. The tiny flowers stitched across the lace covering her face made it difficult to see her expression, but Reyn could well imagine it. “If you do change your mind, I would expect nothing but an efficient effort on your part. No friendship would be necessary.”
“You have the oddest idea of coupling, Lady Kelby. I’m not a dancing bear to be brought into the circus ring to perform and then put back in its cage.”
“No one called you any sort of animal! You will be well compensated. You already have been, may I remind you. You’ll have food and lodging and anything you like, within reason. But not my friendship.”
She was not making the venture any more enticing. Reyn would not have minded a little flattery or flirting, two things which Lady Kelby seemed incapable of.
“How do you expect to explain my presence at Kelby Hall?”
Maris resumed walking, her stride nearly as long as his. She was not some mincing debutante.
He pictured her racing down the long, straight avenue that led to Kelby Hall, wavy brown hair flying behind her. She probably always kept it pinned back, though. Everything about her was pinned, tight, buttoned.
He could change that.
If she let him.
“My husband will say you are a fellow antiquities enthusiast, come to help me catalogue what’s stored in crates in the attics. His father and grandfather—in fact, all the Earls of Kelby—were avid collectors, although not the scholar Henry is. If it wasn’t Etruscan, Henry had no interest in it. But now he’s curious. He would like to know exactly what’s up there before he dies. All you need do is be found with some n
otebooks and a pair of spectacles and dust in your hair and people will presume you’re an expert.”
It was Reyn’s turn to stop walking. “You’re joking. You expect me to catalogue that junk?” He could hardly think of anything more horrifying, unless he was asked to unwrap a mummy. There might even be one in some box stored in the attic.
“I shall be doing the actual cataloguing. I would never expect a man such as yourself to appreciate ancient history and civilizations. But it will give us an excuse to be together. No one will bother us while we’re working.”
“Why, Lady Kelby. Are you proposing to compromise me in broad daylight?”
“My eyes will be closed, Captain Durant. I expect you to close yours, too.”
Chapter 3
Reyn had a difficult evening. Patsy Rumford had not been fobbed off with a few cuddles and kisses, and he was ever so glad to see her husband return early from his club before being forced to go further. She may have been wanton at the society, but she was a dutiful wife at home. How she explained his visit to her husband he had no idea, but likely she would find her movements restricted in the future.
It would be something else she’d resent him for. Reyn was not convinced she’d keep her mouth shut about Lady Kelby, even if he’d promised her unlimited punishment and pleasure at a later date.
Worse, Lady Kelby had tattled on him. He’d come home to a tersely worded note from Mr. Ramsey on London List stationery, who urged him to keep his commitment to the Kelbys. It did not take a genius to read between the neatly printed lines. He had threatened to reveal Reyn’s recent coronation as a Monarch in one of his wretched gossip columns—not that anyone but his sister Ginny would care.
Reyn was already sorry he’d joined the society, for it had done nothing but make him feel a bit ridiculous, whacking at women—and some men—like a mad villain from one of the demented gothic Courtesan Court novels Ginny liked to read. If he hadn’t been at such loose ends . . . but there was a solution to all that. He could go to Kelby Hall and impersonate a bloody classics professor.
The Kelbys were collectively insane. While they may both be experts in Etruscan civilization, they knew nothing about Reynold Durant in the nineteenth century. He would never be able to pull off such a deception. Apart from his youth, there was his ignorance to deal with and his inability to examine anything for any length of time before he lost interest. The idea of being trapped in an attic with the Countess of Kelby and remnants of ancient dead people’s things collected by somewhat more recently dead people held absolutely no allure.
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