She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Is it a sin if I’ve been given permission?”
“I wouldn’t think so.”
As though he were approaching a skittish mare, he walked cautiously over to the window. Her apprehension-filled gaze followed his every step. What the deuce did she think he was going to do? Grab her, toss her onto the bed, and have his way with her?
Leaning his shoulder negligently against the wall, he looked out on the glorious morning. “The nearby village hosts a fair this time of year. I thought to ride over, have a look around, enjoy the day.”
“It sounds lovely.”
He shifted his attention to her. “I was hoping you’d join me.”
She shook her head briskly. “No, I . . . I thought to . . .”
He could see her struggling to come up with some responsibility she needed to manage, but she had none, not here, not at his cottage.
“Avoid me?” he asked laconically.
Her blue eyes widened a fraction before she straightened her shoulders. “Of course not. That would defeat my purpose in being here, now wouldn’t it?”
“Then come with me.”
“Ainsley—”
“You can’t possibly intend to spend the greater part of every day hiding out in this room.”
“I’m not hiding.”
He arched a brow.
“I’m not!” With a mulish expression, she folded her arms over her chest and turned to the window. He wanted to press his thumb to her brow, ease the deep furrow there.
“This time of year, we don’t have many days where the sun is so brilliant. We should make the most of it.” He waited a moment, absorbing her silence. “Jayne, it’s going to be a very long month. You’ve established rules to ensure you find no joy in the bedding. At least give yourself leave to find joy in other things while you’re here.”
“This is so hard, Ainsley,” she rasped. “I knew it would be, but I was still not prepared for how blasted difficult it is.”
“I know, sweetheart. Hence, the reason that I think attending the fair would be such a welcome reprieve.” He shoved himself away from the wall. “I’m going. If you wish to languish here all day dreading the coming of night, so be it.”
He’d taken two steps before she said, “I’d welcome the distraction, but it will take me a while to ready myself.”
Glancing back over his shoulder, he smiled. “Take all the time you need. Have you a riding habit? I thought we’d take the horses.”
“Yes. Yes, that would be lovely.”
“Join me in the library when you’re ready.”
He strode from the room, his step a bit more lively than when he first entered. He felt as though he’d won the battle, but he knew he was still a long way off from winning the war.
As the mare, Lovely Lady, plodded along, Jayne felt her muscles begin to unknot, unwind. With guilt gnawing at her, she’d finally drifted off to sleep in the early morning hours, but upon wakening didn’t feel at all rested. And she’d dreaded seeing Ainsley again. She wasn’t certain what she expected of him. A triumphant air. A gloating. An arrogance.
After all, she’d succumbed to the talents of his mouth, was unable to refrain from falling into the whirlpool of pleasure he’d created. She almost drowned before he sent her skyward with such speed that she’d been disoriented. And then he’d been inside her, filling her before she even caught her breath.
Yet he’d displayed nothing of the sort. He was quiet, solicitous, almost apologetic. He was also quite right, that leaving the residence would be good for her. She was able to breathe more deeply and relax, knowing they would share no intimacy while they were out.
She regretted the cruel, unkind words she’d flung at him at the end of their encounter the night before. They’d been a defense, because in all honesty, it had felt marvelous to once again experience the nearness of a man—even if it was for far too brief a time. That, too, had prompted her ugliness. Easier to take that route than admit she wished he’d not been quite so hasty in arriving at his own enjoyment. A part of her longed to apologize, knew she should, but she welcomed a few hours of pretending they were here for a reason other than what they were. Perhaps tonight, during dinner, with a bit more wine—
The sounds of revelry reached her ears, cut off her thoughts. The village was up ahead, but it looked as though the fair had spilled out onto the surroundings like fruit from an overturned basket. She glanced over at Ainsley. He seemed at ease and pleased with all he saw. He guided her over to an area where carriages waited and other horses were tethered. The fair seemed to draw quite a crowd. She did hope she wouldn’t encounter anyone she knew. How would she explain her presence?
Ainsley dismounted.
“Your Grace!” A young man she guessed to be in his late teens sauntered over and doffed his cap.
“Master Robin,” Ainsley said. “How are you, lad?”
“Fine, sir. Need me to watch your horses?”
“Yes, and see that they get some oats.” He handed the boy a crown before walking over to assist Jayne. His gloved hands circling her waist, he held her gaze. He had such remarkable green eyes. She briefly wondered how they might sparkle when filled with laughter. She’d heard his laugh, of course, at the river, but had not been near enough to see the mirth filter into his eyes. It unsettled her to be this close to him, knowing that in a few hours she would be much closer again. She forced her fingers to not tremble as she set them on his shoulders.
He lifted her down with as much effort as one might bring down a pillow. She wondered if holding her so near, he would find his thoughts traveling to last night, or had the encounter for him been as Walfort promised her it would be—nothing at all?
Ainsley stepped back and extended his arm. “Shall we?”
She bobbed her head, not trusting her voice. The whole point of this outing was to have a distraction from unruly thoughts. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand. They wandered onto the path that served as the main road into the village.
“Yew Gwace! Yew Gwace!”
Jayne released her hold on him as he spun around. A little girl was running toward him, and Ainsley’s smile grew with her approaching nearness. It was a sight that took Jayne’s breath.
As the child stumbled to a stop, Ainsley crouched. “Well, if it’s not my favorite flower girl.”
“See what I’ve got?” she asked, proudly extending an assortment of scraggly stems and leaves that her tiny hands were choking.
“Very nice indeed.”
To Jayne’s surprise, he took the offering and gave the girl a crown.
“Fank ye, ye Gwace.” With that, she dashed off.
Chuckling, Ainsley stood.
“You paid for weeds,” Jayne told him.
“In the spring, they’ll have blossoms.”
“They’ll still be weeds.”
“Ah, Jayne, you are cynical.”
“Why? Because I believe you wasted a coin?”
“No. Because you see what is instead of what could be.” He tucked the gangly plants into his pocket and again offered her his arm. His smile was no longer on display, and she found she missed it. With a bit of flirting, she might be able to entice it back, but flirtation was completely inappropriate under their circumstances. He wasn’t her lover; he was simply a means to an end. She didn’t want to consider how long it had taken her to get with child the first time. In all likelihood this month would be for naught.
Good Lord, Jayne, when did you become such a pessimist? And a cynic?
Before she knew it, they were in the thick of the crowd. She could see jugglers and acrobats performing off to the side. Ainsley guided her over to a booth where woolen wares were displayed. Mittens, caps, shawls.
“Your Grace,” the rotund woman inside the booth said. She gave Jayne a speculative look. Probably not a good idea to be here.
“Mrs. Weatherly.” It was apparent that Ainsley knew everyone and they recognized him. But then, he was unforgettable, and she suspec
ted few dukes resided in the area. He patted Jayne’s hand. “Tell me, which shawl would you like?”
It took Jayne a moment to realize he’d posed the question to her. “I’m not in need of a shawl.”
“You don’t have to need it. You can simply want it.”
“No, I . . .” Didn’t want to be any more indebted to him than she already was. She also wanted no reminders of her time here. She was struck with the absurdness of that thought. With luck, he would give her a reminder she would have for the remainder of her life. “They’re lovely, but I don’t want anything.”
“For my mother, then. Which one would she like?”
Why in God’s name was he asking her? “Surely, you know your mother’s tastes better than I.”
“Quite right. Have you something bold, Mrs. Weatherly?”
“Oh, yes, Your Grace. I have a lovely red.” She brought forth a crimson piece, a beautiful shade.
“That’ll do nicely. How much?”
“A sovereign?”
“Hmm. Seems like robbery to me, Mrs. Weatherly.”
Indeed it was, Jayne thought. It was nicely made, but still—
“Let’s make it two, shall we? Otherwise, I won’t be able to sleep at night.”
Jayne stared at Ainsley while Mrs. Weatherly tittered about and produced a ledger. Ainsley wrote the item and the amount before applying his signature.
“Have it brought around tomorrow. My man will see that you’re paid.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. Have a lovely day.”
The same scenario played out in each booth where they stopped. Ainsley would find an item—a necklace for his sister-by-marriage Claire, lace for his sister-by-marriage Mercy, a pipe for Westcliffe, leather gloves for Stephen—ask the price, then double it.
As they were walking away from the booth where he’d purchased a beaver hat for Leo—who had been his mother’s lover for some time now, if rumors were to be believed—Jayne said, “You do know that when you haggle over prices, you are supposed to whittle down the amount.”
“For some of these people, what they earn today will get them through the winter. I can afford to be generous.”
“Walfort never could.” She wanted to bite her tongue, but felt compelled to add, “He had nothing before my dowry. While it was substantial, we certainly couldn’t be extravagant. Fortune seems to have smiled on you in many areas.”
“Do you expect me to feel guilty because of it?”
She peered up at him. “No. I don’t know what I expect. I don’t even know why I’m prattling on about it.”
“He didn’t marry you for your dowry.”
She averted her gaze. How had he known it was an area of insecurity for her? “It influenced him.”
“I doubt it. I know at least two other ladies to whom marriage would have put far more into his coffers. He gave them nary a look. I suspect it was your eyes that offered him the riches he sought.”
She felt a blush warming her cheeks. “You’re far kinder than I’ve ever given you credit for.”
“Nothing kind about speaking the truth.” As though needing to turn the direction away from him, he added, “I’m famished. Let’s see what we can do about that, shall we?”
He purchased a blanket, a wicker basket, and food from different vendors. Before Jayne realized it, she was sitting near a tree enjoying a meat pie. Across from her, Ainsley—stretched out on his side, lifted up on his elbow—was munching on an apple. His gaze took in his surroundings rather than settling on her. She was grateful for that. It was so much easier to relax and think when she didn’t have his undivided attention.
He was at home here. She could see it in the ease of his movements, his unhurried manner, as though they had the entire day to lollygag about.
“Do you have work to see to here?” she asked.
His gaze darted to her before wandering off again. “Not really. The land the cottage sits on was not designed to bring in an income. I have no tenants. It’s simply a place where I come when I want to escape my responsibilities.”
“Do you come here often, then?”
“Once a year, perhaps.” He sat up and slung the apple core into the wooded area behind them.
Other people were reclining about, but none looked as noble as he. Some gave the appearance of being upper class, but most seemed to be somewhere between wealthy and poor. In the distance, she saw a roundabout. A menagerie of carved wooden animals hung down from the canopy. Two men, running alongside it, pushed it around. Children laughed and screamed with wild abandon.
She didn’t like the hope that fluttered in her chest, a hope that someday soon her child might enjoy a journey on such a contraption. She hadn’t wanted to think about what her being here with Ainsley truly signified. A ray of hope in what had become such a desolate life. Perhaps that was the reason she’d been less than kind to him. It was so difficult to think of him giving her what Walfort could not. Yet neither could she deny how desperately she wanted a child. She would sit a boy upon the lion because he would be fearless. A girl she would place upon the rabbit. No, no. Upon the tiger. Or perhaps the lion as well for she, too, would need to be fearless to endure the whisperings that would surely ensue. Regardless of Walfort’s claim that no one knew the full extent of his injuries, they would not be spared gossip and speculation. She would be the lioness to protect her child. She suspected even Ainsley would provide a shield. His influence could not be disregarded.
“Have you ever taken a turn on a roundabout?” Ainsley asked, intruding on her thoughts. Thank goodness. She didn’t like the direction they were traveling.
“Not since I was a child.”
“Well, then, shall we give it a go?”
Shoving himself to his feet, he waved someone over, slipped a coin into the young lady’s hand with instructions for seeing that the items were gathered up and delivered to his cottage. Then he was extending a hand toward Jayne. Neither of them had put on their gloves after eating. She didn’t want to feel the spark that the touch of his bare skin could ignite. He caused her to feel things with so little effort. Walfort’s touch had never affected her so. His was pleasant. Ainsley’s was so much more. His was dangerous.
“Come on, Jayne. Before the clouds in the distance catch up to us.”
Looking over her shoulder, she saw the darkening skies, suddenly aware of the cooling breeze. It was simply a ride on a roundabout. Ainsley could assist her to her feet and then release his hold. If she were quick, the touch would last no more than a heartbeat. She slipped her hand into his, felt his fingers close around hers, was aware of his other arm anchoring around her waist, bringing her up with so little effort.
Only he didn’t release his hold. Instead, he urged her forward with haste, and they were soon tripping lightly across the field.
“Ainsley, we can’t run.” Even as she protested, she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs, pumping her legs.
“Of course we can. We’re doing it.”
“It’s undignified.”
“Who of any importance is here to see? Who cares? Pretend we’re young again.” The devil was in his eyes and his smile, both challenging her, silently calling her a coward if she didn’t keep up.
Blast him! Her hat went flying. He laughed. She realized he’d never put his hat back on. Had this been his plan all along?
Suddenly she didn’t care. The wind was in her face, and for this short span of time all that mattered was getting to the roundabout before it started spinning again. She could see the wide-eyed stares of the children, waiting for the motion that would carry away their cares.
Breathless, she didn’t know where she found the strength to step onto the platform. If she’d had any air in her lungs, she might have screeched when Ainsley lifted her up onto the lion. The lion. Had she not just been thinking about it? She grabbed the pole that kept it suspended off the flooring.
Ainsley moved around to stand beside her, one of his hands above hers, the other resting on the back of
the animal, as though he thought he needed to be ready in case she were to slip. Then two men, one on either side of the roundabout, grabbed hold of a horizontal spoke and began running. It was spinning around as the scenery around them became blurred.
“Close your eyes,” Ainsley ordered. “Let all your troubles go.”
If only it were that simple. Still, she lowered her lashes, pretended all was right with the world.
He could watch her now as he’d not been able to since the moment he placed her on the horse outside the stables. Her long dark lashes feathered lightly over cheeks flushed with the effort of her running. His gaze followed the line of her throat, an ivory smoothness he desperately wanted to press his lips against.
Her hair was in danger of spilling over her back. He was tempted to help it along, to reach up and remove the last bastion of pins. How stubbornly they held on. Just like her. Determined to keep a distance between them.
He’d brought her here hoping to bring her some joy. Instead, she’d been constantly, warily, looking around as though fearful that she’d spy someone she knew, that someone would see her with him—and then how the deuce would she explain that?
She didn’t want his laughter, his conversation, or his presence. She wanted only his seed, and even that she accepted with reluctance.
He’d never before felt so damned alone and lonely when he was with a woman. He wanted more between them, wanted what he couldn’t have, what he had no right to desire. He wanted her to want to be with him.
He would spend the month in purgatory if he had nothing more than traipsing into her bedchamber in the dark of night to deposit the fruit of his loins like some lecher who thought of nothing beyond his own release.
But for this moment he had a bit more. He had her slight smile, the wind toying with her hair. He could savor the memory for a few days, and perhaps find a way to obtain another one. He couldn’t be business-only with her. That she could be so with him spoke of her dislike of him. He’d known it was there, of course, but now feared he’d underestimated the true extent of it. Would she hold onto it so tightly if he told her everything about that night? And the nights that had come before it?
Waking Up With the Duke (London's Greatest Lovers) Page 10