To see him again had been a blessing and a curse. He remained devastatingly handsome. His patrician features were perfection—except for the one tiny scar. But even it no longer offended her. Upon first seeing her, he’d given his green gaze leave to wander over her with the familiarity of a long-ago lover. She’d grown warm beneath his perusal. She’d wanted to step into his embrace and kiss him in order to make up for all the kisses she’d denied them when they were together. But all the opportunities lost could not now be regained.
During dinner she’d been like a miser. Collecting and hoarding every glimpse of him, every word he uttered. She was pathetic and pitiful and racked with guilt.
She’d not realized how very lonely she was at Herndon Hall until she returned from her time at Blackmoor. The child would fill the emptiness. She wished only that Walfort would make more of an effort to do so as well.
“Are you well?”
Smiling at Walfort, she took his hand and squeezed it. “Of course.”
“Is it difficult for you being here, seeing him again?”
Her throat knotted, yet still she managed to force through the lie. “No, of course not.” Did he not realize it was entirely inappropriate to be discussing something so personal and intimate in this venue, a room crowded with people celebrating the upcoming marriage of the Duchess of Ainsley?
“Gentlemen have been effusive with their congratulations. I’m not sure anyone suspects that I didn’t have a hand in your current situation,” Walfort said.
She saw the doubt in his eyes then, the discomfort at the reminder of how he had come to be in this position.
She leaned near, as though they were two lovers sharing a wicked secret that no one else was to overhear. “But you did have a hand in it, didn’t you? I believe it would be best if we didn’t discuss it here.”
“I daresay, you’re absolutely correct.”
He was nervous, she realized. Worried that someone would doubt his manhood. How difficult this was for them, how difficult for them all.
“I was just admiring the flowers,” she said, to change the topic, to get them onto safer ground.
“Yes, they’re lovely. I say, I think I’m going to the card room for a bit. You don’t mind, do you? It’ll give you a chance to visit with the ladies.”
He didn’t wait for her response, but signaled to Randall, who was always at the ready to be of service. She watched until he disappeared from the ballroom. Rising, she opened her fan and waved it briskly to create a small breeze. It was so terribly warm in here. The press of people, she supposed.
She smiled as Ainsley’s sister-by-marriage approached. “Lady Westcliffe, you’ve done a marvelous job here.”
Lady Westcliffe’s eyes twinkled. “Mercy and I did what we could. If Ainsley would see to securing a wife, it would have fallen to her, of course.”
Jayne felt a pang of remorse at the mention of Ainsley with a wife. How would the woman feel if she ever discovered—
She must never know. No one must ever know.
“Congratulations to you on providing your husband with another son,” Jayne said.
“I must confess that I despise the way we make it sound as though it is an obligation rather than a joy. I do believe he’d have been just as happy with another daughter. And what of you? A miracle has occurred, has it not?”
Jayne couldn’t help herself. She pressed her hand to her stomach. “Yes, it was quite unexpected but very welcomed.” Why was it unexpected, you dolt, if your husband was visiting your bed?
“Well, not completely unexpected, of course. We had all but given up hope, but . . . well . . . I’m sure you understand what I’m blabbering about.” A twinge. Not the baby moving. She was hungry. She’d been too nervous to eat much during dinner. Not willing to risk upsetting her digestion. “I believe I’m going to have a bit of refreshment.”
“Please do. When I am with child I am hungry all the time, especially when it’s a boy. They eat in the womb as they will eat through life—voraciously.”
Lady Westcliffe was escorting her to the refreshment area when she excused herself after someone caught her attention. Jayne continued on.
“Oh my dear, there you are. I’ve been searching for you.”
Turning, Jayne forced herself to smile. She wondered if the usual wagers were going on here. “Lady Inwood.”
The woman squeezed Jayne’s hand. “I have heard the most delicious gossip.” She pulled Jayne back behind a towering frond. “Ainsley is in love.”
Jayne felt a stab of . . . jealousy? No, it could not be jealousy. Disappointment? No, she had no right to feel that emotion either. “With whom?”
Her voice sounded as though she was strangling, but Lady Inwood seemed not to notice as she glanced around, and Jayne was certain she was on the verge of pointing out the fortunate lady.
“That’s the mystery,” Lady Inwood said, sotto voce, putting her hand beside her mouth as though fearing someone would decipher her words by reading her lips.
“Then how do you know he’s in love?”
“As you’re well aware, when we were at your residence for the fox hunt, our wagering was for naught. We were unable to determine who occupied his bed. So it has been ever since. No rumors. Nary a one regarding who has caught his fancy for an evening of delight.”
“Perhaps it is simply because we are not all in London. Gossip is a bit more difficult over distance.”
“I daresay it has never mattered before, where the duchess’s sons are concerned. We have always been able to ferret out their latest conquests, when there were conquests. It is as though Ainsley has gone into hiding.”
“I’m sure he’s been busy with his mother’s upcoming nuptials.”
“A man of his virility?” She shook her head. “Balderdash. Only one explanation makes any sense. He is in love. Now we are wagering who the lady is who has managed to rein him in. What will you wager?”
Stupefied, Jayne shook her head. “I would not even know where to be—”
“Ladies.”
Jayne swung around to find the object of their discussion presenting them with a devilish smile, as though he knew what they were whispering over.
“Your Grace,” Lady Inwood purred. “You must be so delighted that your mother is marrying, but it does increase the pressure, does it not? It leaves you the only one unmarried.”
“Not true. My nephews and niece are as yet unwed, so I have quite a bit more time before I’ll feel the need to tie the knot.” He turned to Jayne. “Lady Walfort, I promised your husband that I would ask you to honor me with a dance. I hope you will not deny me so simple a pleasure.”
“Yes, no, of course. I would be delighted.”
“Lady Inwood, if you’ll excuse us . . .” Ainsley said.
The older woman shifted her gaze between Jayne and Ainsley as though she feared she’d missed out on something. “By all means. Enjoy yourselves, especially as Walfort wishes it.”
Very smoothly, Ainsley escorted Jayne to the dance area.
“It seems you’ve come to my rescue yet once again,” Jayne said as he took her into his arms for the waltz.
He grinned wickedly, teasingly. “And what gossip was she whispering in your ear?”
“Rumor has it that you’re in love.”
His smile vanished like snow touched by sunlight. “The basis for such gossip?”
“You’ve not been seen with a woman since before the fox hunt at Herndon Hall. And there have been no whisperings about you entertaining a lady.”
“So they are assuming love is the root of my sudden abstinence.”
“It would seem so, yes.”
“Such romantics filled with such silliness.”
She glanced around. So many people. She felt them pressing in on her. Air. There seemed to be no air. It was stifling and warm. She should ask him to take her out to the garden. No, that would be inappropriate. She would go when the dance was finished. Alone. Just to take a couple of deep breaths.
“I wanted to apologize for my temper in the garden,” Ainsley said, drawing her attention back to him.
“It is I who should apologize. It was wrong of me. Cruel even.”
He smiled wryly. “Jayne, you could not be cruel if you had a torture chamber within easy reach.”
“It is only that it was the first time . . . that I felt it. It was suddenly . . . real, and I didn’t want to be alone with . . . the joy. And I’m being cruel again.” The words seem to be coming from far away, from someone else.
“Jayne—”
She thought he stopped dancing, but people swirled around them in a blur. Darkness hovered at the edge of her vision and began closing in.
She was vaguely aware of Ainsley sweeping her up into his arms. “Salisbury!”
The urgency in his voice silenced the orchestra. Or so she thought. She couldn’t be sure. She was in some sort of strange fog. His stride faltered not at all as he issued orders to his butler.
“Send for my physician immediately. I want him here before I’ve reached the stairs. And for God’s sake, find Walfort.”
It was only as he laid her on softness and moved back that she realized he’d brought her to a bedchamber, but not the one she shared with Walfort. This one was larger, grander. It had to be Ainsley’s.
She was hot, cloying with dampness, and trembling. Holding her hand, he sat on the edge of the bed and stroked the stray strands of her hair off her brow. “Your maid will be here any moment.”
“What happened?” she forced out through a thick tongue.
“You swooned.”
“I don’t swoon.”
His mouth twitched. “Trust me, Jayne, I have dealt with enough swooning women to know a swoon when I see one.”
In a panic, she pressed her hand to her stomach. “Am I going to lose this baby? What if my losing the other had nothing at all to do with the accident but was some flaw in me? What if I’m incapable of carrying a child until it’s born?”
“Look at me, Jayne. Look at me.”
His voice was calm, firm, demanding. She gazed into his beautiful green eyes.
“You will not lose this child. Do you understand?” he asked. “You will not. I will not allow it.”
She drew comfort from his confidence. Did he ever have any doubts at all about anything?
“What’s going on here?” Walfort asked.
She saw the battle work itself out over Ainsley’s features. He did not want to leave her, but it was not his place to be here.
Stoically, he released her, stepped back and faced her husband. “She swooned. I’ve sent for my physician. As soon as he— No. We need not wait. Mercy. Mercy was a nurse in the Crimea.” He spun around. “Mercy!”
He staggered to a stop. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long,” Mercy said, marching into the room. “I thought I might be needed.”
She came around to the other side of the bed and took Jayne’s hand. “Everything will be all right.”
“I don’t want to lose this child.”
“Of course you don’t.” She turned her attention to the men. “Out now. Both of you.”
“I need a quiet moment with my wife first,” Walfort said.
Mercy nodded, stepped away and began issuing orders to the servants. With obvious reluctance, Ainsley walked from the room.
Walfort rolled forward. He peeled the glove from her hand before closing his fingers around it, skin against skin. He studied their clasped hands as though he’d never seen them before. “Ainsley is right, you know.” He lifted dark eyes to hers. “You won’t lose this child. We won’t allow it.”
She placed his hand against her side. “I felt it move today. I should have told you. I want you to be able to feel it, too.”
“And I will. As soon as— Oh.”
She could barely see him through her tears as she said, “That was it. That was the baby.”
“He’s a strong bugger.”
“I think he will be, yes. Or she. He could be a girl.”
She watched his throat work as he swallowed. He nodded. His eyes grew damp. He placed his head near her hip and wept. As though all the repercussions of what they’d done had finally hit him.
But she didn’t know if they were tears of sorrow or joy.
Chapter 23
They waited in the library. He and Walfort. Drinking whiskey, each lost in his own thoughts. The excitement in the ballroom had dissipated with his rapid departure, Jayne in his arms. Claire, with her usual aplomb, had promptly ended that portion of the night’s festivities. A late night repast had been prepared and the guests summarily retired to their respective chambers.
Or so Westcliffe had reported to Ainsley. He knew he should give a fig that he had a residence filled with guests and that on the morrow his mother would marry, but at the moment he cared only about Jayne.
The physician arrived, nearly an hour ago. With each passing moment, Ainsley’s worries increased. He’d promised her that she’d not lose the child. He didn’t have a clue regarding how to keep the promise.
“You fell in love with her, didn’t you?”
He glanced over at Walfort before returning his attention to his whiskey.
“I’ll assume your silence is a yes,” Walfort said.
“Assume whatever you damned well please.” He shoved himself out of his chair. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t?” He stormed to the fireplace, tempted to toss his glass into the flames. He wanted a conflagration that equaled the one inside him. He pressed his forearm to the mantel. “You’re married to her. You had her in your bed every night. You had her at your table every morning.”
He spun around. “Whatever possessed you to keep your mistress? What possible purpose could she have served except to ensure you didn’t honor your vows? By God, Jayne deserved a man who would keep the vows he made to her.”
“I loved her. My mistress. I still do. Maybe that’s the reason I drank so much that night. I wanted to forget I had a wife waiting for me at home. A wife with child. Maybe I wanted to wash away the guilt. I was betraying two women at the same time. I didn’t feel good about it, Ainsley, but duty—”
“Duty be damned. Jayne deserved your faithfulness.”
“With your reputation, with all the thighs you’ve parted, do you think you’d have had better luck at it, at not straying?”
“I know I would have.”
“You self-righteous prig. You were as drunk as I that night. From what were you trying to escape? Your bachelorhood, your wealth, your title? You had it all. Everything. You still do! Including your damn legs!”
“I don’t have Jayne.” As soon as the words were spoken, he regretted them. Damnation. He slammed his hand against the mantel and cursed again.
Walfort, as though he recognized that Ainsley’s temper was close to boiling, returned to his brooding silence, sipping his whiskey. Ainsley stared at the fire.
That was how the physician found them a few moments later. One sitting, one standing, both staring. Ainsley fought not to grab Dr. Roberts, shake him and ask after Jayne. He was not her husband. He could not overstep his bounds here without causing speculation, so he bit back all the questions that plagued him.
Dr. Roberts nodded at Ainsley—“Your Grace”—before approaching Walfort. “M’lord.”
“How does my wife fare?”
“Quite well. Too much excitement I’d say. What with the dancing and all. Not uncommon for a woman in her condition. Let her rest for a day or two and she should be right as rain.”
Ainsley felt such relief that he dropped into a nearby chair. What an idiot. He’d overreacted. It wasn’t like him to do so. Dr. Roberts offered more assurances before taking his leave.
Ainsley got up and poured himself more whiskey. “You should go see her.”
“I don’t need you to tell me what I should do with my wife.”
Biting back his temper, Ainsley downed his whiskey before pouring more.
Ainsley glanced back at him. “It isn’t as long as you remember for whom we do it.”
He sat in the library long after Walfort had gone to see Jayne. He heard the door open. He expected to see one of his brothers strolling in to check on him. Instead it was his mother, who came to stand before him.
“Jayne will be fine. She needs only rest,” he told her, as though she’d asked. Why else would she be here except to discern the health of Jayne?
“Yes, I know. Mercy told me.”
He nodded. He’d forgotten Mercy had been there to assist the doctor. His attention was so focused on Jayne that it was a wonder he remembered his name.
“I’ve been thinking about things since Walfort announced that Jayne was with child.”
“Shouldn’t you be concentrating on your wedding?”
“Don’t make light of this, Ainsley. I’m most disappointed in you. You were instrumental in that accident with Walfort, then you cuckolded him—which I suspected at Blackmoor—but still to have not taken care with the girl, to ensure that she did not get with child—”
“It was done a-purpose, Mother, with Walfort’s full consent and blessing.”
It was not often he took his mother by surprise, but still he took no satisfaction in her wide rounded eyes.
He continued, “Jayne wanted a child more than anything in the world, and we owed her that. Because of our selfish stupidity, she lost the one she was carrying.”
“Oh, my dear son.” She sank into the chair opposite his. “What in God’s name have you done? What if it is a boy?”
“Then Walfort will have his heir.”
“An heir who should have been yours.”
“I wanted to see Jayne happy more than I wanted an heir. He shall not suffer because of it, Mother. He may not inherit as prestigious a title as mine, but I shall see to it that Walfort’s estate flourishes, even if I must do it in secret, behind his back. This child shall have more wealth than he would have had otherwise. And he shall have Jayne as his mother. There is no greater gift that I could have given him than Jayne as his mother.”
Waking Up With the Duke (London's Greatest Lovers) Page 22