Waking Up With the Duke (21 page)

“Yes, he really is happy. Overly so.”

“I’m glad. He treats you well?”

“He treats me as he always has.”

No kisses, then. He should have been glad, but it saddened him. He needed to have a talk with Walfort, make sure he understood his duties where his wife was concerned. She deserved—

She released a startled sound of surprise, her lovely blue eyes growing as round as saucers.

“What is it?” he asked, alarmed.

Her smile was one of wonder and delight as she wrapped her fingers around his wrist, tugged his hand from his pocket and flattened it against her stomach. He was surprised by the firmness of her body, the roundness of it. Her dress hid everything, on purpose he was certain.

“Jayne—”

“Shh. Just wait.”

Beneath his fingers her body undulated slightly like the tide washing over the shore. The wonder of it nearly dropped him to his knees.

“Did you feel that?” she asked.

“Was that—”

“Your child.”

“No.” He pulled his hand free and turned away from her. “It’s not mine. I gave it to you and Walfort. Meeting you out here was a terrible idea. I knew it was, but still I came. What happened . . . we are not to talk of it. That was the arrangement, the bargain.”

“You asked me, now that it happened, if Walfort was all right with everything. Perhaps a better question is: are you?”

Forcing a façade of indifference, he faced her. “I am. It is simply important that we never forget that this is
not
my child.”

He saw the pain flash over her lovely features before she shored up her resolve and presented a convincing mask. “Of course, Your Grace. How silly of me to forget. If you’ll excuse me, I must complete my turn about the garden. I prefer to be alone. I use the time for quiet reflection and contemplation. It is important that I be calm so I do not have a nervous child.”

She didn’t wait for his answer, but spun on her heel and walked away from him. Everything in him urged him to call her back, to apologize, to not be such an ass. But feeling the movement of the child—
his
child, no matter what stupidity he had agreed to—had devastated him. He would never hold the child in his arms. He would not see it take its first steps. He would not be there to protect it. He had forfeited the right to be this child’s father when he had taken another man’s wife.

Now he would exist in a hell of his own creation.

A
bsence made the heart grow fonder. Or so the old saying went. Jayne had convinced herself that it was true, merely a trick of the mind, memories made sweeter by the passage of time. Until she stepped out of the carriage and looked up to see Ainsley standing there. At that precise moment she realized she’d been deceiving herself.

Absence had not been responsible for the fondness she felt toward him. It was not the reason she carried him into her dreams. It was not the reason she pressed her hand to her abdomen and wondered if she’d see him in the face of her child. It was not the reason that she had written him letters never to be sent.

As she sat beside Walfort in the great hall where an orchestra played and a thousand candles flickered in the chandeliers, she knew Ainsley—not absence—had made her heart yearn for him.

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?”