cannot accept it. Focus on just the physical. The pleasure. Stop thinking.”
“I cannot stop thinking, Captain.” She sounded querulous even to herself.
“Reyn.”
“Whatever.”
“Remember, this was your idea. I was willing to wait for tomorrow.”
He’s right, damn him. Maris was not giving her best effort. She had no best effort, no real experience of how it was meant to be between a man and a woman. While Henry had given her a measure of satisfaction, she’d been hopeless at doing the same for him.
And David didn’t bear thinking about.
“I’m sorry, Captain. Reyn. I don’t know what to do.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “You don’t have to know. You only have to do.”
“I’m sorry if I cannot distinguish the two.”
“Am I not sweeping you off your feet just a little?”
Maris realized she still had her worn needlepoint slippers on. “Obviously, I’m off my feet.”
“And in my bed, yes. Some progress has been made, I grant you. But you’re coiled tight as a clockwork spring. You are not kissing me back.”
“I certainly was!” What had her tongue been doing then if not touching his? Tasting wine and tooth powder and his Durant-ness? Kissing was an intimacy she’d had very little practice with. It almost seemed more important than the other thing they would do once he stopped arguing with her.
“I know when you really kiss me, when you lose yourself. When you toss all those rules you’ve lived by away and when you let that beautiful body of yours have its way for once.”
Pretty words. He couldn’t mean them.
Maris sat up. “Perhaps you’re right about the wine. Go fetch some. Please,” she added. She had sounded exactly like a Countess of Kelby ordering a minion about. Maris didn’t do that, and no one in their right mind would think Reynold Durant was suited to be a minion, even if he was in her husband’s employ.
Deep down she knew the wine wouldn’t help, but it would get rid of him for a few seconds. His insistent nearness confounded her. He wanted something she couldn’t give.
He padded across the room and opened the door to the sitting room. When he returned with the glass of wine—no bottle, wasn’t he optimistic?—his rangy body was limned with light, his erection unmistakable. The captain pushed the door closed with his bare arse and the bedroom returned to dusk.
“Here you are.” Maris took the goblet from him, her hands brushing his. “Th-thank you.” She took a tentative sip. It was very good, but then everything at Kelby Hall was of the finest quality.
Even Captain Durant.
He cleared his throat. “Perhaps after you drink some, you should go.”
“Do you want me to?”
“No, Maris, I don’t,” he said with impatience. “But I will not force myself on you. You seem too preoccupied to enjoy yourself.”
“I’m just unaccustomed to—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. What words could she find to describe what was—and wasn’t—between them?
“I know. Believe me, I know. It’s nearly as awkward for me, Maris. I’ve never rented myself out before.” He sounded bitter, not at all like the teasing rake he’d been.
“I think we are both overthinking. You accused me, but you are just as bad as I.” She passed him the glass.
“It won’t work. There’s not enough wine left for both of us.”
“Then bring in the bottle. We can . . . talk for a while.” There went her vow of silence.
He put the glass of wine on the bedside table and walked over to the fire, rubbing his shoulder. He truly was a beautiful man despite the scars on his skin, and seemed amazingly at ease in his natural state. She envied him.
“Maris, I’ve had a long day. I’m tired. You forget I rode for hours to get here. Maybe I should go back to London tomorrow.”
“No!” She surprised herself with the vehemence. She didn’t want him to go.
She didn’t know what she wanted, but knew she could not endure this all over again with another strange man.
She was being unfair to him. She couldn’t seem to help it. It was she who had been forward in the garden, she who had invited herself up to his room. She who had kissed him back, no matter what he thought. Maris did not mean to trifle with him. She knew she was not the only one perplexed by their situation.
If she could give herself to that rotter David, surely she could engage with Reynold Durant. He was superior in every way.
And he had made her feel things she’d never felt before.
That