countess finished the day’s work, he’d give himself and his horse some exercise and ride out to explore the Surrey countryside. A few minutes of fucking was not enough to quell the need his body had for release.
Reyn frowned. There had to be a better word for what was happening with Maris Kelby. Something not so crude. It had been anything but.
Would she want him to do it again this afternoon? Truly, he’d have no objection.
He sensed she was unused to such activity. He’d probably made her sore already. She was tall and well made, but there was a delicacy about her which made him feel protective. He wished he could have a frank conversation with her, but didn’t want to pry. He’d have to settle for what her body told him.
She came to orgasm easily, a rarity for a woman, as he knew from experience. He’d often had to labor much harder—labor that was entirely pleasant, naturally—to achieve such responsiveness.
Maris Kelby held nothing back when she was in his arms. It was out of them when she armored herself in a protective shell of hesitance and propriety.
That was probably for the best. In a month he would be gone, and she could go on with her privileged life. He pictured her lounging in her boudoir, long fingers busy with needle and thread, making neat stitches on a baby’s cap. Did countesses even sew?
She would be a careful mother, of that he was sure. Nothing like his own. Corinne Durant was too busy with cards and cotillions to pay much attention to her two children. When the debts rose and invitations stopped pouring in, his parents had slipped from one strata of society to the next below, until there was very little space between hell and their unpaid-for shoes.
Ah. That reminded him. He went to his dressing room, all traces of his earlier ablutions removed by efficient servants. His saddlebag hung on a hook on the papered wall and he reached inside. He needed to return Maris’s embroidered bedroom slippers. They were much more interesting than most of the objects he’d seen that morning, save for the emerald. A little worn, they were exquisitely sewn with tiny forget-me-nots and curly ribbon. Had Maris made them herself?
She had biggish feet—not that he’d ever say so—but he managed to fold the thin-soled slippers into his pocket. He would go upstairs even though it wasn’t time yet, for he was desperate for something to occupy him. He could move a few more boxes into the workroom.
There would be more waiting around in the attics, too, as Maris hunched over the table examining all the ugly objets d’art with her spectacles sliding down her nose. Reyn was not much good at waiting but he’d make the effort. For her.
What in hell was happening to him? It really wouldn’t be wise to fall in lust with the Countess of Kelby.
Reyn rang for his dishes to be removed. One of the Johns—not Aloysius—appeared almost instantly. Reyn waited until the hallway was empty, then went upstairs. He took off his jacket and cravat and rolled up his sleeves. He had a feeling Maris had not seen too many male forearms. Even the gardeners he’d seen earlier were covered in long-sleeved smocks against the cold. A gentleman did not remove his coat to work in front of a lady. Actually a gentleman did not, as a rule, do manual labor, unless he made an appearance at the haying to impress his tenants. Even Reyn’s own father had dirtied his hands on occasion when he had tenants to impress as he won—then lost—one ramshackle country property after the other.
He was thinking nonsense. Of course Maris had seen her husband at work. Presumably the Earl of Kelby had not worn evening clothes as he tramped the Tuscan hillsides with a spade. From what Reyn pieced together, in his prime, the man had been a force to be reckoned with.
Reyn felt a stab of jealousy, not for the man’s position and possessions, but for the loyalty of his countess . . . whom he vowed to leave alone this afternoon no matter how much he didn’t want to.
He trotted back and forth until he’d brought in almost everything that was light enough for him to handle. At the snail-like pace Maris was going, they would be at it for weeks. He picked up the ledger and marveled at her handwriting. He couldn’t read half of it but it was very pretty.