Captain Durant's Countess - By Maggie Robinson Page 0,60

ultimate mortification for her. There had been no blood, and not even any pain. All her years of riding and climbing up and down the Tolfa Mountains must have taken care of that little detail.

He’d known she was vulnerable, though. An easy mark for his flattery and courtly concern. All false, as it turned out, but Maris had been such a needy, willing victim. Henry had left her home while he attended a symposium at the University of Edinburgh, and she’d been resentful. All her work for him, years and years of it, and she was “a mere woman,” as Reyn had said, unwelcome in his scholarly circle. David had pounced, and she’d not jumped away.

Henry had been away for over a month. Within the first week, Maris knew she’d made an unforgivable mistake, but it had taken her another to extricate herself from David Kelby’s arms. She’d been damned lucky to escape a pregnancy.

Maris could not imagine a worse fate than to bear David Kelby’s child. Jane was proof of that.

“I wouldn’t count my chickens, David. Stranger things have happened.” She flinched under his black stare.

“You’re up to something, aren’t you? Perhaps with that Durant fellow? I wager you think you can pass a bastard brat on to my uncle. I’ll tell him that, too.”

Maris felt her bravado evaporate. He was much too close to the truth, although at least he didn’t believe Henry to be complicit in their scheme. “You are ridiculous! I would never break my vows to Henry!”

“You did with me, Maris. Why wouldn’t you again?”

“I just wouldn’t.” Her words sounded empty even to her. “Captain Durant is only an employee. I don’t even know him. I’m not likely to invite him to my bed.” She tried to laugh and was not especially successful.

“See that you don’t. For I’ll find out, Maris. I’m paying good money to someone right in the bosom of your household,” he said, smug.

“If I find out who—”

“You won’t.”

Dear God. This is unconscionable. Maris had planned to be careful with Reyn, but now she had even more reason to worry.

If David suspected, what would he do when he knew? He thought he could carry tales to Henry. Wouldn’t he be surprised to learn her husband was the architect of this plan? But David could cause trouble for the child, whisper his doubts to the ton, and ruin the Kelby name. True, any child born to Maris would be acknowledged as Henry’s legal issue. There were plenty of children who were accepted yet did not have an ounce of their “father’s” blood. Some escaped society’s gossip, but others were under a cloud for life. The ton had a long memory.

“You are desperate. Grasping at straws. You had your chance to cement your standing in this family when you ruined Jane. Why didn’t you marry her? I grant you, Henry wouldn’t have liked it much, but he would have supported the match.”

David’s fair skin flushed. “As I said earlier, I never promised Jane marriage. If she told you I did, she was lying.”

“You didn’t care about her at all, did you.”

“Jealous, Maris?”

“Of course not! I cannot think of anything worse than to be your wife or the mother of your child.”

“You’re probably too shriveled up at this point to be anyone’s mother,” he sneered.

Maris eyed the heavy Chinese vase on the mantel, deciding it was too valuable to waste throwing it at David’s head. He really was the perfect villain though, almost too cliché. If he always knew the charming words to say to worm himself into favor, he was even better at a cutting, killing remark. “You dislike me. I dislike you. And we know my husband despises you. When I think about it, I doubt he’d believe anything you had to say. I’ll make alternate arrangements for your quarterly allowance so you will not have to come to Kelby Hall any longer to collect it.” She should have done so five years ago.

“Not so fast, my dear. What about your pin money? It does come in handy. One must keep up appearances as heir to an earl.”

Maris went to her escritoire and opened a drawer. “Blackmail is such an uninspired crime. It’s so . . . banal, don’t you think? This will be the last of it, David,” she said, tossing him a velvet bag of coins. “Tell Henry whatever you want. I don’t care.”

The look on his face was almost worth her imprudence. She’d wait to be frightened later. At that