Captain Durant's Countess - By Maggie Robinson Page 0,96
no. But he just nodded and watched her disappear around the corner to his office door. The hinges squeaked and she was inside, standing before him like a lost angel, her brown hair plated in a braid that fell over one shoulder. Her borrowed white nightgown showed a great deal of ankle, and more besides. She’d gotten wet on her way to the stables and the garment clung to her in all the right places. He could see the swell of her belly beneath her nervous clasped hands. Her nipples, too. He swallowed hard.
“What do you want?” Reyn knew he sounded surly, but couldn’t help himself. He wanted her gone.
“I-I came to talk to you.”
“We’ve talked enough, don’t you think? Your hope for my transformation is touching, but rather hopeless, Countess. I am what I am. I don’t need a nanny to feel sorry for me.”
“No, you don’t.” She didn’t move from the doorway.
“You’ll wake the horses. Or Jack. Go back to bed.”
“No.”
“Good God, woman! Can’t you tell you’re not wanted? Leave me in peace.” Her husband had once cautioned him to be careful with her, but sometimes it was kind to be cruel.
“No.”
“You sound like a singularly repetitive parrot.”
To his alarm, her mouth wobbled, but then she laughed. “Yes, I suppose I do. Let me say something else then. I want you to make love to me tonight.”
His rage boiled over. “A pity fuck? No thank you, Maris. I’ve got hands and my imagination.” Neither of which had come close to assuaging his desire for her all these months.
“Perhaps I want you to take pity on me, Reyn. I am rather ungainly at present. Unattractive.”
He snorted. “Don’t beg for compliments, my lady. You are magnificent and you know it.”
“I am?”
He sprang from his pallet and sat down at his desk showing her his back so he couldn’t see her and her magnificence. “Damn it, Maris, let’s not play games. You know I want you, and I can’t have you. We have nothing in common. I was wrong to ask you to marry me and have the child lose all its advantages. But then I’m often wrong. Anyone could tell you that.”
He shuddered as she came up behind him and placed a long white hand on his bad shoulder.
“This is no game, Reyn. I want you to hold me. I want to hold you. If you just give me tonight, I’ll understand.”
“No.”
“Now who’s the parrot? Why?”
“Because . . . because, damn you! It’s not right.”
“It was never right, Reyn. From the beginning, we both knew that, but we did it anyway. And it was . . . glorious.”
Oh, God. It was torture. He’d finally recovered his scruples, and she came to tempt him. Of course he wanted her. If he looked into her trusting brown eyes, he would not be able to say no again. He racked his brain for a sufficient excuse. “I might hurt you. Hurt the child.”
“I-I don’t think that can be true.” There was a bit of doubt in her voice.
Perhaps it was enough to send her on her way. “If you are desirous of release, Maris, I suggest you use your hand as I taught you.” Just that morning, he’d thought of her hand between them, his partner in her own bliss. He felt her breath on his neck.
“Perhaps I didn’t need you to teach me that particular trick.”
Another taunting image for him to dwell on. “You see? You’re perfectly capable of taking care of your own needs.”
She squeezed his shoulder and he thought he’d shoot straight out of the chair. “You ridiculous man. It’s not the same at all. If we are no longer to be friends, I’ll face the rest of my life alone. You can give me one last night, surely.”
Reyn couldn’t help himself. He swung around to face her. “Friends, Lady Kelby? You refused my friendship as I recall.”
“Only in the very beginning, Reyn. We became more than friends. We became lovers. From just two days this miracle occurred. Think on it. Anything is possible.”
She is at it again. Reyn frowned. “If you think you can turn me into some kind of scholar—”
“Hush,” she said, bending over him. “I don’t want a scholar. I want a lover.”
Reyn couldn’t move away as her lips came down on his. Warm. Demanding. Commanding. His countess was not taking no for an answer, and truthfully Reyn could not have spoken even if his lips and tongue were available.