Waking Up With the Duke by Lorraine Heath Page A

over them.
    Why had she agreed to this? It wasn’t too late to call for the carriage and begin the journey home, before any damage had been done. But Ainsley would correctly judge her a coward, and Walfort, drat him, would be disappointed.
    During dinner last night he’d asked her to come to his bed.
    “I do wish you’d reconsider your determination to take no pleasure in what is to come,” he’d said as she lay in his arms.
    “How can you ask that of me?”
    “Because I love you, and I want you to be happy.”
    “What if I don’t get with child?”
    “Then we shall arrange another time for you to . . . be with him.”
    If she didn’t get with child, then she would find her own lover. Of course, there was the matter of the Seymour blood to consider. Which made Ainsley nearly perfect.
    “Will you kiss me?” she asked.
    “Pardon?”
    She sat up. “Will you kiss me?” She lowered her lips to his. “Please?”
    He threaded one hand through her hair, holding her head in place as his mouth nibbled at hers, before settling in with more purpose. Still, her heart very nearly shattered. Where was the passion they’d once shared? Where was the heat? It was as though they were merely going through the motions.
    When he finally guided her head back to the nook of his shoulder, she felt even more lonely, more devastated. They lay in silence with a chasm widening between them that she didn’t understand.
    “M’lady, are you ready to leave the bath?”
    Lily’s voice brought Jayne from her reverie. “Yes.”
    She stood, stepped out, and wrapped the large towel around herself.
    “I’ve prepared the violet gown for this evening,” Lily said.
    Jayne had brought few clothes, assuming she’d spend most of the time in bed. She’d planned to wear the black again tonight, but supposed she should at least play the part of harlot.
    Although Ainsley certainly wasn’t treating her as such. He’d been the perfect gentleman upon her arrival. No leering. No sense of victory or conquest. Based on his libertine ways and rumors of his prowess, she’d expected him to take her straightaway to bed. She certainly hadn’t expected him to delay the inevitable. She was both grateful and resentful of the reprieve.
    By the time Lily had arranged her hair and helped her with the gown, Jayne could barely breathe. She doubted it had anything to do with her corset. She was simply nervous, which irritated her. Many a lady knew no more of her husband on her wedding night than she knew of Ainsley. She would simply pretend they were married and . . .
    As though that would ever happen. Never in a million years would she truly entertain the notion of marrying Ainsley. With the man’s rumored insatiable appetite, faithfulness would be foreign to him. She wondered how many ladies had frequented his bed between the time he left Walfort’s estate and now. Dear God, she did hope he wasn’t diseased. Surely he’d have not agreed to this if he were.
    With a last glance at her reflection in the mirror, she took a deep breath, walked across the room, opened the door, and released a shriek.
    Looking monstrously handsome, Ainsley leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his black jacket and hunter green waistcoat.
    “I thought I was to meet you in the library,” she said, fighting desperately to regain her breath.
    “You were.” He shoved himself away from the wall like some large predatory cat she’d observed in the zoological gardens. “But it occurred to me that since I was an inconsiderate host and didn’t take you on a tour of the house, you might not know where to find the library.”
    “Oh, yes. Quite right.”
    “You look lovely by the way.”
    “Thank you. Lily selected the gown.”
    “Did she put the rose in your cheeks as well?”
    Touching them, she felt the warmth there. “Yes, no, I . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking to come here.”
    “That you’d like to have a child.”
    “It