He planned to marry to fulfill his duty to his new title but more to appease his persistent grandmother, since the family seat was entailed and would go to Rayne’s uncle if he failed to produce an heir.
He wasn’t eager to forfeit his bachelorhood or his freedom, but he bore his aging grandmother great affection. Mary Kenyon, the dowager Countess of Haviland, had practically raised him after his mother died in childbirth and so thought of him as her own child. She’d claimed to be on her deathbed and wrung a promise out of him to marry and give the title an heir before she expired of a heart condition, which she’d severely exaggerated.
Rayne was well aware he was being manipulated, but this was the only significant thing his grandmother had ever asked of him. And at three and thirty, it was time he settled down.
And so he had agreed to diligently search for a bride. In fact, he had already interviewed numerous possible candidates, although thus far he’d found none who appealed to him.
He was more than willing to make a marriage of convenience. Indeed, he wanted nothing more intimate, since his one hapless experience with love had cured him of the sentiment entirely.
Abruptly cutting off that line of thought, Rayne glanced over at his companion, aware that the silence between them had drawn out.
Yet it was not uncomfortable in the least. In fact, Rayne greatly appreciated a female who knew how to hold her tongue instead of chattering on and on to fill a gap in the conversation. For all Madeline Ellis’s claim to be outspoken, she seemed keen-witted and eminently sensible. Come to think of it, she reminded him of a favorite governess he’d once had who was also inclined to speak her mind and who wasn’t afraid to discipline him when he sorely needed it.
Except that never once had he ever entertained thoughts of bedding his former governess the way he did Madeline Ellis.
Remembering her suppleness and womanly warmth, Rayne shifted his position to relieve the pressure at his groin. She might not be a beauty, but her lush figure and kissable mouth had unquestionably stirred his blood.
Her appeal was out of character for him, he acknowledged. Like most men, he was drawn to beautiful women. In the past year since returning from the Continent, he’d indulged his physical needs with temporary liaisons among the demimonde, never frequenting any one Cyprian for more than a few months at a time. He wouldn’t risk becoming more intimate, for intimacy invited betrayal.
Perhaps he could be forgiven for mistakenly thinking Miss Ellis a lightskirt when she’d sought refuge in his hired parlor this evening, given that she’d been barely dressed. He knew better now, but deplorably, the urge to have her still teased at his loins.
He wanted her. A dangerous sentiment, considering that she was forbidden to him. He had no business lusting after the spinster daughter of the friend who’d once saved his life when he should be helping and protecting her
.
He would not touch her again, Rayne promised himself, forcibly tamping down his carnal desires.
Even so, the temptation would be there. Which was another excellent reason to billet her at Danvers Hall rather than allow her to spend the night in his own home.
He could perhaps have taken her to stay at his grandmother’s London residence, but he knew Lady Haviland would not readily welcome a servant into her home as a guest—even an upper-class servant—or relish being reminded of his former indecorous career. Nor, likely, would his elder sister. And his younger sister was in Kent at present, which was too great a distance from Chiswick.
He hadn’t realized the passage of time until the carriage slowed to make a turn. Glancing out the window, Rayne recognized the large stone pillars that guarded the entrance to the Danvers estate.
“We are nearly there,” he observed.
Miss Ellis gave a start and sat up, looking embarrassed that the rocking motion of the carriage had lulled her into relaxing her straight posture. Reaching for her bonnet, she donned it and began tying the ribbons.
“I believe you called your home in Chiswick ‘Riverwood’?” she remarked, peering out the window into the dark night.
“Yes. The property abuts the River Thames, as does Danvers Hall. I only came to the neighborhood this past year, since I wanted a place of my own. My grandmother resides at Haviland Park in Kent much of the year, and my sisters live nearby. That is too much family for my tastes.”
“You have sisters?”
“Two in fact, one older and one younger. They each have two sons of their own, ranging from ages four to twelve. I enjoy my nephews, but they are still rather young and their mothers fear my influence.”
Miss Ellis raised an eyebrow, and he could hear the humor in her tone when she responded. “Are you so very dangerous then? Or are your sisters merely inclined to coddle their sons?”
“The latter.”
“My brother worshiped my father,” she admitted. “If your nephews are anything like Gerard, they adore you as well.”
Rayne couldn’t deny that the boys seemed extremely fond of him, and he returned their affection. His nephews were one of the brightest spots in his regrettably dull life these days.
When the carriage finally drew to a halt before the Danvers Hall manor, Rayne handed Miss Ellis down and escorted her up the front entrance steps. She wore her bonnet but carried her damp cloak, and the black bombazine gown did not appear to provide much protection against the chill night air. Rayne had to stifle the urge to wrap her in his greatcoat again. She would have warmth and shelter soon enough.
Once he’d applied the knocker, however, it was some time before an aging butler dressed in a nightcap and dressing robe opened the door and held his candle high to inspect the newcomers. Obviously, the household had already retired for the night.
“My Lord Haviland,” the butler greeted Rayne calmly before admitting them to the vast entrance hall.