the windows muffling the patter of the rain. There was the old
chaise
, a small inlaid desk piled with papers and ledgers, and a dressing table cluttered with pots and bottles and ribbons. The bed was an old one, dark, heavy carved wood spread with an embroidered coverlet. A dressing gown was tossed across its foot and a pair of slippers had been hastily kicked off on the faded rug beside it. A screen across the corner was also hung with clothes.
This had to be Jane’s own room, Hayden realised with surprise. He recognised the silver hairbrush on the dressing table; he had run it through The silken strands of her hair several times, winding the long, soft length of it around his wrist. The smell of her lilac perfume still hung in the air.
He had forgotten what it was like to live with a lady, to be surrounded by cosy, feminine clutter. Why would she put him in here of all places?
The door opened and Jane herself appearedthere. Emma peeked in behind her, her eyes wide with curiosity until Jane gently but firmly closed the door between them.
‘The doctor said your leg is not broken, but the wound is a rather deep one. You’ll have to stay still for a few days and let it heal,’ she said. Her face was as still and smooth as a marble statue’s, giving away nothing of her real thoughts.
Nothing about how she felt to have him in her home.
‘Is this your own room, Jane?’ he asked. His voice came out too rough, almost angry, and he felt immediately guilty when she flinched. He had never known quite how to behave around her—except in the bedchamber, when they knew how to be together only too well.
‘Yes,’ she said. She plucked up the silky dressing gown from the bed and stashed it behind the screen. ‘I’m afraid we have few guests here at Barton, so only my room and Emma’s are ready to be occupied. I can stay with her tonight and we’ll tidy another chamber in the morning.’
‘I can sleep in your drawing room,’ hesaid, forcing himself to be gentler, quieter. Jane’s face was turned from him so he could see only her profile, that pure, serene, classical line of her nose and mouth he had always loved.
He suddenly longed to push back from the
chaise
, to grab her into his arms and pull her against him. To kiss her soft lips until she melted against him again and that ice that seemed to surround her melted. Until she was
his
Jane again.
But he knew He couldn’t do that. The walls between them had been built too strong, too thick, brick by brick. He had done that himself. He had wanted it that way.
But he still wanted to kiss her.
‘You’re ill,’ she said. ‘I’m not helping you all the way downstairs again just so you can injure yourself once more.’ She took a small bottle out of The pocket of the white apron she wore over her pretty green dress and put it down on the desk. ‘The doctor left that to help you sleep. I’ll bring you some water and something to eat. You must be hungry after your journey.’
‘Jane,’ Hayden called as she turned towards the door.
She glanced back at him over her shoulder, her hand poised on the latch. There was a flash of something, some emotion, deep in her hazel eyes, but it was gone before he could decipher it.
And he had forgotten what he wanted to say to her. No words could bridge this gap. ‘Who is that man Marton?’ he blurted.
Jane’s lips twitched, but she didn’t quite smile. ‘Oh, Hayden. We can talk in the morning. The inn sent on your valise, I’ll bring it up so you don’t have to wear my father’s shirt any longer.’
‘Jane…’ he shouted again, but she was gone as quickly and quietly as she had arrived. And he was alone with his thoughts, which was the very last place he ever wanted to be.
Chapter Five
H ayden was asleep.
Jane tiptoed carefully into the room and set her tray down as gently as possible on the dressing table. She didn’t want to wake him. She had no idea what she would say to him. There were so many things she
chaise
, a small inlaid desk piled with papers and ledgers, and a dressing table cluttered with pots and bottles and ribbons. The bed was an old one, dark, heavy carved wood spread with an embroidered coverlet. A dressing gown was tossed across its foot and a pair of slippers had been hastily kicked off on the faded rug beside it. A screen across the corner was also hung with clothes.
This had to be Jane’s own room, Hayden realised with surprise. He recognised the silver hairbrush on the dressing table; he had run it through The silken strands of her hair several times, winding the long, soft length of it around his wrist. The smell of her lilac perfume still hung in the air.
He had forgotten what it was like to live with a lady, to be surrounded by cosy, feminine clutter. Why would she put him in here of all places?
The door opened and Jane herself appearedthere. Emma peeked in behind her, her eyes wide with curiosity until Jane gently but firmly closed the door between them.
‘The doctor said your leg is not broken, but the wound is a rather deep one. You’ll have to stay still for a few days and let it heal,’ she said. Her face was as still and smooth as a marble statue’s, giving away nothing of her real thoughts.
Nothing about how she felt to have him in her home.
‘Is this your own room, Jane?’ he asked. His voice came out too rough, almost angry, and he felt immediately guilty when she flinched. He had never known quite how to behave around her—except in the bedchamber, when they knew how to be together only too well.
‘Yes,’ she said. She plucked up the silky dressing gown from the bed and stashed it behind the screen. ‘I’m afraid we have few guests here at Barton, so only my room and Emma’s are ready to be occupied. I can stay with her tonight and we’ll tidy another chamber in the morning.’
‘I can sleep in your drawing room,’ hesaid, forcing himself to be gentler, quieter. Jane’s face was turned from him so he could see only her profile, that pure, serene, classical line of her nose and mouth he had always loved.
He suddenly longed to push back from the
chaise
, to grab her into his arms and pull her against him. To kiss her soft lips until she melted against him again and that ice that seemed to surround her melted. Until she was
his
Jane again.
But he knew He couldn’t do that. The walls between them had been built too strong, too thick, brick by brick. He had done that himself. He had wanted it that way.
But he still wanted to kiss her.
‘You’re ill,’ she said. ‘I’m not helping you all the way downstairs again just so you can injure yourself once more.’ She took a small bottle out of The pocket of the white apron she wore over her pretty green dress and put it down on the desk. ‘The doctor left that to help you sleep. I’ll bring you some water and something to eat. You must be hungry after your journey.’
‘Jane,’ Hayden called as she turned towards the door.
She glanced back at him over her shoulder, her hand poised on the latch. There was a flash of something, some emotion, deep in her hazel eyes, but it was gone before he could decipher it.
And he had forgotten what he wanted to say to her. No words could bridge this gap. ‘Who is that man Marton?’ he blurted.
Jane’s lips twitched, but she didn’t quite smile. ‘Oh, Hayden. We can talk in the morning. The inn sent on your valise, I’ll bring it up so you don’t have to wear my father’s shirt any longer.’
‘Jane…’ he shouted again, but she was gone as quickly and quietly as she had arrived. And he was alone with his thoughts, which was the very last place he ever wanted to be.
Chapter Five
H ayden was asleep.
Jane tiptoed carefully into the room and set her tray down as gently as possible on the dressing table. She didn’t want to wake him. She had no idea what she would say to him. There were so many things she
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