wanted to know. Why was he here? What did he want? Was he going to agree to a divorce?
And yet there was a part of her, a deep, fearful, secret part, that didn’t want to know at all.
She eased back the edge of the window curtain to let in some morning light. Not that there was much of it. It still rained outside, a steady grey
drip-drip
against the windowsand the roof that she prayed wouldn’t spring a leak. Not now, with Hayden here. It was bad enough he had seen Barton Park in all its shabbiness.
She turned to study him as he slept on the
chaise
. He hadn’t moved to the bed, but was stretched out under an old quilt on the
chaise
where she had left him. The bottle of laudanum was untouched, yet he seemed to sleep peacefully enough.
She tiptoed closer and studied him in the watery grey light. It had been so long since she saw him like this, so quiet and unaware, so lost in dreams. She remembered when they were first married, those bright honeymoon days at Ramsay House, when she would lie there beside him every morning and watch him as he slept. She would marvel that he was
hers
, that they were together.
And then he would wake and smile at her. He would reach for her, both of them laughing as they rolled through the rumpled sheets. It seemed like everything was just beginning for them then. What would she have done if she knew that was all there would be?
Yesterday she had thought Hayden lookeddifferent, like a hard, lean stranger dropped into her house. Yet right now he looked like
that
Hayden again, like the husband she had loved waking up with every morning. In sleep, the harsh lines of his face were smoothed and a small smile touched the corners of his lips as if he was having a good dream.
There were no arguments, no tears, no misunderstandings. Just Hayden.
Jane couldn’t help herself. She knelt down by the
chaise
and reached out to carefully smooth a rumpled wave of black hair back from his brow. His skin was warm under her touch, but not feverish. She cupped her palm over his cheek and a wave of terrible tenderness washed over her. She hadn’t realised until that moment just how much she had really missed Hayden.
Not the Hayden of London, the Hayden who had no time for his wife, but the man she had wanted so much to marry. How had that all fallen so very apart?
Suddenly his eyes opened, those glowing summer-blue eyes, and he stared up at her. His smile widened and she couldn’t drawaway from him—it was so very beautiful. His hand reached up to cover hers and hold her against him.
‘Jane,’ he said, his voice rough with sleep. ‘I had the strangest dream…’
Then his gaze flickered past her to the room beyond and that smile vanished. That one magical instant, where the past was the present, was gone like a wisp of fog.
Jane pulled her hand away and pushed herself to her feet. She brushed her fingers over her apron, but she could still feel him on her skin. He rolled on to his back and groaned.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ she said. She turned away and poured out a cup of tea on the tray.
‘Like I was dragged backward by the heels through miles of hedgerow,’ Hayden answered. He scowled at the cup she held out. ‘Do you have anything stronger, perchance?’
She was definitely not giving him brandy. Not now, while she had the control. ‘No, just tea. You didn’t take the laudanum the doctor left?’
He shook his head and sipped cautiously at the tea when she held it out to him again.‘I had the feeling I would need a clear head today.’
‘You should eat something, too, then I can change your bandage.’ Jane gave him the plate of toast and sat down on the dressing-table bench. ‘What are you doing here, Hayden?’
He chewed thoughtfully at a bite of the buttered bread before he set the plate aside. ‘Because You wrote to me, of course.’
‘But I never intended for you to come here!’ Jane cried. ‘You could have just written back to me.’
Hayden gave a
And yet there was a part of her, a deep, fearful, secret part, that didn’t want to know at all.
She eased back the edge of the window curtain to let in some morning light. Not that there was much of it. It still rained outside, a steady grey
drip-drip
against the windowsand the roof that she prayed wouldn’t spring a leak. Not now, with Hayden here. It was bad enough he had seen Barton Park in all its shabbiness.
She turned to study him as he slept on the
chaise
. He hadn’t moved to the bed, but was stretched out under an old quilt on the
chaise
where she had left him. The bottle of laudanum was untouched, yet he seemed to sleep peacefully enough.
She tiptoed closer and studied him in the watery grey light. It had been so long since she saw him like this, so quiet and unaware, so lost in dreams. She remembered when they were first married, those bright honeymoon days at Ramsay House, when she would lie there beside him every morning and watch him as he slept. She would marvel that he was
hers
, that they were together.
And then he would wake and smile at her. He would reach for her, both of them laughing as they rolled through the rumpled sheets. It seemed like everything was just beginning for them then. What would she have done if she knew that was all there would be?
Yesterday she had thought Hayden lookeddifferent, like a hard, lean stranger dropped into her house. Yet right now he looked like
that
Hayden again, like the husband she had loved waking up with every morning. In sleep, the harsh lines of his face were smoothed and a small smile touched the corners of his lips as if he was having a good dream.
There were no arguments, no tears, no misunderstandings. Just Hayden.
Jane couldn’t help herself. She knelt down by the
chaise
and reached out to carefully smooth a rumpled wave of black hair back from his brow. His skin was warm under her touch, but not feverish. She cupped her palm over his cheek and a wave of terrible tenderness washed over her. She hadn’t realised until that moment just how much she had really missed Hayden.
Not the Hayden of London, the Hayden who had no time for his wife, but the man she had wanted so much to marry. How had that all fallen so very apart?
Suddenly his eyes opened, those glowing summer-blue eyes, and he stared up at her. His smile widened and she couldn’t drawaway from him—it was so very beautiful. His hand reached up to cover hers and hold her against him.
‘Jane,’ he said, his voice rough with sleep. ‘I had the strangest dream…’
Then his gaze flickered past her to the room beyond and that smile vanished. That one magical instant, where the past was the present, was gone like a wisp of fog.
Jane pulled her hand away and pushed herself to her feet. She brushed her fingers over her apron, but she could still feel him on her skin. He rolled on to his back and groaned.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ she said. She turned away and poured out a cup of tea on the tray.
‘Like I was dragged backward by the heels through miles of hedgerow,’ Hayden answered. He scowled at the cup she held out. ‘Do you have anything stronger, perchance?’
She was definitely not giving him brandy. Not now, while she had the control. ‘No, just tea. You didn’t take the laudanum the doctor left?’
He shook his head and sipped cautiously at the tea when she held it out to him again.‘I had the feeling I would need a clear head today.’
‘You should eat something, too, then I can change your bandage.’ Jane gave him the plate of toast and sat down on the dressing-table bench. ‘What are you doing here, Hayden?’
He chewed thoughtfully at a bite of the buttered bread before he set the plate aside. ‘Because You wrote to me, of course.’
‘But I never intended for you to come here!’ Jane cried. ‘You could have just written back to me.’
Hayden gave a
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