Читать книгу The Runaway Countess - Amanda McCabe, Amanda McCabe - Страница 12

‘Won’t you introduce me to your guests?’

Hayden. Hayden was here, standing in her house. Jane was sure she must have fallen and hit her head, that she was lying on the drawing-room floor having dream visions. One minute she was serving tea, trying to make polite conversation as she worried about Emma wandering around out in the rain. And the next she was facing her husband.

Her husband. It truly was Hayden, after all these years. She stared at him, frozen, stricken. Her dreams of him had been nothing to the real thing. Hayden was even more handsome than she remembered, his elegantly sharp-planed face drawn even leaner, harsher with his black hair slicked back with the rain.

His eyes, that pure, pale blue she had once so loved, stared back at her unwavering. For an instant she went tumbling back to that moment when she first saw him. She was that romantic girl again, hopeful, heartstruck, so sure that she saw her own passionate need reflected in those eyes. So sure he was what she had been longing for all her life. Hayden, Hayden—he was here again!

She almost took a step towards him, almost reached for him, when he suddenly smiled at her. But it was not a smile of joyful welcome. It was sardonic, almost bitter, the smile of a sophisticated stranger. It made Jane remember what had become of her romantic dreams of marriage and the man she had thought was her husband. He had been living his fast life in London while she was healing here in the country. Hayden was truly only a stranger now.

Jane’s half-lifted hand fell back to her side and the haze of dreams cleared around her. For a moment she had seen only Hayden, but suddenly she was aware of everything else. The rain pounding at the windows. Emma beside her, her golden hair dripping on to the floor, watching her with a frown of concern. The Martons just behind, witnessing this whole bizarre tableau of unexpected reunion.

The way that Hayden leaned heavily on the wobbly old pier table. There was a tear in his finely tailored breeches and spots of blood on the pale fabric muted by the rainwater.

Jane’s throat tightened at the realisation that he was hurt. ‘What has happened?’ she asked hoarsely.

It was Emma who answered. ‘I found him on the road,’ she said. ‘His horse had thrown him and his leg was so hurt he couldn’t stand.’

‘Thrown him?’ Jane said. Surely that was impossible. Hayden was one of the finest riders she knew. Despite her fears and doubts, she couldn’t help but be concerned he was truly hurt.

‘A lightning strike startled the horse,’ he said, remarkably calm for a man who was standing drenched and wounded in his estranged wife’s house. ‘I fear I’m interrupting a social occasion.’

‘I—No, not at all,’ Jane managed to choke out. ‘Merely tea with our neighbours. This is Sir David Marton and his sister, Miss Louisa Marton. May I present Lord Ramsay, my—my husband.’

‘Your husband?’ Miss Louisa cried. ‘Why, how very exciting. We were not expecting to meet you here, my lord.’

‘No, I imagine not,’ Hayden murmured. ‘How do you do?’

Miss Louisa giggled while Sir David said nothing. Jane sensed him watching her, but she couldn’t deal with him now. She had to take care of Hayden. She forced herself to move, to go across the hall and reach for Hayden’s arm.

For an instant he was stiff under her tentative touch and she thought he would jerk away from her. But he let her thread her fingers around his elbow and swayed towards her.

Up close, she could see how carefully rigid he held his body, the bruised-looking shadows under his eyes. He felt thinner, harder than he had the last time she had touched him. But his smell was the same, that clean, crisp scent of sun and lemony cologne and man that had once made her long to curl up beside him and inhale him into her very heart. There was the faint undertone of ale, but the brandy was gone.

‘We need to get you upstairs and send for the doctor,’ Jane said quietly. He was obviously in more pain than he would ever reveal.

‘I can go,’ Emma said.

‘No, permit me to go for the doctor, Lady Ramsay,’ Sir David said. ‘Louisa and I have the carriage and Miss Bancroft should be by the fire.’

Jane glanced over at Sir David, surprised by the offer. He didn’t smile, just looked back at her solemnly and gave her a polite nod. The tea had been going rather well, she suddenly remembered, until this most unexpected interruption. Unlike Emma, Jane rather enjoyed hearing about philosophy, books and ideas, and Sir David was an intelligent, pleasant conversationalist. He had seemed to enjoy talking to her as well, and if nothing else his company gave her hope that life would not always be so lonely. That life could be—nice, rather than chaotic or painful.

Then Hayden appeared.

‘Thank you, Sir David,’ she said. ‘That is so kind of you.’ He nodded and took his sister’s arm to lead her away. She waved at them merrily over her shoulder.

Emma tactfully withdrew, leaving Jane alone with Hayden for the first time in three years. Jane took a deep, steadying breath. She had to help him just as she would anyone else who showed up on her doorstep in a storm. He was merely a stranger to her now.

But he didn’t feel like a stranger as she took his arm again. His eyes weren’t those of a stranger as he looked down at her. Once he had known her so well, better than anyone else ever had. He had known her body as well as the secrets of her heart. She had trusted him so much, allowed him to see so much.

She had bitterly regretted that ever since. She could never let herself be so vulnerable again.

She turned away from the blue light of his eyes. ‘Let me help you up the stairs,’ she said softly.

‘Do you have no butler or footmen?’ Hayden asked. ‘Those stairs look rather precarious.’

Jane almost laughed. ‘We have an elderly cook and a shy little maid who is no doubt cowering in the pantry right now. I’m the only help available, I fear.’

Hayden nodded grimly and let her hold on to his arm as she led him slowly up the stairs. She sensed he was trying to lean on her as little as possible, even as his jaw was set with the pain. She never really noticed the staircase any longer, it was always just there. But now she saw it through his eyes, the missing carved posts, the chips in the once-gilded balustrade, the loose boards in the risers.

‘I usually use the back stairs,’ she said. ‘But they are rather a long walk from here.’

Hayden nodded again and together they concentrated on getting to the landing. At the top, they faced the long corridor lined with closed doors and Jane realised there was no choice. She had to take him to her room. Besides Emma’s, none of the other chambers were habitable.

She pushed open the door and led him over to the old chaise next to the window. He lowered himself down to its faded cushions, still looking up at her with those eyes that seemed to see so much. Seemed to remember her, know her.

Jane remembered that when he was drinking, when he was caught up in his London life, he didn’t seem to see her at all. Why was he here, now, finally looking at her when she had at last gained a small measure of contentment?

‘What do you want, Jane? What in God’s name will make you happy? You have everything here.’

Those long-ago words of Hayden’s suddenly rang in her memory. The frustration in them, the anger. And she remembered her own tears.

‘All I want is for you to spend time with me,’ she answered, so confused that he couldn’t understand without her saying anything. That he didn’t know.

‘I was with you all last night, Jane.’

‘At a ball.’ A ball where they had danced once and then he had disappeared into the card room. He had not even made love to her when they got home near dawn. And the times when they had made love, when it was only the two of them alone in the darkness, were the only times she felt sure he was really with her.

‘Let’s go back to Ramsay House, like on our honeymoon,’ she had begged, trying not to cry again. She was so tired of crying. ‘We had such fun there.’

‘We have duties here, Jane. Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Duties!’ And that was when anger overtook the hurt confusion inside of her. ‘Duties to do what? Go to the races with your friends? Play cards? You are surely needed at your estate.’ Needed by her. But she dared not say that again.

‘You don’t understand,’ he had answered coldly. ‘You are new to being a countess. But you will learn.’

Only she never had learned how to be the sort of countess he wanted. A woman at ease in the racy environs of society. A woman who could give him an heir. A woman his friends would admire. She gave up even trying, especially after she lost the babies.

‘You should change out of your wet clothes,’ she said. ‘I’ll see if I can find something in my father’s old wardrobe.’

She turned away, but Hayden suddenly reached out and caught her hand in his. His fingers were cool and strong as they twined with hers, holding her with him. It felt strange, new and wonderfully familiar all at the same time. She stared down at him, startled.

A smile touched his sensual lips, an echo of that bright, rakish grin that once drew her in so completely.

‘Will you not help me out of my wet clothes, Jane?’ he said. ‘You used to be so good at that…’

Jane snatched her hand away. ‘I’m glad the fall didn’t damage everything, Hayden. You can take them off all by yourself, I’m sure.’

More flustered than she would ever admit, Jane whirled around and hurried towards the door.

‘Jane,’ he called.

She stopped with her hand on the latch. ‘Yes? What now?’

‘Who was your visitor?’

His tone had flashed from teasing and suggestive to hard, demanding. As if he had any right to demand anything of her any longer!

She glanced back at him over her shoulder. The stark grey light from the window surrounded him, blinding her. ‘I told you, the Martons are our neighbours. We were having tea.’

‘Is that all?’ he said. He sounded ridiculously suspicious.

‘Of course,’ Jane snapped, suddenly angry. He knew nothing of her life at Barton Park, just as she knew nothing now of his London life. She didn’t want to know; she could imagine it all too well. And she was sure he did nothing so innocent as take tea and talk about books with his neighbours.

‘What are you even doing here, Hayden?’ she said. ‘Why now?’

Hayden shook his head and, as Jane blinked away that unwelcome prickle of tears, she saw how weary he looked. He slumped back on to the chaise and she knew this was not the moment for any long-delayed quarrels and confrontations. Those could wait.

‘I will fetch some dry clothes and some water for you to wash,’ she said and slipped out the door.

Once alone in the dark corridor, she leaned against the wall and impatiently rubbed at her aching eyes. She had already cried enough tears over Hayden; she wouldn’t shed any more. She would find out what he wanted then send him on his way so she could resume her life without him.

That was her only choice now.

The door closed behind the doctor and Hayden let his head fall back on to the worn cushions of the chaise and closed his eyes. His whole body felt as if he had gone three rounds at Gentleman Jackson’s Saloon and then got foxed and fallen off his horse on top of that. He felt battered, bruised and exhausted, and his leg burned fiercely, especially after all the doctor’s poking and prodding.

But the pain of his leg was nothing to the pain of seeing Jane again. He wasn’t expecting the bolt of pure, hot longing that would hit him just from seeing her face. Touching her, feeling her nearness. He had thought he had forgotten about her in the busy noise of his life, that their separation was nothing. That he didn’t miss her. That she was just a distant acquaintance.

But then she stepped out of the doorway and the sight of her face hit him like another lightning strike, sudden and paralysing. Almost like the first time he saw her and couldn’t turn away from the light of her shy smile. Couldn’t turn away from the hope she kindled inside him.

In that moment before she saw him, she had looked concerned about her sister, her hazel-green eyes soft with worry. Until she glimpsed him and they froze over like a spring tree branch in a sudden frost. Her slender shoulders had stiffened and he had the feeling that she would have fled if all her weighty good manners and pride hadn’t held her there.

Jane always had exquisite manners, was always concerned about the people around her. Including those blasted visitors today? What was their name—Marton? Yes, that Marton was too good looking, too polished and perfect and serious. Damn him. Somehow Hayden had imagined Jane saw no one at all here in the country.

He shifted on the chaise and his leg sent out a stab of fresh pain in protest. There was the soft sound of voices outside the door, one of them the doctor’s, stern and gravelly.

The other was Jane’s, a gentle murmur, and its very softness hurt him even more. It made him think of the first time he came home drunk, after they returned to town from their long honeymoon at Ramsay House and he left Jane one night to go to the club with his friends. Those days alone with Jane had been so golden, so perfect and peaceful, unlike any he had ever known before in his life.

Then his friends had laughed about his new ‘settled and domestic’ ways, about how he would soon become one of those men who followed their wives about London like puppy dogs.

Hayden couldn’t be that way, couldn’t depend on anyone. Need anyone. He had seen how that had killed his parents. After his flighty, beautiful mother died in childbirth, his father couldn’t bear it and followed her soon after. He had always vowed never to be like them. Yet he could see then how much he was coming to rely on Jane. That very night, his first night back at the club as a married man, he only wanted to leave his friends and go home to her. He couldn’t have that. So he drank more than his fill of brandy to prove it.

Just as his father had always done.

And Jane had spoken to him softly that night as well. Had watched him with those concerned eyes as Makepeace helped him up the stairs.

‘Not to worry, my lady,’ Makepeace told her. ‘This is merely what young men do in society.’

‘But surely Ramsay does not…’ she had said. Then she learned that Ramsay did and he saw that bright hope die in her eyes. He had killed it.

Hayden opened his eyes and found himself not a callow newlywed at his town house, but alone in a strange room with Jane’s familiar voice outside. He studied the chamber for the first time since she brought him in there.

It wasn’t a large room, but it was cosy and warm with thick blue curtains at 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 appeared there. 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,’ he said, 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.