Amanda McCabe – The Runaway Countess (страница 9)

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.