The Runaway Countess Page 5

  ‘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. H
e 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.

  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

  Hayden 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 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 windows and 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 looked different, 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 draw away 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 humourless laugh. ‘My wife demands a divorce and she thinks I should just write back a polite little letter? Saying what? “Oh, yes, Jane dear, whatever you want.” It’s not that simple.’

  Jane closed her eyes tightly against the sight of Hayden sitting there in her bedchamber, so close, but so, so far. ‘I know it’s not simple at all. But surely we can’t just go on as we have been for ever. You need a real wife, an heir. And this sham of a marriage—’

  Hayden suddenly slammed his plate down on the floor. ‘Our marriage is not a sham! We stood up in that church and made our vows before all of society. You are the Countess of Ramsay. My wife.’

  Jane couldn’t bear it any longer. He was right; when she walked down that aisle there had been nothing of the sham about it. She had wanted only to be his wife, to live her life with him. But nothing had turned out as she expected, nothing at all. And when the babies, their last hope, were gone…

  ‘I have never really been your wife, have I?’ she said, her voice thick with the tears she had held back for such a long time. ‘We never wanted the same things, I was just too foolish to see that back then. We were so young and I didn’t know what would happen.’

  ‘What is it that you want, Jane? What have I not given you?’ He sounded confused, hurt.

  Yourself, she wanted to shout. But she could never say that. She had built her pride up again, inch by painful inch, here at Barton. She couldn’t let it crumble away again.

  ‘I couldn’t give you an heir,’ she said quietly. ‘I couldn’t be the kind of grand countess you needed. So I gave you the chance to move forwards in your own way.’

  ‘Or perhaps you want the chance to marry that
man Marton.’

  Jane gave a choked laugh. Maybe she had harboured vague hopes of moving forwards with David Marton, or someone like him. Someone kind and peaceful, who wouldn’t break her heart all over again. But that had only been a dream, so far from reality. She had to be done with dreams. They had never brought anything good.

  ‘Sir David has been kind to me, yes,’ she said as she turned away from Hayden and fussed with the clean bandages and the basin. ‘So has his sister.’

  ‘You’ve made many friends here, have you? To replace the ones you left in London?’

  Jane didn’t like his tone, dark and suspicious, almost disgruntled even. He had no right to be suspicious of her, not after all that had happened in London. Not after Lady Marlbury. She twisted the bandage in her fist.

  ‘What friends did I ever have in London?’ she said. ‘Everyone we ever saw was your friend. I had to fit into your life, even if I was a very square peg in a very round hole. So, yes, I have made some friends here. The neighbours and the villagers are kind to Emma and me, they don’t gossip about us. They don’t laugh at us behind our backs. I’m not lonely here.’

  ‘You were lonely in London?’ he said and sounded incredulous. ‘What did you not have there? What did I not give you? I tried to make you happy, Jane. I gave you what any woman could want.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Jane cried. She could feel her emotions, so tightly tied down for so long, springing free and spiralling beyond her control. The pain and anger she’d thought gone were still there. But so was the tenderness. ‘You gave me houses, carriages, gowns and jewels. What else could a woman possibly want?’

  Except love. A family. What she had wanted most when they married. There they had failed each other.

  ‘What did you want from me, Jane?’ he said, a near-shout.

  ‘You left me alone.’ She spun around to face him. Her handsome husband. The man she’d loved so much. He was all she had wanted. And he couldn’t give her that. ‘When the babies were—gone. When I tried to tell you what I needed. I was so alone, Hayden.’