Her body.
Her kiss.
The freedom to touch her whenever he wished. Her in his bed when the sun rose high and warm in the sky. Her bearing his children. He wanted his wife back. He wanted his home. He wanted everything they had been denied.
“Another chance,” he said baldly. “That is what I want. I want to prove to you I am worthy of being your husband. I want to prove to you that I am not the man I was three years ago. That I have changed.”
She stared at him, her gaze assessing. Piercing. “You may see to my blisters. That is all.”
He could not contain his smile. “I want to see to your sunburn as well. A bit of aloe before you go to sleep for the night, and I promise you will feel much more the thing in the morning.”
Her jaw tightened, but she nodded and took a step back so he could cross the line of demarcation separating them. “That is all, and then you must return to your own chamber.”
“Of course, Nellie,” he agreed easily, tamping down his smile as he made his way into her chamber.
After all, it would not do for her to see how pleased he was.
Siege, he reminded himself. This was a slow and subtle campaign. He would endure. And win the bloody war.
Chapter Eight
NELL GRASPED Ahandful of cracked corn from the basket hanging in the crook of her elbow and then threw it to the grass before her. A male and female duck waddled toward her offering. She inhaled a deep breath of sweet, summer’s air, trying to calm her frayed nerves.
This was her morning ritual whilst in residence at Needham Hall, feeding the ducks and swans on the vast manmade lake. But in the madness which had descended in the wake of Needham’s unexpected return, she had neglected her duties for several days in a row. The male duck quacked as his beak worked frantically over the cracked corn, almost as if he were chastising her for her absence.
She hardly blamed him. She had been wrong to lose herself so easily.
Wrong and foolish, too.
Last night had been no different, she thought with a frown as she grabbed another handful of corn and tossed it toward the swans alighting from their swim. She was woefully unprepared to manage a husband who had abruptly returned from the Continent. Hating him had been easy when he had been absent. Her anger had been nourished by time and distance. Resentment had spread, like the unchecked flames of a fire.
She had allowed Needham into her chamber last night. He had been tender and concerned. He had tended to her blistered feet, and then to her sunburn. And he had gone, leaving her feeling oddly bereft as she watched his retreating form returning to his apartments.
She shook her head at herself and continued her walk on the gravel path, which circled the lake. Flowers were in rich bloom, great clusters of them. Sweetbriar, syringas, roses. The day promised more sun. More warmth. And yet, she felt as if a rain cloud were following her about. She felt grim and tangled and woefully confused.
Tom wanted to marry her. He had asked her to run away with him. He worshiped her. And yet, she was not prepared to simply throw herself into his arms. If she had truly wanted to, she had no doubt she could have followed him the day before when he had left Needham Hall. She could have accompanied him, forced the divorce.
She could have bedded Tom, or a dozen other men had she wished.
She had not.
Because she did not want to. Because the awful, horrible, wretched truth was that there was no man she wanted in the way she wanted Jack. Nor, she feared, would there ever be.
“Youdostill feed them. You lied.”
The statements, issued in that deep, delicious baritone she knew so well, nevertheless took her by surprise. With a start, she spun about to find Jack approaching her with easy, masculine strides. He moved with such lethal grace. Just watching him was devastating.
“How did you know where to find me?” she asked instead of greeting him.
He was unfairly handsome, a smile curving his lips, a dashing hat shading his face, and dressed informally, wearing only his shirtsleeves and a waistcoat with buff trousers. “I looked out the window.”
His response was strangely deflating. He had not been looking for her or inquiring after her, then. She was not sure why that ought to bother her, but somehow, it did.
“I see,” she said simply, striving to keep her disappointment from her voice.
His grin deepened. “Did you imagine I was spying on you? Or that I had tasked the staff with keeping me informed of where you are at all times?”
Yes.
