“Why are you returned, Forster?” She directed her query to the afternoon sunlight slanting through the window.
How to answer her question? On every piece of land he’d visited, no matter how breathtakingly beautiful, he’d missed the rolling hills and familiar hearths of his childhood home. But the truth, the more immediate cause, pressed at his tongue.
It was difficult, the real cause for his return, and Cat might not like it, but he would honor her with it. There would be no more games between his wife and him, no more half-truths or misunderstandings. “Sutton passed.”
“Yes.” She swung her cautious gaze back to him.
“I no longer have an heir.”
“I am sure there is someone.”
“Not in direct line.” Only some fourth or fifth cousin he’d never heard of. It had been a damnable curse, the lack of males in his family.
“I see.” She held herself very, very still. Perhaps she did see. Perhaps he should simply leave well enough alone.
But he wanted to be crystal clear. “I need an heir, Catherine.”
I NEED AN HEIR, CATHERINE.
Thirty minutes later, Cat still could not catch her breath. Jamie had made the preposterous statement with utmost calm, his face quiet, his gaze steady on hers. As if he’d said “I need a new pair of boots.”
An heir.
Her skin burned with the very word.
It was not the thought of children that unsettled her. Not even the knowledge of how children were created.
It was the memories. Vivid flashes of heat that thrummed under her skin. Jamie in her bed. The shock of his mouth everywhere. His skin impossibly smooth against hers. The places she craved him. Jamie filling her, again and again, the madness between them. Her unimaginable pleasure.
Five years of a cold bed and she had not forgotten a thing.
Her hands were unsteady on the reins as she rode the six miles to her brother’s estate. She could not go into the village as planned.
No. A friend, that’s what she needed. Someone who would not be easily shocked. Someone like her sister-in-law.
Cat urged her mount on faster. What would it be like, to bed the man Jamie had become? All thick shoulders and cool composure?
She drew in a deep breath, only then noticing she was close to the main gates of Giltbrook Hall. It was good her horse knew the way, for she’d not paid a single thought to the passing scenery.
Moments later, she tossed the reins to a stableboy and entered the back of her childhood home. Really, she’d rather not see any of the staff in her present state. She slipped silently through the hall, but the butler still found her. She waved him off with a request for a pot of chocolate—yes, in the middle of the afternoon—then found Mazie outside on the sunlit terrace. Her sister-in-law, normally spry and ever on the move, was lying on the divan, a wet cloth across her forehead.
“Please, don’t sit up.” Cat approached with soft feet. “The nausea is not improved?”
“It is torture, Cat. I am never having another child.” Mazie’s day gown was hopelessly wrinkled, her chignon askew. “Did something happen to the village project? Are the workers behind schedule?”
Cat felt a twinge of guilt for neglecting her duties in the village today. “Everything is still on schedule. The families visit in a few days’ time.”
“Good, I’ve gathered some more furniture.”
“Send it when you are ready.” Cat couldn’t sit down, not when she was so full of ache and fire. She twitched her skirts out of the way and paced the length of the terrace. Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the heart of the matter. “He’s returned.”
“Who has returned? Trent is not to be back for a few days.” Mazie peeled the cloth from her forehead and scanned the terrace. With a groan, she covered her eyes again. “Is someone pretending to be the Midnight Rider?”
“No, no.” Cat whipped around. “Forster.”
“What?” This did prompt Mazie to sit up. She put the cloth aside and studied Cat. “Forster is here? In Nottinghamshire?”
“Yes.”
“My goodness. No wonder you are so upset.” Mazie made a halfhearted attempt to corral her chignon, which threatened to fall off one side of her head.
“Oh, Mazie, what am I to do?” Cat needed someone to give her answers, for she certainly had none.
“To begin, you must stop pacing.” Mazie pressed her hand over her eyes. “I cannot watch you.”
Cat stifled a sigh and sank into a chair. She had finally made a life for herself that did not include her husband, or her lack thereof. What was she to do now?
A footman arrived with a pot of warm chocolate and two slices of lemon cake. He placed the tray on the small table between them.
Mazie leaned back onto her divan. “How can you drink that vile stuff?”
“Chocolate? You love it.”
“The smell.” She waved her hand and mumbled something about locks on her bedroom door.