He could just make out the shape of her slim calf in the shadows. He knew her body. Knew it with a thousand caresses. Knew it as well as his own.
No matter how he’d tried to push her from his thoughts in their years apart, she always came back in his dreams. Long limbs. Full breasts. Hair spilling as it was now.
He dragged his gaze up her legs to the mound of her sex. She would be soft from her bath. Warm. He could be hard for her in a moment. Was already hard.
She was naked beneath her robe.
His cock throbbed, and he forced his gaze away. She’d redecorated the room. The purple and silver suited her in its refinement with a hint of passion beneath. Vases full of roses sat atop her bedside table and her dressing table.
The second bloom of late summer roses always was her favorite. “It’s as if they know winter is coming and are eager to give away all of their beauty,” she once said.
His gaze found its way back to her. The fucking would be the easy part. It was the forgiveness that would be a challenge. He’d not forgotten how she’d hurt him. The weight of his anger had been a chain around his neck for all these years.
He did not wish to carry it anymore. What is it they said? Forgiveness frees the one who had been wronged.
Could he possibly forgive his wife?
Would she welcome him into her bed if he did not?
Jamie took a deep breath. It was odd, this ache in his chest. He could not account for it. One felt such things upon leaving a beloved land or watching a particularly inspired sunset. Not spying on one’s estranged spouse as she slept.
Cat’s lady’s maid slipped in from another door. Jamie recognized the woman, but could not recall her name. Beneath her white cap, her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed into a hard scowl. She appeared ready to stomp across the room and slam the door in his face.
Once, he might have reprimanded the audacity of her disrespect. Now, irritation burned across his chest, but he did not react.
He knew the servant was no fool. She saw written on his face what he could not hide from his heart.
Ancient anger. The fire of ache. And the signs of an internal war.
Casting one last glance at his sleeping wife, he stepped back into his room and pulled the door closed.
THE SEPTEMBER DAY WAS LOVELY, as was often the case in Nottinghamshire. Cat tried to focus on the sunshine and the work ahead of her rather than thoughts of her husband.
Three days and he had yet to seek her out. She did not know whether to be disappointed or relieved. She should be thinking of her future, of the plans she had created for herself. Plans that did not include the presence of the marquess. Despite the suddenness of Jamie’s return, and the boldness of his demand, nothing had changed.
Jamie’s lack of attention did not influence her toward wanting to start a family with him. She desired a child, but that child needed a father.
A large patch of Michaelmas daisies bloomed in the open plot between the Wentons’ and Rogers’s cottages. Bees hummed in the purple flowers, content to be busy on this fine day. Cat crossed the street to walk in the shade. Honey and sunshine and soft sounds invited a languidness she could ill afford. Already her blood moved in a slow rhythm, exhausted from the previous evening. She’d lain awake in the dark. Wondering if Jamie would visit. Telling herself she would not welcome him into her bed and imagining it all the same.
She was imagining it now. Silly girl. Cat took her pencil from her pocket and scribbled some rather useless ideas in her notebook. Really, she ought to pay better attention to the work around her. She wanted this cluster of cottages to be perfect for the families who would soon inhabit them. She wanted the children, a few of whom had spent years in the workhouses, to know sunlight and fresh air. The gardens would help their bodies to be healthful, while the open fields and trees to climb would repair their spirits.
These were not families who knew comfort, as she did. They knew work, and sickness, and hunger. And some of them, gaol.
In three years’ time, this end of the village would be full of life. The families would be healed and the flower boxes would be overflowing.
And Jamie, would he still be home?
Pushing the thought from her mind, she entered what would be the Warners’ cottage. The north-facing windows were particularly large and exposed to the street. Redford’s Mercantile had some new fabrics in stock that would make lovely drapes.
The deep blue velvet she had seen last week would be too formal for the cottage, but perfect for Jamie’s bedroom. The cool color suited him well. Especially his eyes, and the way they were set off by his darkened skin…
Work. Work was a good distraction.