He turned back to his contemplation of the view, hands thrust into the pockets of his trousers. ‘You’re getting good at doing this, aren’t you?’
‘Doing what?’ She didn’t understand.
‘Saying goodbye and moving on.’ Hard shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘Liam, Sam, me.’
‘This is different,’ she said quickly, without thinking, her feelings for this man fighting to surface.
‘Is it?’ It was his turn to display utter, drawling indifference. ‘Now why is that?’
‘Because I love you.’
She tried to bite back the words but they’d already escaped her. Why the purple petunias had she used the present tense?
Because her emotions were stronger than her will to control them.
She left the room as quickly and quietly as she could, knowing that the stand she’d so decisively made had been fatally undermined by those four unthinking words.
She was going to have to try harder. Much, much harder.
The oak-panelled breakfast room was filled with morning sunlight when Elena walked in, feeling groggy. Not so much morning sickness but the aftermath of a hatefully restless night.
Jed had refused to hear of her moving out of the master suite. He’d pointed her at the huge double bed, tossed one of the pillows and a light blanket onto the Edwardian chaise longue beneath one of the windows and spent the night there, sleeping like a baby as far as she could tell, while she’d lain in the big lonely bed, stiff as a board, not letting herself toss and turn because he might wake and guess the reason for her restlessness.
And now he was at the breakfast table, finishing off with toast and marmalade, unfairly hunky in a soft white T-shirt and narrow, scuffed black denims.
He laid aside his newspaper and remarked blandly, ‘I told Edith you wouldn’t want a cooked breakfast. Help yourself to juice and toast—if you’re ready for it. Should I ring for fresh coffee?’
She shook her head, sitting opposite him, smoothing out the full skirts of the tan-coloured cotton dress she was wearing, pleating the fabric between her fingers as he filled a glass with orange juice and pushed it towards her with the tip of his finger.
If he was going to act like a polite stranger, pretend nothing had happened to turn lovers into enemies, then she’d go along with it. For now. Frankly, she didn’t feel up to fighting, restating her decision to leave him and make a clean break. It would have to wait until she felt better able to handle it. Once the awards ceremony was out of the way she could concentrate on organising the rest of her life.
He’d picked up his paper again, but after a few minutes of intolerable silence, when the only sound appeared to be the bumping of her heart against her ribcage, he lowered it and told her, ‘Catherine’s taken herself down to the cottage. Apparently the Fletchers moved out a couple of days ago. Contracts won’t be exchanged for another six weeks or so, but she couldn’t wait to look round the garden and make plans for transforming it.’
Six weeks of pretending to be the ecstatic new bride, then Lord knew how much longer staying meekly here, playing the role of the understanding wife, while he made himself scarce, immersed himself in business.
That was his decision. It wasn’t, and never could be, hers. Her stomach lurched, an uneasy prelude to ejecting the few sips of juice she’d swallowed. She pushed the glass away.
‘I’ll be in the garden if you want me.’ He folded the paper and put it to one side, his tone telling her he knew she wouldn’t. ‘I’ll be helping Simms trim the yew hedges and breaking the news that he’s to have permanent help.’ He stood up, looked at his watch. ‘I suggest you register with the local GP. Edith will let you have the surgery’s number. Make an appointment to have a check-up. It’s past time you did.’
And he left the room.
She hadn’t said a word, Elena realised as deep silence settled around her. Not a single one. Was this how Jed saw their future? He dictating, she accepting, turning into a mouse?
Pushing herself to her feet, she knew she couldn’t let that happen. She went to find Edith.
Two hours later she followed the sound of the electric hedge-cutter and found Jed on a step-ladder, neatening off the top of the ten-foot high ancient yew hedges that surrounded Catherine’s formal rose garden.
Simms said, ‘Nice to see you again, Mrs Nolan—grand day isn’t it?’ He smiled at her and wheeled a barrow of trimmings away, and Jed came down the steps, switching off the noisy implement, a slight frown lowering his straight black brows.
He looked gorgeous. All man and touchable. Very, very touchable. Heat, hard work, sweat and hedge-dust had left smudges on his face, rumpled up his hair and created damp and grubby patches on his old T-shirt.