Hester took another bite of hot toast, her eyes fixed firmly on the letter lying before her. Her parents were enjoying their wintry tour of the Lake District, and not for the first time she gave silent thanks that they weren’t around to witness her discomfort. Almost a week on from Nathaniel’s abrupt arrival she still didn’t know what to make of it—and having the man himself seated directly across from her at the breakfast table did nothing to help order her thoughts.
‘Are your parents in good health?’
She glanced up automatically at the question and immediately wished she hadn’t. Nathaniel sat up to his elbows in Honeywell Trading Company ledgers and accounts books, just as he had at every breakfast time for the first two years of their marriage, but for a change his attention was trained on her, rather than the interminable lists of profit and loss, and his one green eye was more intriguing than any pair.
‘Yes, thank you,’ Hester muttered grudgingly.
The olive shade of that iris was more mesmerising than it had any right to be when she was so aggravated with its owner, Nathaniel still so clearly clueless as to why she’d barely spoken to him for the past six days that it made her want to scream.
But I won’t. If he’s too selfish to realise that leaving me on the brink of death was a bad move, I certainly won’t be helping him to see it. And to think I was almost taken in by that scene with his mother, wondering if he’d truly changed after all.
She turned back to the letter. If she really concentrated maybe she could pretend Nathaniel wasn’t sitting there, with that cursedly broad chest she still didn’t know how he’d gained, and if she squinted just so she could even block the shape of him from the corner of her eye...
‘Have they visited Windermere?’
Hester looked up irritably, all illusion shattered. ‘What?’
‘Lake Windermere. I hear it’s particularly beautiful this time of year, especially if there’s snow. Have they been?’
She treated him to a cold glance that he returned so innocently she had to bite down on her tongue. What was it to him whether they’d seen every lake in England? It wasn’t as though he could truly be interested.
‘Yes.’
‘Did they enjoy themselves?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where do they intend to go next?’
‘Kendal.’
‘Do they mention their return?’
‘No, Nathaniel, they don’t!’ Exasperated, Hester sat back in her chair so hard the legs creaked. Now what was he up to, interrogating her over the morning teapot and sardines? ‘Why all the questions? May I not read my letter in peace?’
Across the table Nathaniel shrugged, one sculpted shoulder moving in such a way it took all her willpower not to follow it with her eyes.
‘Just making conversation. I thought that was what people did at mealtimes.’
‘Most people, yes. I hadn’t thought you one of them.’
‘Ah.’ He leaned forward slightly, subtly reducing the space between them so the fine hairs on Hester’s forearms prickled. ‘And that bothered you? That was something you found unsatisfactory?’
Hester raised a sandy brow. So that was it. Nathaniel was trying to puzzle out her damning remark as they’d walked back to Shardlow—and he imagined his lack of conversation at the root of her displeasure? She might almost have smiled at his complete lack of judgement, although the memory of that day wiped any such thing from her lips at once.
If any other man had held her so tightly by the waist and stared down into her face with such wordless intensity she might have assumed he was about to kiss her. She and Nathaniel had certainly been close enough, with even their breath mingling in the biting air and his hands burning through layers of linen and wool to scorch her heated skin. One more step and she might have fallen into his arms completely, the strength held in those newfound muscles more than capable of lifting her off her feet. With her heart pounding and her mouth too dry for speech all the anger that had consumed her seconds earlier had vanished, leaving only bewilderment and an insistent voice that begged her, with growing urgency, to let his lips touch hers and wind back the clock to when they’d first wed...
But she hadn’t waited to find out whether Nathaniel would make that final irreversible move. She’d banished the voice and pulled away, still reeling at a moment neither of them had seemed able to control, and now her reward was knowing that her pride remained intact.
Of course Nathaniel hadn’t been about to kiss her. Probably she’d had a stray eyelash on her cheek, or something equally banal, and her blood ran cold at the thought she’d almost left herself open to another humiliating rejection. It was more important than ever now to be on her guard, and Hester didn’t intend to let it slip for so much as a moment.
‘If you think your not making polite chitchat at dinner is why I take issue with you, I’m afraid you are wrong. Or do you imagine that to be the limit of your possible flaws?’
To her surprise Nathaniel met her sharpness with a laugh. ‘By no means. I’m just trying to narrow the field. You can’t blame a man for asking, considering you apparently have no intention of telling me directly.’
‘None whatsoever.’
‘Very well, then. I see I’ll have to carry the weight of conversation alone.’ He settled both brawny forearms on the table in front of him, the very image of an attentive guest—albeit one far more attractive than was fair. ‘I queried when your parents might return. Do they mention that in their letter?’
Hester pursed her lips, wishing she hadn’t just snatched another glance at the delights that lay beneath Nathaniel’s shirtsleeves.
‘No, but I hope it won’t be for a good while. I shan’t be writing to tell them of your arrival, lest they drop everything to come home early and spoil their trip. My mother deserves this time away, and to be my father’s only focus for once rather than competing with the business.’ She folded her hands in her lap, glancing down to mutter more at the tablecloth than at her husband. ‘Something I can well understand.’
‘I beg your pardon? I didn’t quite catch that.’
‘I was talking to myself.’
Nathaniel rubbed his chin with his scarred hand, giving Hester a momentary respite from his undivided attention. She should have taken the opportunity to look away, but the sight of his ruined knuckles was so morbidly fascinating she only realised she’d been staring when Nathaniel’s mouth quirked up at one corner.
‘Did you want to ask me a question?’
‘No.’
‘You have the look of a woman with something on her mind.’
She swallowed. Avid curiosity about his wounds still simmered barely beneath the surface, but there was no chance she’d risk gratifying Nathaniel’s insufferable self-importance. ‘Not at all, I assure you.’
His lips curved a fraction more, and he seemed on the verge of some reply when a brisk tap at the dining room door heralded the appearance of one of the servants.
‘Beg pardon, sir. There’s a Mr Morrow here to see you.’
‘He’s arrived?’ Nathaniel was on his feet at once. ‘I’ll come this very moment.’
Hester’s brows twitched together as she watched her husband in his unfeigned enthusiasm—a sight so unlike his lack of interest of years past that it made her wonder all over again. Who was Mr Morrow? And why was Nathaniel apparently so pleased to have him at Shardlow House?
As though reading her mind, Nathaniel paused at the door, turning back to the table. ‘Jacob Morrow is the man I met in Algiers. Will you allow me to introduce you? He was a good friend to me during my time away.’
‘Oh?’ Hester felt another flicker of surprise. Nathaniel bothering himself to make friends? Indeed, bothering with anything other than the business? ‘I thought you said he was a man to whom you owed a favour?’
‘Can’t he be both?’
‘I suppose.’
Laying her napkin aside, she rose from her seat, all too aware of how close Nathaniel stood to the doorway. To pass she would have to step within a hair’s breadth of him, and she found herself holding her breath as she approached.
‘Allow me.’
He held the door open with a gallant sweep, and Hester was almost safely through it when she felt the light touch of fingertips at her back—a guiding hand that sent a jolt straight through to her core. It was the tiniest of touches, lasting only a moment and surely one any gentleman might offer a lady, but it set her heart to racing and she scurried rather than sailed out into the hall, cursing herself internally as she went for the fleeting desire that ran over her to turn and walk past him again.
Jacob’s grip was as firm as ever when Nathaniel grasped his hand, and it was difficult to tell which man felt more relieved to see the other.
Finally. Somebody beneath this roof who’s truly happy I’m here.
It was the same strong grasp that had saved Nathaniel’s life, those broad fingers wrapping around his wrist to wrench him from the sea just as the churning waters closed over his head and the Celeste had disappeared with a final bubbling flourish. Nathaniel owed the Scotsman everything—a feeling he knew was returned, having repaid his debt in kind at the expense of his eye and hand.
‘Jacob. Or is it Mr Morrow now? I feel I ought to address you more respectfully.’
He watched his friend’s uneven grin widen, softening a craggy countenance just as tanned and weather-beaten as Nathaniel’s own. The other man was shorter, but his stocky frame would make most think twice even without the scar that slightly lifted one lip, and Nathaniel saw Hester hesitate for a moment before coming forward.
‘Hester, may I introduce Mr Jacob Morrow? Jacob, my wife, Mrs Honeywell.’
Hester nodded politely, acknowledging Jacob’s surprisingly accomplished bow. She still looked a little unsure, and Nathaniel didn’t blame her. Jacob was hardly the usual type for an estate manager, but looks could be deceiving. Beneath his hard exterior lay the kindness that had helped keep Nathaniel alive during their brutal captivity, and in time he was sure Hester would come to see it.
After all, she should know about hiding one’s softness behind a façade. The compassion she showed my mother is so removed from the coldness she cultivates that I might not have believed it existed had I not seen it for myself.
Tempting as it was to revisit that moment when Nathaniel had seen a glint of Hester’s hidden sweetness, he found he didn’t quite dare. His mind might stray to what had come afterwards, when she had swayed in his hold with her upturned face like a flower seeking the sun, and the desire to kiss her had run riot through his blank mind. Only her turning away had saved them both from his making a huge mistake, and it had taken at least three days of poring over deathly dull accounts ledgers, trying to make up for five lost years, to replace the image of her parted lips.
His father would be horrified, no doubt, by his son spending so much time thinking of such unprofitable things, and Nathaniel determined again to strengthen his resolve.
I can be kind without being weak. While there’s a business to run I can’t afford to be distracted too far, and especially not by one who’d want none of my attention to begin with. Hopefully now Jacob’s here I’ll have someone to talk some sense into me.
Mercifully oblivious to the uncomfortable thoughts she inspired, Hester smiled. ‘I understand you met my husband in Algiers? How was it you came to be there?’
Nathaniel cut in before Jacob could answer. ‘He was a sailor. Mr Morrow expressed an interest in changing occupation, so I suggested he come here on his return to England. We left at the same time, but on different ships.’
Just as in his mother’s parlour, he was stretching the truth again, and Nathaniel deliberately ignored Jacob’s questioning glance. It wasn’t an outright lie. The basic facts were unchanged, with only grim details left out, but he wasn’t sorry when Arless appeared at Hester’s elbow and his wife’s presence was required elsewhere.
Both men watched her leave the hall, Nathaniel unable to stop himself from admiring Hester’s figure as she walked away. Surely it hadn’t been as impressive before he’d set sail for Portugal, the destination he’d never reached? It certainly hadn’t in his imagination during the few times he’d thought of her, when the nights of his captivity had stretched out long and lonely for a man on his own...
‘I assume you haven’t told your wife what happened out there?’
Guiltily Nathaniel snatched his gaze away from Hester’s retreating back, only answering Jacob when he was sure she’d disappeared.
‘No. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t, either.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s complicated.’
Jacob’s brow wrinkled. ‘Not delighted to have you back, I take it? No welcome with open arms?’
Nathaniel snorted. ‘Not as such. She hasn’t asked a single question about the time I was away—although in truth I’m glad.’
He paused to run his maimed hand through his hair, casting his mind back to the nightmare they’d left behind. Picking their way through the rubble as the British naval bombardment ripped through buildings and people alike, blood glistening on the ground and his ears ringing with the roar of cannon-fire that had drawn him and Jacob towards the English ships... The smell of smoke had hung so heavy he could almost taste it now, an acrid memory still clinging to his tongue and nothing that he wanted to revisit. The day they’d escaped had been horrific, but the existence they’d suffered for the months and years before had been terrible in a different way.
From the first moment he’d realised what fate had befallen him Nathaniel had known he would never be the same again. Something inside him had died as one dehumanising week followed the next, his sense of shame growing with each pail of filthy water he’d carried or hole dug beneath the sweltering sun.
If being a man meant standing tall and detached then he’d failed miserably, bringing disappointment and a blemish on the Honeywell family name. The only moment when he’d felt any pride had been in knocking aside the foreman who had been about to beat Jacob into an early grave and finally evening the score between them, although the agony of his maimed eye and crimson-spattered knuckles had soon eclipsed any real sense of triumph.
The fewer questions Hester asked the better, each one running the risk of exposing his secret shame.
‘I’d rather not speak of it.’
Jacob shrugged. ‘Fair enough. Can’t say I agree, though.’ He let his gaze roam around the tasteful hall for a moment, its obviously feminine décor a clear reminder of who had chosen it. ‘Surely Mrs Honeywell deserves honesty? After everything she must have suffered, thinking you were dead?’
‘Hester doesn’t want my honesty. She doesn’t want anything from me.’
‘And that bothers you, does it?’
Was that the same question I asked Hester earlier?
The idea made Nathaniel frown, the discomfort in his stomach growing stronger. It didn’t bother him. He’d decided it wouldn’t, so it wouldn’t. And that was the end of that.
‘Of course not,’ he lied. ‘If that’s how she feels, what can I do?’
‘What indeed.’
‘Meaning...?’
‘Only that you’re not just some spoilt rich boy any longer, as you were the day I pulled you from the sea. I thought you’d learned a thing or two from my charming influence.’
Nathaniel’s eye narrowed. ‘I’d defy even you to charm Hester. She’s a more complex woman these days.’
And I find myself admiring her for it, he finished privately, hoping the thought didn’t show on his face.
If he’d been in the market for a woman, and more kindly disposed to unnecessary distractions, perhaps he might have chosen Hester as she was now. But he wasn’t. He didn’t need her, and she was clearly determined not to need him, and there was nothing else to say on the matter other than to consider it closed.
‘Enough idle talk in hallways. Come into my study for a drink.’
‘That’s an offer I can’t refuse after three days in the saddle.’
Nathaniel found a smile. Whatever confusion Hester inspired in him would surely fade, even if his experience as a slave did not. Jacob had always managed to raise his spirits, and it seemed that at least was still the same, the prospect enough to slightly lighten the weight inside his chest.
He slapped his new estate manager on the back and drew him away, leaving the hall and moving down one of Shardlow’s many corridors. Too distracted to notice anything more, Nathaniel remained blind to Hester behind the library door, blissfully unaware she’d caught the tail end of his conversation—concerning the need for honesty, unfortunately enough...
It wasn’t until much later that evening, as he took a glass of port into the parlour, that Nathaniel finally encountered his wife again.
‘There you are. I haven’t seen you since this morning. Have you been avoiding me?’
Hester looked up from her desk, pen in hand and a half-finished letter lying before her. Her face was lit by a handful of candles, helpfully showing Nathaniel just how pleased—or otherwise—she was to see him.
‘Of course not. Why would I?’
‘It seemed like it to me. I do have one eye left, you know.’
‘Perhaps it’s faulty.’
Nathaniel felt his mouth attempting to lift, and that tiresome flicker of admiration trying once again to kindle in his chest.
Sweet as ever, dear wife.
‘Who are you writing to?’
‘My sister.’
‘Is she unwell?’
She shot him a warning glance. ‘Are we to have a repeat of this morning? A question every thirty seconds until I feel I’m going mad? Perhaps this is my life from now on—never able to have a letter in my hand without you quizzing me about it.’
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at her tone. ‘Forgive me. I’ll leave you in peace.’
He strolled away to take up his usual chair beside the fire. The book he’d started a few days before lay on the arm and he picked it up, glad to hold something between himself and the irritable woman who glowered in a corner.
For a long while there was no sound but the scratch of Hester’s pen and the stirring of coals in the grate, anyone peeping in through a window forgiven for thinking they’d stumbled across a scene of domestic bliss.
The truth, however, was very different.
There was an atmosphere. Nathaniel could sense it.
Hester was tetchy at the best of times but now he could almost feel her watching him, with something unspoken yet hostile that made him shift uncomfortably in his chair. What was her problem now? How, in sitting quietly and minding his own business, had he managed to rile her further?
Affecting not to notice Nathaniel turned the page, although the words might as well have been written in a foreign language for all he could focus.
He’d made the right decision—even if Jacob disagreed. Surely this was yet more proof. Her new coolness might intrigue him, but it also made him sure she must never know the truth. What had transpired in Algiers was too horrific to share with anyone—not least the wife who scarcely tolerated his return and might even wish him back from where he’d come. Even if Hester had been the most affectionate woman in the world he wouldn’t want to put those days into words, the pain and humiliation he’d suffered something he prayed would eventually disappear into the mist.
He turned another unread page. The sensation of her eyes on him grew stronger, now seemingly only one step removed from a physical touch to his skin. It made him aware of every breath he took, absurdly unnerved by Hester noticing his slightest movement yet unable to prevent himself from sitting up straighter. Her attention did the strangest things to his stomach, making something inside it flutter like a bird in a trap.
Every man had his limit, and finally Nathaniel reached his. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘No.’
‘Then why do you insist on staring at me?’
‘Staring at you?’ Hester bridled a little, although even by candlelight he saw her cheeks flush disarmingly pink. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
Nathaniel fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Hell, she was frustrating. If she had something to say, why not come out and say it, instead of gazing at him from afar and sending those accursed ripples snaking through his innards?
‘I don’t bite. You can share what’s on your mind.’
‘I might say the same to you,’ she muttered, so low that Nathaniel couldn’t be sure he’d heard correctly.
He leaned forward to try again. ‘Pardon?’
‘Nothing. Nothing of any consequence.’
Hester redoubled her grip on her pen, seeming to hold it so tightly that Nathaniel was glad he wasn’t in its place, and his own fingers twitched into an irritable fist. Had any woman ever been so simultaneously provoking yet fascinating? And, of all men, why did it have to be him fated to be married to her?
The tension in the room was so thick he might have spread it like butter. Any Englishman worth his salt knew there was only one sure way out of such a difficult moment, and to prevent any further disturbance to his insides Nathaniel acted at once.
Laying his book aside, he stood up from his chair. ‘Would you like some tea? Allow me to ring the bell for you.’
‘I can do it.’
Hester rose likewise, apparently unwilling to allow him to do her the smallest favour, and moved towards the rope hanging in an alcove. Unfortunately for her, however, Nathaniel did the same, and so he could only watch, as though from a distance, as both his hand and hers reached out for the same velvet tassel and his fingers closed—quite accidentally, as he would assure himself later—around Hester’s own.
They were cold, something he only dimly registered beneath the shock of her skin on his. So slender and fragile, it could be all too easy to hurt that little hand yet he knew instinctively he never would, and what was more: he’d savage anyone who tried. Where that protective leap came from he didn’t know, only that it flared up inside to take him wholly by surprise and make letting go quite impossible.
He couldn’t help a swift downward glance, just long enough to see the high colour in Hester’s cheeks had reached a burning crimson. She didn’t look up, her eyes apparently fixed in place by his hand on hers, and the smooth line of her profile glowed in the fire’s flickering light.
For the second time a disloyal voice in the back of his mind called him to move, to bend his head and seek out Hester’s mouth with his, and for a second time the thread between them was cut only by Hester snatching her hand away as if it had stung her.
‘I said I could do it.’
She still didn’t meet his eye, instead retreating back to her desk to sit behind it as though barricading herself away. Returning to his own seat Nathaniel groaned inwardly, cursing himself for another stupid mistake.
Well, that was unfortunate.
What would it take to make him behave sensibly?
He picked up his book again and stared blindly down at the words, although they blurred before his eyes. The sensation of Hester’s delicate fingers beneath his rough palm was all he could think of, tied up with the knowledge that she’d been near enough for him to smell the subtle fragrance of her hair.
It was more than any man could stand, surely, and with a thrill of dismay Nathaniel realised he was just as fallible as any other.
‘Profit over people’ was taking things a bit too far, but I really ought to spend more time with my head in a ledger.
The urge to glance over at Hester’s corner was strong, but thankfully this time Nathaniel’s willpower and the knowledge of what his father would say were stronger.
Ridiculous to waste valuable time on a woman who doesn’t want it...or me. Much better to put it to good use. Starting tomorrow, I’ll make the right choice.
He turned a page, all too aware of the silent figure in the corner. But Hester had clearly come to a similar conclusion about the best way to spend her time, as presently her pen began scratching once more and she didn’t look at him again for the rest of the night.