“It’s lovely,” she said.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
No, not really. But she seemed to be having as much trouble concentrating as Brandon.
Why had he never worn work clothes during the first three months of their marriage? His ruggedness appealed to her in an entirely different way. And had he looked at her the way he did now? With raw desire in his expression? Desire that spilled onto her?
Or was it just their months of separation that intensified everything?
“Would you take a look around?” Brandon asked, gesturing around the garden. “Just to make sure the gardeners did everything you wanted?”
“All right,” she agreed, though the thought sprang into her mind that leaving might be more prudent.
Brandon walked alongside her as they made their way slowly through the garden. He asked about every statue, every flower bed, every plant, making sure it fit her specifications.
When she’d initially assigned him the task of overseeing the gardeners’ work, it had been more to annoy him than because she really wanted a private garden. His ranting about duties and responsibilities had provoked her and she’d wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. But the garden had turned out quite nicely.
“I know you wanted this bench to face the other way,” Brandon said as they stood in front of it, “but then the morning sun would have been in your face, so I had it changed.”
“It’s perfect.” Jana gazed up at him as evening shadows cast them both in dim light. “In fact, everything is perfect. You did an excellent job overseeing the gardeners. Thank you.”
He nodded and allowed himself a small smile, satisfied with himself and the work.
“Good,” Brandon said. “I want you to be happy…with everything. And, in fact, I thought it would be nice if you and I— Here we are.”
Jana turned in the direction that had taken Brandon’s attention and saw three of the house servants coming through the arbor, carrying a quilt and two wicker hampers.
“What’s this?” Jana asked.
“Late supper,” Brandon said. He spoke to the servants, directing them to set up the picnic, then said, “I thought it would be nice if you and I ate out here, just so you can get the feel of the garden.”
Jana glanced at the arbor and considered making a dash for it. This late supper of Brandon’s had romantic interlude written all over it. After last night in the attic, she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to stand up to her own edict of allowing no intimacy between them.
But he was trying awfully hard to see that she was happy. She couldn’t doubt that. He’d overseen the garden, made sure it met her specifications, and he’d arranged with the servants to bring their supper here.
Fourteen months ago he’d not wanted her at his breakfast table. He barely spoke during supper. And now he’d brought her a picnic in the garden.
“Is it all right?” Brandon asked, sounding genuinely concerned that he might have done the wrong thing.
Jana drew in a determined breath. What better opportunity would she have to prove to herself that she could resist Brandon? That she could sit under the stars in this isolated garden and not succumb to his charms?
That she could walk away from him when their thirty days together were up and know she’d done the right thing.
“It’s a wonderful idea,” Jana said.
The servants fussed over the meal for a few minutes, then hurried away. Brandon offered his hand and Jana lowered herself onto the pale blue quilt, drawing her legs under her and pulling down her skirt. Brandon plopped down beside her, close, but not too close.
“Let’s see, what have we got?” he murmured, as he lifted a bottle of wine from one of the open hampers. “This looks good.”
Everything, indeed, looked good. The servants had spread out platters of grapes and strawberries, cheese and ham and chunks of bread to go along with the wine. Jana placed a little of everything on two china plates while Brandon poured the wine.
“Shall we drink to something?” he asked.
“Such as what?” she asked, accepting a crystal glass.
“Hum…let’s see. Our past wasn’t all that pleasant, and our future is a little cloudy,” Brandon said. “I guess that just leaves us with the present.”
“To the present,” Jana said, clinking her glass against his. She sipped the wine and smiled. “This ‘present’ is very nice.”
“The only way it could be better is if you let me touch your breasts.”
“What?”
He sipped his wine and let his gaze fall on her bosom. “You have the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen, or touched, or…or, well, you remember the things we used to do.”
Heat rushed through Jana at the recollection. Her memory didn’t fail her.
“I owe you an apology for last night in the attic,” Jana said, setting her wineglass aside. “You’ve done as I asked, respected my wish that we…that you…”
“That I remain celibate in my own home with my own wife in bed in the next room?”
He hadn’t said it with rancor, yet it bothered Jana just the same.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I owe you an apology. It was my fault. It started when I touched your cheek—”
“No, Jana. All you have to do is walk into the room.” He grinned. “Or into a garden.”
“I should leave.”
“Don’t bother. It won’t matter.” He touched her arm, stilling her. “I want you every minute of every day and every night.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I learned fourteen months ago not to take anything for granted. A very hard, very painful lesson, but I learned it.” Brandon was silent for a while. “I never told you why I wrote you in London, asked you to come home.”
He hadn’t, she realized. Even in the letter, he hadn’t explained his demand for her return. Simply said that she was to come home.
“No, you never told me,” she said.
Brandon studied the horizon for a moment, then spoke.
“A few months ago, Charles asked for a day off. He said the other servants requested it also. Oddly enough, Mr. Perkins at the office had asked the same thing.” Brandon turned to Jana. “It was the day before Christmas Eve, and I hadn’t realized it.”
“Oh, Brandon…”
“I got a good hard look at my future, and I didn’t like what I saw.” He drew in a breath. “So, I wrote to you.”
“And when I got here, I asked for a divorce,” Jana said, feeling a little ashamed after hearing how he’d spent Christmas.
“That did surprise me,” Brandon admitted. He looked into her eyes. “I love you, Jana.”
She looked away. “Don’t say that. You know we decided to wait until the four weeks were up and then decide what to do.”
“I love you.” Brandon shrugged. “That won’t change—whether you stay or go.”
They gazed at each other for a minute and Jana saw nothing but sincerity in his eyes. She pressed her lips together, forbidding herself to say anything.
Brandon seemed not to notice her dilemma as he took up the plate of food and ate. She did the same, picking at the fruit, the cheese. Then, with a deep sigh, Brandon lay back and stretched out on the quilt, tucking his hands behind his head.
“Tired?” she asked.
“Those boys at the refuge work me harder than anything at the office.” He grinned. “Can’t remember the last time I climbed a tree.”
Jana smiled. She couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed watching anyone climb a tree.
“Look.” Brandon pointed toward the sky. “The first star of the evening.”
Jana turned toward the horizon and saw a star shining in the closing darkness.
“Make a wish,” he said.
She closed her eyes for a few seconds, made her wish, then turned to Brandon.
“I know what you wished for,” she said. “Success with your Jennings project.”
He rai
sed a brow at her. “Is that what you think?”
“I know it’s important to you.”
“I wouldn’t waste a wish on that project,” Brandon said. “Not to sound immodest, but the Jennings building needs no magic. I’ve already seen to everything. The renovations are underway and new tenants are lining up, eagerly filling my pockets with their lease money.”
“Isn’t that a bit premature?” she asked. Though they’d had this conversation before, the knowledge that he’d gone ahead with the project bothered Jana. “What if the Messenger somehow pulls through? What will people think of you if that happens?”
“They’ll think I’m a complete idiot and my reputation will be ruined.” He gave her a quick, confident smile. “But that won’t happen.”
“You hope,” Jana said. But she’d noticed that Brandon had stopped reading the Messenger. A sure indication that he’d made up his mind, once and for all.
“It won’t happen, Jana.” Brandon closed this topic of conversation by shifting on the ground and gesturing toward the sky again. “I know what you wished for.”
“I’ll bet you don’t.”
“You wished that you could see me naked.”
“Brandon!”
“Don’t bother to lie,” he told her. “I see that look on your face.”
She swatted him on the arm. “You’re certainly full of yourself tonight.”
Brandon chuckled. “All right, then. Choose another star and make another wish. I’ll still know what you wished for.”
Jana watched him for a minute and he gave her a look that challenged her to do just that. She couldn’t resist.
She lay back on the quilt beside him, but not so close that they touched. “Let’s see. I’ll need to find the perfect star for this wish.”
Darkness had fallen, bringing out the moon and thousands of stars. Her gaze combed the sky for a moment, then she squeezed her eyes closed and cast her wish into the heavens.
“There,” she said. “It’s done. What did I wish for?”
Brandon made a show of touching his forehead with his fingertips and furrowing his brow as if receiving some divine knowledge.
“Your wish,” he announced, “is for me to touch your breasts.”
“It is not!”
In the blink of an eye, he rolled toward her and pushed himself up on his elbow, their bodies touching, his face inches from hers.
“Are you sure?” he asked softly.
Breath left Jana in a little wheeze at the memories this position evoked. How many times had they lain together this way? Him above her? His warm breath on her cheek? His hand trailing down her jaw, to her throat, to her—
“Well?” he asked, his voice low and mellow. “I remember that you used to like it when I…”
Instead of describing anything more, Brandon touched his finger to that particular spot behind her ear, the one that caused her to shiver, as it did now. Slowly, he dragged his fingertip down her throat, to her chest until it skimmed her breast where it swelled from her dress. He lowered his head, panting hot breath on the spot.
“You let me touch you last night. Here,” he murmured and brushed his knuckles across the underside of her breast.
Jana gasped.
“Beautiful…” He moved his hand to her other breast, brushing it with his fingertips. Then he cupped it with his palm and squeezed it gently. He kneaded it, sliding his hand upward.
Jana held her breath, the exquisite feel, the anticipation keeping her speechless.
Higher his hand rose, approaching the crest. Jana pushed her breasts outward, filling his hand. He inched closer, closer, then pulled his hand away.
“Sorry,” Brandon said, drawing away from her and sitting up.
Jana lay there for a moment, the unfulfilled moment holding her in its grip. Then she too sat up.
“Sorry,” Brandon said again, glancing sideways at her. “When I get near you I just…”
He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t have to. Jana knew what he meant. She felt it herself.
Brandon pushed himself to his feet. “Let’s go inside.”
She just gazed up at him in the darkness.
“Don’t misunderstand,” he said. “Say the word and we’ll make love right now, right here under the stars. Or upstairs in bed. Or both.”
“Both?”
He looked slightly pained. “It’s been a long time.”
Jana accepted his outstretched hand and got to her feet. They walked into the house together. At the foot of the staircase, Brandon stopped.
“You go on up,” he said. “I’ll stay down here for a while.”
She wondered if he didn’t trust himself to remain outside her bedchamber door tonight, after what had just happened.
She wondered if she trusted herself to leave him out there.
“Good night,” Brandon said, then turned and disappeared through the dimly lit house.
Jana stood on the bottom step, watching him go, her heart tumbling in her chest.
God help her, she was falling in love with her husband. Falling in love with Brandon, all over again.
But she couldn’t. That could never happen. A life together for the two of them was impossible.
She had to leave this place—quickly. She never should have agreed to this arrangement, this trial period together to work on their marriage.
Jana turned and raced up the steps, her heart pounding, tears pushing against her eyes.
She couldn’t stay. Because no matter how hard she tried, no matter what words she chose, or how reasonable she attempted to make it sound, she could never explain to Brandon how she’d kept his baby a secret from him all these months.
Chapter Eighteen
“This—this is scandalous.”
Jana struggled to remain expressionless as she sat across the desk from Oliver Fisk. No easy task, given that his eyes bulged and his cheeks had reddened—not to mention the fact that he was right.
“Unconventional,” she admitted. “But—”
“Mrs. Sayer.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if to assure himself once more that the door to the office of the women’s refuge was still firmly closed, then turned to Jana once again. “This whole thing is…well, it’s positively shocking! Appalling! Outrageous—”
“And it just might save your newspaper.”
“No…”
Jana picked up the stack of papers Oliver had moments ago read over, then dropped as if they’d suddenly burst into flames beneath his fingers. She’d been up half the night writing them.
After what had happened in the attic, and what had gone on in the garden, Jana knew without a doubt that her feelings for Brandon had turned into love. She’d very nearly given herself to him—twice in two days.
But she couldn’t allow that to happen. So she’d walked the floor nearly all night trying to think, trying to decide what to do. And this is what she’d come up with. After hours of work, then coming to the refuge today and lying in wait for Oliver Fisk to appear for his tutoring session with the women, Jana was determined to make her idea work.
Oliver was less than enthusiastic.
“It’s a good idea,” she insisted, pushing the papers toward him.
“A good idea?” he repeated, his eyes growing even wider. “You want me to run a column in the Messenger, a column dealing with women’s issues?”
“Yes.”
“And you intend to write it?”
“Yes, Oliver, that’s exactly right. You’ve just read samples of the types of articles I want to write. Topics such as proper etiquette, table settings, writing invitations and thank-you notes. Problems with child-rearing, advice on handling money, how to deal with an uncooperative landlord,” Jana explained. “You’ve seen the women here at the refuge, Oliver, you know they’re interested in that sort of thing, that they need the information to better themselves. So do women all over the city.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“It would be a public service
,” Jana told him. “Really.”
Oliver reluctantly took the papers from her hand and shuffled through them.
“But this?” he exclaimed. “An advice column titled Ask Mrs. Avery? Questions about how to handle nosy neighbors and problem in-laws, husbands suspected of cheating? It’s scandalous.”
“It will sell newspapers,” Jana insisted. “Look, Oliver, I know how desperately you want to keep the Messenger going. I know how hard you’ve tried, how hard you’ve worked. But the truth is, circulation is continuing to spiral downward. You can’t compete with the Times. Brandon is going to close the newspaper.”
Oliver shifted in his chair, his expression admitting that she was right even if he wouldn’t say the words aloud.
“Your only hope, as I see it, is to do something drastic. Something dynamic. Something to draw in a whole new audience.” Jana tapped her finger against the stack of papers. “Something such as this.”
“Need I remind you,” Oliver pointed out, drawing himself up a little, “that the only time it’s fit for a lady to have her name in print is for her wedding announcement and her charitable work.”
“That’s why we’re going to keep my involvement a secret,” Jana said. “I’ll write the articles under an assumed name, and the advice column under the name Mrs. Avery, and pass them discreetly to you here at the refuge. No one will know I’m behind them.”
“I can’t let you do this,” Oliver insisted, shaking his head.
“Can you write articles on etiquette?” she challenged.
“Of course I could,” he insisted, then lifted the papers and admitted, “But I couldn’t do them as well as you have here. Obviously, you’re coming at the subject from the right perspective—a woman’s point of view. I can’t duplicate that.”
“Then why not let me do this?”
“Because if anyone finds out you’re behind this, and that I’ve allowed you to compromise yourself,” Oliver said, his voice rising to near panic, “your husband will kill me.”
Jana sat back. She couldn’t argue with that. Brandon would be furious if he found out she was involved in this scheme. It was, truly, a scandal.
Judith Stacy Page 14
