a nincompoop to get in such a state.’ Sarah knuckled away the wet that dewed her lashes. But she was soon at the door, leaving Ruth to gaze down, soft-eyed, at the infant left in her care. James was sleeping soundly, his cherubic face turned away from her. Carefully, so as not to disturb him, Ruth drew the covers closer about him, then stroked a tiny curled palm. Reflexively the baby clutched at her finger. Ruth felt her chest constrict and an ache surged up her throat at the memory of another baby—one whose delicate fingers had remained cold and unresponsive to her loving touch.
Ruth went to sit close by the fire. She eased back gratefully into the comfy chair, realising that she was quite enervated. In truth she, too, had begun to feel extremely concerned for Gavin’s safety as nightfall came with no sign of a thaw or the arrival of the master of the house. Feeling now relaxed and quite cosy, she allowed her weary eyelids to fall.
The baby’s whimpering woke her. Immediately Ruth looked at the fire; it had burned low in the grate. She then glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was approaching nine o’clock. Jumping to her feet, she quickly went to peer in the cot. From his scrunched, angry face and drawn-up knees, and from female intuition, Ruth guessed that colic was the culprit.
Having lifted the fretful baby to her shoulder, she began murmuring soothingly to him. Rhythmically she rubbed at his back in the hope of easing his cramps while walking towards the door. The corridor was deserted. The baby’s nurse had earlier been dismissed for the afternoon so Sarah and Ruth could chat and enjoy each other’s company in private. With no idea where she might find James’s nurse, and guessing Sarah and Gavin might be in the small salon, Ruth headed off in that direction.
‘Mrs Hayden?’
Ruth had traversed many yards of quiet, carpeted corridor and was close to the top of the majestic staircase when she heard her name called in a cultured baritone voice.
Turning about, she stared, astonished, at a tall blond gentleman who was strolling towards her. She recognised him at once and that was odd, she obliquely realised, for after their brief introduction—which could not have lasted more than a few minutes—she had never again seen Sir Clayton Powell. It was equally odd that he should remember her after that meeting in Willowdene over a year ago. Or perhaps Sarah or Gavin had informed him she was a guest this evening.
‘I had no idea you were staying at Willowdene Manor,’ he said pleasantly as he came closer and executed a polite bow. ‘Our hosts made no mention of it.’
‘I had no idea you would be here either, sir,’ Ruth said quickly. So her presence had not been mentioned, yet he had recognised her. ‘And I am not staying here. I received an invitation to dine this evening with the Viscount and Viscountess.’
‘Do you live close by?’ Clayton asked with a frown. ‘The roads are now virtually impassable. I doubt you will get home tonight.’
That thought had already occurred to Ruth. She had guessed that Sarah would kindly offer her a bed for the night. And Ruth would have accepted, despite having no night things with her. She would never contemplate putting at risk a coach and driver by insisting on going home through miles of lanes blocked by snow. A short while ago the thought of staying a day or two while they waited for a thaw had not presented a problem. Now, for some odd reason, the thought of sleeping beneath the same roof as this gentleman made her feel awkward.
‘You have both arrived safely, if a little tardy,’ Ruth pointed out rather lamely.
‘Gavin would have moved heaven and earth to do so.’
‘I imagined he would,’ Ruth replied wryly. ‘And so did Sarah. It worried her half to death that he would take risks to get here.’
‘The power of love,’ Clayton muttered exceedingly drily, but he cast a fond look at the baby boy fidgeting on Ruth’s shoulder. ‘Should he not be abed?’
‘I think he should,’ Ruth answered politely, yet rather indignant on hearing him sound so cynical. He might have been embittered by a bad marriage, but he had no right to scoff at her dear friends’ wedded bliss. ‘His nurse was given the afternoon off and I’m just on my way to find Sarah,’ Ruth informed him briskly and took a step towards the head of the stairs. ‘I think he might have a pain…or perhaps it has passed,’ she said as quite an embarrassing noise and unpleasant smell issued from the little boy’s rump.
Clayton grinned. ‘I imagine young James is feeling much better now.’
An involuntary giggle escaped Ruth, despite her cheeks having turned pink. ‘Still, I shall look for Sarah and hand him over. We were in the nursery when she heard the coach arrive and she rushed off to greet Gavin. I was on my way to the small salon. They might have gone there. I expect they have much news to catch up on.’
‘Indeed,’ Clayton drawled, amusement far back in his slate-grey eyes. ‘But I doubt you’ll find them in there yet.’ He paused as though mentally phrasing his next words. ‘I believe Gavin went to his chamber to freshen up after the journey. Sarah accompanied him.’
‘Oh…I see,’ Ruth said and averted her face to hide her blushing confusion. She felt quite silly for not having guessed that the two lovebirds would find an opportunity to have some time alone on being safely reunited.
While Ruth composed herself by fussing over the baby, Clayton began to subtly study her with a very male eye. He’d been attracted to her when they had briefly met in Willowdene town despite the fact she had been garbed head to toe in mourning clothes. She’d been capably driving a little pony and trap through the High Street and, from their short conversation that day, he’d learned that she wore weeds because her father had recently died. He’d also learned that she was related by marriage to one of his commanding officers, Colonel Hayden. It was a while later that he’d learned from Gavin that Ruth Hayden had been a widow for many years.
Clayton’s roving appraisal continued and he knew he’d been right in instinctively sensing that beneath the dreary bombazine that had been shrouding her body on that occasion, and the dark bonnet brim that had made sallow her complexion, was a woman of rare beauty.
On first glance Ruth Hayden’s features might appear rather severe, yet on finer appraisal were undoubtedly exquisite. Her deep brown eyes were fringed by lengthy black lashes and topped by delicate brows that looked soft as sable. Her nose was thin, her mouth asymmetrical with a lower lip that was fuller than the curving cupid’s bow on top. She was petite, her smooth peachy cheek barely reached his shoulder, and fragile wrist bones were in his line of vision as she cuddled James close to her. But her figure was generously curvaceous in all the right places. The weight of the baby pressing on her chest had accentuated a satiny ivory cleavage swelling above her bodice. His hooded eyes lingered a moment too long on silver silk straining enticingly across her bosom.
Feeling once more adequately self-possessed, Ruth looked up and immediately her cheeks regained a vivid bloom as she noticed Sir Clayton eyeing her breasts. On the previous occasion when they had conversed she had sensed he found her interesting, and not just because he’d discovered he was acquainted with her in-laws. At the time she’d dismissed the idea he was attracted to her as fanciful and scoffed at her conceit. Yet there was no denying that she’d just caught him regarding her lustfully. Knowing that he found her desirable caused a peculiar mixture of uneasiness and excitement to tumble her insides.
It might have been many years since she had lain with her husband, or even been kissed, but she could recognise the signs that a man wanted her. She had seen the same smouldering intensity at the back of Ian Bryant’s eyes just a couple of days ago when he proposed to her. She had known for a year or more that Ian wanted to bed her. But the doctor didn’t possess skill enough to neutralise a tense situation, or his passion, as it seemed this man could.
Sir Clayton didn’t look in the least disconcerted at being caught out. He raised a long finger, stroked the baby’s soft cheek and lightly remarked, ‘There’s a young maid hovering at the end of the corridor.’ He gave Ruth a nonchalant smile. ‘Perhaps she has come to see to James.’
Ruth slowly expelled her pent-up breath. She pivoted about, grateful for the distraction,