Free Judith Stacy by The One Month Marriage

do.
    But that would only complicate things. As Jana already knew, all too well.
    Brandon seemed to read her thoughts. He backed up a step.
    “I always thought we made a good-looking couple,” Brandon said, his voice still low, heavy with need. “Both of us tall. A good match…physically. Did you like that about us, Jana? Before? Is that one of the things you liked about us? Surely, there was something…”
    He’d asked her that question the first day she’d come to the house, when she wanted a divorce and he wanted to try again. Wasn’t there something she liked about them as a couple?
    “No, Brandon,” she said, forcing strength in hervoice. She straightened away and pushed up her chin. “No. There was nothing I liked about us.”
    She turned and hurried into her room, closing the door behind her, not wanting to see his face.

Chapter Eight
    B randon sprang in Jana’s mind the instant she opened her eyes the next morning. It didn’t surprise her, given that he’d prowled her dreams all night.
    She pushed herself higher on her pillows and yanked the coverlet up to her chin. Dozens of mornings—three months’ worth—floated through her mind. Mornings when she’d awakened with Brandon in her bed. Mornings when they’d awakened together after a night of lovemaking.
    Jana’s stomach quivered at the memory. From the very first night they’d spent as husband and wife, Brandon had been gentle and coaxing and loving. Never in a hurry, never annoyed with her inexperience, never distracted from the moments they shared. Alone in her bedroom—they never made love in his room—Brandon forbade the servants to interrupt; there would never bea circumstance that warranted it, she’d overheard him say. Her room was their world.
    From the whispers of her girlhood friends, Jana had learned the ways of men, how they visited their wives on occasion, then went on their way. Brandon never left her side. All night they lay together, listening to the rain or the wind, or watching the moon through the window as it arced through the heavens. In the morning, they awoke snuggled like kittens, and each morning Brandon whispered that he never, ever wanted to leave her. She believed him. She knew how he felt. She never wanted him to go.
    But he always did. He walked out of her room and, in crossing the threshold, became a different person.
    Jana gazed through the open curtains, out the window she and Brandon used to lie beneath. Her heart warmed at the memory of how handsome he was, how she treasured those moments, the feel of him next to her and the closeness she enjoyed.
    But she couldn’t remember one single thing they’d talked about.
    Jana sat up. How could that be? She recalled in great detail nearly every word the overbearing decorator Mr. McDowell had said, each and every slur bestowed upon her by the cantankerous cook. She remembered the other women in her newly evolving social circle, those who’d been accepting, those who hadn’t.
    But she couldn’t remember a conversation with her own husband?
    Oliver Fisk flashed into her mind, and it vexed Jana to recall that the quite proper newspaper editor had known the location of Brandon’s office, but she didn’t.
    Had she simply forced it all from her mind these last fourteen months?
    Another sort of longing suddenly filled Jana’s heart. Brandon had hardly been the biggest thing on her mind once she’d arrived in London.
    A brief knock sounded on her door before it swung open and Abbie came inside.
    “Morning, Mrs. Sayer,” she said in greeting.
    “Good morning, Abbie,” Jana said, rising from the bed.
    “How was your night?” Abbie glanced at the barely disturbed coverlet. “Uneventful, as usual, I see.”
    Jana smiled, finding Abbie’s frankness refreshing. “And they will remain uneventful.”
    “It’s not hardly my place to say, but if certain things go unattended for too long, well, they might go wandering off.”
    “Yes, I know….” Jana slipped her