Page 21 of The Trouble with a Dare

Grace darted a nervous glance at him. “I’m quite comfortable, but thank you for your concern. Besides, country women work right up until they’re ready to give birth, do they not? I don’t think sitting on a blanket on the grass is going to hurt me.”

“You’re not bred for that kind of work, though, are you? And you look like you’d bruise like a ripe peach if you so much as sat on a pebble.”

There was a flash of impatience in her grey eyes. They were full of storm clouds, making him wonder about what went on in her head. “No, but I’m not made of spun sugar, either. I’m no princess.”

“Hmph.”

There was a tense silence. He felt certain she was counting in her head, or praying perhaps.

“Have you had a good morning?” she asked a moment later, apparently having recovered her good humour.

“I suppose.”

“What have you been doing?”

“This and that.”

She made a muffled sound of exasperation, and he slanted a look at her to see her staring at the heavens. Yes, definitely praying for divine intervention. A bolt of lightning, most likely.

Sterling stuffed the last bite of sandwich in his mouth and set his plate aside.

“What do you want, Grace?”

This seemed to startle her. In truth, it startled Sterling too, but he was afraid of hurting her feelings too badly if he allowed this to go on. Best they got things straight.

“Want?”

“Aye, with….” He gestured to the picnic, and the view, and Grace herself. “What were you hoping to achieve?”

He studied her, saw the colour rise in her cheeks and then seep away again. She blinked and turned away from him. “Must a wife have a reason to spend time with her husband?”

“This wife and this husband, yes. I think so.”

Her head snapped up and she stared at him, her eyes too bright. “You regret it,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. There was accusation in her gaze and a deeper hurt than he’d been prepared for. Surely she wasn’t disappointed? “I ought to have known. I… I should have realised… I should never have accepted you.”

Sterling watched in horror as she scrambled to her feet, without even stopping to pick up her bonnet. She hurried towards the gate.

“Grace!” he called after her, alarmed now and disconcerted. “Grace, wait.”

He leapt up, catching her easily, his hand on the gate, holding it closed so she could not escape him. She stared stoically straight ahead, her lovely faced pinched and pale. A tear slid down her cheek and Sterling experienced a stab of pain so profound his breath caught. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. He had no experience with weeping ladies to draw upon. His mind ran in panicked circles, his chest tight, and he knew only that he’d rather cut out his tongue than hurt her again.

“I… don’t,” he managed, gripping the gate so hard he felt splinters prick at his fingers. “I don’t regret it.”

She made a sound of disbelief and turned her head away. “You cannot even bear to be in the same room as me. Soon enough, eating with me will be too much and I’ll not see you at mealtimes either. I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you married me when… when you despise me so.”

Despise her? Sterling stared in shock, unable to comprehend where she’d got such an addled idea in her head. Before he could respond to this piece of nonsense, she carried on.

“I don’t blame you. I… I know most men would th-think me a… a whore, only—”

“No!” The word burst from him before he could even consider what he might say next. He reached for her, turning her to face him, daring to keep his hands on her upper arms, careful not to hold her too tight, though he felt like shaking her for her folly. “Grace, I don’t! I… never. I swear it.”

She stared up at him then, tears streaming down her face.

“Then I don’t understand. Why do you avoid me? Why do you make it so hard to know you? I want to know you, Sterling. You are my husband and I wish to make you happy. Why won’t you let me learn how?”

Sterling stared at her, too overwhelmed by her words to know how to respond to them. She wanted to make him happy? His mind was a tangle of thoughts and words, none of which he seemed able to muster into a coherent sentence, to explain why that was foolish. But she was staring at him, waiting for an answer.

“It’s… I… I don’t wish to….”