Page 37 of The Trouble with a Dare

“Then there’s that fancy carriage, and the sample books of paper and paint and new curtains have no doubt whet your appetite with ideas to turn the house into some grand palace. You’ll ruin him before the honeymoon period is over, and no doubt you’ll want taking to Paris or Rome for that, and to spend more of his blunt there too, taking him away from the farm and—”

“Mrs Oak.” Grace’s voice rang out, her tone that of such censorious command Sterling blinked in shock. “I did not come to this marriage penniless. Far from it. If my husband allows me to spend a portion of my allowance on making this house a home for us and our family, that is his affair, and none of yours. I do not wish to be at odds with you, but do not think I shall stand meekly by and allow you to berate me and imply my husband is not well capable of managing his own home. I am neither a fool, nor a simpleton. If you wish to be on amicable terms, you will always be welcome in this house. If, however, you mean to deliver more of the same, I shall bid you a good evening and not expect to see you again. Goodnight, Mrs Oak.”

With this, Grace turned on her heel and strode away, marching up the stairs with her head held high, as proud as an empress.

Sterling watched her go, rather staggered and not a little impressed.

“Well,” he said, a smile curving his lips as he turned back to his mother, who was white with fury. “Reckon she’s got your measure.”

His mother sent him a look that could have stripped the paint from the walls and stalked out without another word.

Sterling let out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. Holy God, but he had not realised his wife was such a little spitfire. He laughed softly and shook his head. There was a great deal he did not know about her, but he fully intended to find out. Hesitating for a moment, he stared at the path she’d taken to their bedroom before making up his mind. He moved towards the stack of parcels, finding the gift Grace had held so carefully all the way home, and followed her up the stairs to their room.

The sound of muffled voices came from the dressing room as Grace spoke to her maid, and so he waited. The maid appeared first, carrying the gown Grace had been wearing. She dipped a curtsey and hurried out. Sterling prowled the room, wondering if he ought to have announced his presence, but the maid would have thought that odd and he wanted no one to gossip about them.

He was drawn to the table he had set against the wall in the position her dressing table would go, and went to it, touching the heavy silver-backed brushes and the pretty hand mirror that lay upon it with the reverence others might have reserved for holy relics. There were little jars and jewelled combs and many items that would have been foreign to this room such a short time ago.

It even smelled different, the lingering scent of chamomile—and something faint and feminine and uniquely her—that had become a source of torment to him. He would catch it now and then, rising from his clothing, or perhaps he imagined it drifting on the breeze. Either way, he recognised it at once, and it filled his senses, even over the more prosaic and pungent scents of the farmyard. She was never far from his thoughts. Mostly, she consumed his mind, making it hard to concentrate on the most mundane of tasks. He moved through his day by rote, hazy like he was half asleep, waiting for the moment he could be with her again and the world would come back into sharp, glittering focus. He was so lost in his thoughts of her he did not hear her soft footsteps until they were almost upon him.

Grace looked up from tying the silken rope of a dressing gown about her waist and started upon seeing him.

“I hope I am not intruding,” he said stiffly, a little uncertain of himself.

It took her a moment to gather herself, but she shook her head. “It is your bedroom too, Sterling.”

“Yes, but…” he began, before deciding he did not wish to follow the path of that conversation.

Instead, he silently offered her the wrapped parcel, hoping to recapture a little of what had been lost on the journey home. As he had hoped, her expression softened, and she smiled, taking it from him and carrying it to the table beside him. She sat down and unwrapped it carefully, smoothing and folding the paper and setting it aside before putting the box in pride of place in the centre of the table.

“It will look very fine on that beautiful dressing table,” she said, tracing the intricate pattern on the lid with a delicate fingertip.

Sterling swallowed, dragging his mind from the place it had gone and the image of that same finger tracing a pattern upon his skin.

“Yes.”

She hesitated for a moment before looking up at him. “I am sorry, Sterling. I ought to have tried harder, I ought….”

“No.” He shook his head, frowning. “No.”

Her expression eased and she let out a breath. “All the same, I shall try harder, for you must wish for there to be peace between us. It cannot be comfortable for you.”

He snorted at that. “She’s not a peaceful nor a comfortable sort of woman.”

Grace’s lips twitched, and he took pleasure in having amused her, and pride in her desire to please him, and he wanted to kiss her more than anything else, to press his mouth to the corner of her lips as he had done earlier that day. The longing for it made his skin tight and uncomfortable, like he’d put on someone else’s coat.

He watched as she got up and disappeared into the dressing room, returning a moment later. With care, she set down the little fox he had given her as a birthday gift, watching as she troubled about arranging each item, moving the box a little to the right, straightening the hairbrushes and placing the fox so it was shown to the best advantage.

“There,” she said with satisfaction. “He looks quite at home, or perhaps it is a she?”

“Yes, a female. Though, in these parts, all beasts are ‘she.’”

She looked up at him, enquiring.

He shrugged. “It’s true. You talk to the locals, and they’ll say, ‘she’s a handsome ram.’”

Her eyebrows flew up, and she gave a little laugh, the sound of which struck inside him and lit him up with pleasure. She returned her gaze to the fox.

“Would you make me another, please? A handsome husband to keep her company?”