Page 62 of The Trouble with a Dare

Must talk. Come to Royle House.

B

―Excerpt of a letter from The Most Hon’ble, Lawrence Grenville, The Marquess of Bainbridge to Mr Sterling Oak.

2nd of April 1840, Thistley House Farm, Sussex.

Sterling stared down at the baby in his arms and laughed as her tiny fist batted at his nose.

“Feisty this morning, aren’t you, princess? I hope you’re going to be a good girl for your Mama today.” Betty kicked her legs and blew bubbles at him. “Ah, but you’re always a good girl, aren’t you, my little lamb?”

The baby cooed and gurgled, and he felt the now familiar and overwhelming sensation of besotted adoration fill his chest. He looked up as Grace walked over to him and kissed his cheek.

“You are in a sorry state, Mr Oak, for she has you wrapped about her tiny thumb. A good girl, indeed. She’s a little tyrant, that’s what she is. Yes, you are, madam,” Grace said, stroking her downy cheek and smiling down at her with an expression the twin of Sterling’s. “You’ve the entire house dancing to your tune, and especially your Papa, and well you know it.”

Betty giggled, and Sterling gave a snort of laughter.

“See!” Grace exclaimed. “She doesn’t even deny it.”

Sterling reluctantly handed Betty back into Grace’s arms before smothering a yawn.

“What time did you get in last night?” Grace asked him.

“About three in the morning.”

Her lovely face creased with concern. “Oh, Sterling, you must be exhausted, and then Betty woke you before dawn too. You poor thing. I worry you’ll collapse if you keep this up.”

He grinned, and though his head was fuzzy from lack of sleep, he didn’t care. Lambing had been going marvellously well, and his wife and daughter were healthy and happy. Life was good.

“You’d best wake me up, then. Give me something to keep me going,” he said, lowering his voice and sliding an arm about his wife’s waist. Though she was still a dainty little thing, she was not so fragile and slender as before, with rather more generous curves that he fully approved of.

“Sterling,” she protested, though it was half-hearted, even if she did cast an anxious glance at the open door.

“What? A man needs a kiss to start the day, doesn’t he?”

Despite his exhaustion, Sterling’s heart kicked in his chest and desire burned beneath his skin. He’d been patient, so damned patient that it was a good job he was so bloody tired after weeks of lambing and scant hours of sleep between, or he might have lost his mind. But, thank the Lord, he had the impression he might not need to wait much longer.

Grace leaned into him, angling Betty to one side as Sterling ducked his head and kissed her, deeply and thoroughly, savouring the taste of her, sweet with tea and honey. The scent of chamomile teased his nose. By the time he drew back, Grace was breathing hard, her grey eyes dark. Sterling could read that look well enough.

“Reckon I could get back to the house for a nap this afternoon,” he murmured, reaching down to tug at her earlobe with his teeth. Her breath caught, her cheeks flushing pink. “The men can do without me for a few hours.”

“R-Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” he agreed, nuzzling her neck as his hand drifted down over her hip to her lovely behind.

“I… I could ask Maggie to take Betty down to Martha. I’m sure she’d take Betty for a little while,” she ventured, the words breathless.

Sterling looked at her. His pulse was surging now, and he suspected the grin he could feel curving his lips was decidedly wolfish. It certainly felt so.

“A long while,” he said, before stealing one last kiss from her, and then kissing his daughter’s head. “Have a good morning, my beauties.”

Grace sat on the pretty new bench in the garden with Betty wrapped up and sleeping peacefully in a marvellous new baby carriage which had been a gift from the Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu. It was a sort of wicker bassinet on wheels with a handle. Apparently, they were all the rage. It was a splendid invention, and the thoughtful present had delighted Grace.

Though there was still a lot of work to do, the garden was taking shape wonderfully well. Jewel-bright crocuses covered the ground in vast swathes, and large clumps of daffodils and tulips nodded their heads in the mild breeze. The cherry trees were full of blossom too, and all around the air rang with birdsong and the bleating of the lambs. Grace laughed, delighted, as she watched them gambolling about in the field beyond the garden, all long limbs and joyful excitement. They bounced as if they were on springs and were a charming entertainment. She tipped her head back, enjoying the feel of the sun on her face, and remembering the kiss her husband had given her that morning. It had been full of promise, and she had every intention of holding him to it. The thought made her smile, made happiness fill her chest and her blood surge through her veins in anticipation. He had been so good to her, so tender and careful, never pushing her, and she was grateful for it, for the weeks after the birth had been as daunting and tiring as they’d been wonderful.

But now… now the time was right. No, not just right. Perfect. It was all perfect.

“Grace.”