Page 95 of A Rogues & Gentlemen Christmas

“Gracie,” he said. “Would ye run to the bedroom and fetch a blanket for me, love?”

She looked a little startled but didn’t hesitate. “Of course, Ned.”

When she appeared again, he moved through the kitchen, waiting for her beside the piano. “Put it on the floor there, in front of the fire.”

He wondered if she would protest or question him, but she didn’t, and he watched as she took care to tug all four corners of the blanket out to sit flat. Ned grinned at her and knelt, setting out the food like a picnic. “If I were courting ye properly, I might invite ye to a picnic with me,” he said, glancing at her and wondering if she thought him a fool. Sarah would have. She’d have rolled her eyes and told him not to be so bloody daft. “It’s not the weather for it now, though, and….” He shrugged, not wanting to mention her brother or the odd situation in which they found themselves. “Well, we’ll have our picnic indoors, if that’s all right?”

She beamed at him, such pleasure in her eyes his heart lurched in his chest. Good Lord, how was a man supposed to withstand a smile like that? His brain was melting into something gooey and malleable, and he knew this woman could wrap him around her slender finger if she ever wanted to. He’d do anything for her, get anything for her. A fine lady like her would want clothes and jewels, though, and he felt a stab of fear as he wondered how he could provide such things. The farm was prosperous thanks to a deal of hard work and good management. He’d bought another thirty acres last year to add to the fifty he had, an unimaginable achievement when he thought of where he’d begun. He’d made a grand success of it, by the standards of his own class….

But she was not of his class.

He was beneath her and he knew it.

“How lovely,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the blanket, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling sapphire bright in the firelight. “A winter picnic.”

“In the spring, when the weather is fine, we’ll do it properly,” he promised, a vision of his wife lying among a meadow of wildflowers and holding her arms out to him making his heart thud and his cock leap to attention.

Behave, ye daft bugger, ye’ve had all yer gettin’, he scolded the part of his anatomy which possessed a mind all of its own.

“That sounds perfect,” she said with a sigh before gazing at the spread before them with regret.

“Did I forget something?” he asked, frowning.

She shook her head. “No, it’s quite wonderful. I’m just so cross with myself. I had intended to make you a splendid dinner and….” She gave a rather bitter little laugh. “What a dreadful wife I shall make you! I shouldn’t blame you in the least if you turned me out in the cold and washed your hands of me.”

The very idea made Ned’s heart clench, and he snatched up her hand, making her start with surprise. “Never say that. Don’t ever think it. I shan’t, I promise ye. It’s yourself who ought to be concerned as ye shall find a deal to want in me as a husband. Ye ought to marry a fine gentleman, a nobleman, even. A man who could buy ye everything ye deserve and take ye to the theatre and grand balls, parties where ye could dance and wear fine gowns and….”

He trailed off as the images he spoke of became too vivid in his mind.

“I don’t want that,” she said, squeezing his hand and bringing his attention back to her, to here and now.

“That’s because ye were afraid and unhappy,” he said, his chest tight with anxiety. “The roughest refuge can feel like a palace when desperation nips at yer heels, but when the fear is gone—”

“No.” She was staring at him now, her fingers tight about his own and a glimmer of steel in the blue that he’d not expected. “No.”

He let out a sigh and smiled, wanting to be reassured by her certainty but far from convinced. It was foolish to borrow trouble, though, and in this moment he was happy, and he thought perhaps she was too. Ned raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

“Let’s eat,” he said.

They ate everything he’d brought and Ned fed her pieces of cake, feeling like a lowly servant to the goddess he’d compared her to, and loving every moment. He laughed as she sipped at the ale, wrinkling her pretty nose with distaste and kissed her for trying. Little by little Ned urged her to talk, to tell him about her life. Happier memories emerged of the time when her mother still lived, and they would escape into the garden together and share picnics like this one, but there were darker memories too. She confessed to the dreams she’d had of running away to London or Paris, and the thought of it made him sick with terror. She looked rueful at his obvious horror and admitted it would never have happened, she’d been too scared… and then she remembered that she had run into the night after all, because what awaited her had frightened her more than London or Paris.

Ned made her smile again by telling her stories of himself as a boy, and the scrapes he’d gotten into. His parents had been good people, solid and reliable, and his childhood had been a happy time. He made her laugh with silly tales of boyhood pranks and mischief, and revelled in the sound of her happiness. Then, at his insistence, she returned to the piano and played for him. Ned closed his eyes and prayed that he could have this, that he could keep this, this unutterable joy she had brought into his life.

The next days passed in a dreamlike haze of happiness.

Grace took pains to ensure the house was warm and clean and a hot meal awaited him when he came in from the cold. They talked for hours and Ned was astonished by how genuine her interest in the farm appeared to be. Blushing hard, she’d confessed her desire for a large family, and he’d held her hand, assuring her he wanted the same. The smile she’d given him had stolen what remained of his heart. When she asked why he and Sarah had no children themselves, he’d just told her they’d not been so blessed. Speaking of Sarah made him uneasy and he avoided it. The last thing he wanted was for Grace to believe Sarah had been unhappy with him, so he brushed over it and made his marriage appear a deal happier than it had been. Instead, he told her of his plans for the future, of more land he had his eye on, of the jobs that needed doing, of the crops he’d planted and his battle to keep the birds away, and of his breeding plan for the fine, healthy flock of sheep he’d raised. She blushed a little when he spoke plainly of the ram and the beast’s indefatigable prowess, but did not appear dismayed by the conversation, rather riveted in fact. In return, she spoke of her own life and Ned’s heart broke for the narrow existence she’d endured.

During the day she studied the cookbook like a bible, with her the most devoted of worshippers. There was a deal of household advice in the back pages which she also took to heart, and Ned’s boots were polished and waterproofed with a mixture of tar, tallow, and beeswax and then polished to a shine, despite his protests that she’d ruin her lovely hands.

Instead, she worried more about his hands, ever more roughened and chapped by the freezing weather, and made him a cream scented with rose water that she insisted he used. He did, but only because he feared they would be too coarse for her fine skin when he was finally allowed to touch her, when she was his wife at last. The thought of his work-abraded hands on her silky skin, cupping her full breasts and sliding between her thighs had him hard in an instant. He was forced to pretend he’d forgotten a vital job in the yard, and brought himself off behind one of the barns with a muffled cry of relief.

He was walking a knife edge and took care not to overstep. He would allow himself only a chaste kiss when they said goodnight and didn’t dare touch her again, though he saw the invitation in her eyes and her obvious puzzlement that he wouldn’t hold her to him again.

By Thursday night, he was beside himself with anticipation and glowered up at a white sky that threatened snow with a curse.

“Please don’t,” he said, taking his hat off and staring up at the heavens, to the place where he imagined the almighty must be having a nice little chuckle at his expense. “Have pity,” he begged. “I’m flesh and blood, and I never pretended to be a saint. I can’t take much more.”

He tramped back to the house with his guts in a knot, wondering if they’d be knee-deep in snow by morning.