Page 24 of The Trouble with a Dare

He nodded and she knew that, whatever decision he had made, he would not be swayed from it.

“Then I shall court you, as I would have done if things had been different, with all the attention with which you ought to have been courted.”

Grace felt a smile tug at her lips. “But we’re married!”

To her delight, a smile danced at the corners of his mouth too.

“Aye,” he said. “But it would be a shame to miss out on the fun, don’t you think?”

She nodded, her smile widening now as happiness burst free inside her. This was more than she could have hoped for. She had feared if he agreed to allow her into his life that it might all happen too fast. He had rushed her into marriage in a matter of minutes, after all. She had not expected him to be so patient with her, and she warmed to him for his understanding.

“Yes. Yes, I do think, if… if you don’t mind.”

He shook his head, his gaze never leaving hers.

“You’ve made me very happy, Sterling.”

It felt like a risk to say the words, to expose herself more than she already had, but she was glad of it when she saw the pleased look in his dark eyes. For once, his expression was not at all hard to read and he looked almost boyish as he flashed her another quick smile. Oh, but that smile was devastating. Grace experienced a visceral reaction, a quivering burst of heat low in her belly and the force of it shocked her. She had wanted her husband to be a friend and companion, but she had not believed she would feel such… that she would want…. She blushed even considering what it was she wanted. How could she, when she had believed herself in love such a short time ago? Of course, now, with hindsight, she knew she had been an idiot. It had been nothing more than infatuation, a foolish fascination for a beautiful man. Was this the same, then? Was it happening again? How would she be able to tell if it was just another fickle burst of passion, or something real?

“Are you sure, Grace?”

Grace looked up to find Sterling studying her. His gaze was intent, and she realised her abstraction had worried him. Pushing her confusion aside, she stared up into his face.

“Quite sure,” she said, certain not to look away, to give him the words with conviction, because she was sure it was what she wanted, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what it was she felt for her husband.

He nodded, his expression grave, and it felt like a promise, the sincerity shining in his dark eyes. This was not a man who did things lightly, who said things and did not mean them. As comforting as that knowledge was, it was also daunting, for she was realising that whilst little showed on the surface of the man before her, he felt things deeply. So, she must tread with care and try not to speak carelessly, without thinking, for he would likely take her words to heart.

“You’ve barely eaten enough to feed a sparrow,” he observed, studying her. “A pity to waste that fine picnic, and you’ve the babe to think of. Half a sandwich won’t grow a healthy child.”

She smiled at his concern, touched that he worried for her.

“I am hungry now,” she admitted, discovering it was true. Now she felt less anxious, her appetite had returned with a vengeance.

To her delight, he took her hand and tugged her gently back to the picnic blanket. She watched as he sat down beside her and prepared a plate for her as she had done for him, laughing as he piled it high.

“I’m growing a baby, not an elephant,” she protested, as he offered the plate to her, surprised it did not make her feel ill as it usually did when confronted with so much food.

“You need to eat,” he said, his voice firm.

She took the plate from him with a smile and picked up a fork, spearing a piece of potato salad, and then stilled as she felt his touch upon her cheek, feather light.

“You must look after yourself.”

The words were so gentle that they seemed to shiver over her skin.

“I will if you will,” she offered, teasing him with a smile.

He did not smile in response, his reply as grave as his dark eyes. “I will,” he promised.

Chapter 9

Dearest Florence,

I am keeping my word to you, though I must give you fair warning that you might find it a mixed blessing. My darling Bainbridge is coming too.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Most Hon’ble, The Marchioness of Bainbridge (daughter of Mrs Alice and Mr Nathanial Hunt) to Mrs Florence Stanhope (daughter of Lady Helena and Gabriel Knight)

10th of September 1839, Thistley House Farm, Sussex.