Page 55 of The Trouble with a Dare

On her walk that afternoon, Grace had found something else too, and held it discreetly out of sight. They were dining at Holbrook House this evening, and her parents would be there before coming to stay with them on Christmas Day. She was pleased and excited to welcome her mother and father to her home and show them everything she had done here, for it looked splendid. All her efforts had created a place that was at once elegant and cosy. With lots of comfortable corners where one could curl up with a good book, and yet filled with paintings and prints, and a feast for the eyes. Rich brocade curtains in warm colours and matching soft furnishings on cushions and settees made each room seem like a little jewel and invited you to come in and make yourself at home. Home. That was what it was, but not only because she lived here and had made it look pretty. The real reason was coming down the stairs now, muttering under his breath.

Grace looked up and smiled, knowing he’d been fighting with his cravat again.

“It’s the best I can do,” he grumbled, gesturing to his neck cloth.

“Oh, it’s not bad at all,” Grace said, trying not to laugh. “Here, let me. If I just give it a tweak here and smooth this bit like so… there. Perfect.”

Sterling threw up his hands in exasperation. “I swear it would not do that for me.”

“That’s because you were getting in a temper,” she said, sliding her hands lovingly over his lapels and very aware of the magnificently hard chest beneath.

“Grace,” he said, a warning note to his voice. “If you want to go to this wretched dinner, don’t do that.”

She looked up at him from under her lashes and tugged the little piece of greenery from her pocket.

Sterling laughed as he saw the mangled bit of mistletoe. “Have you been carrying that about all day?”

Grace nodded.

“Silly creature,” he said fondly. “Surely you know you don’t need to wave mistletoe in my face to get a kiss. I’ll never deny you a kiss, love. Not when I want them even more than you do.”

“Stop talking and get on with it then,” she said, smothering a laugh.

He leaned down, taking her mouth in a hot, searing kiss, possessive and hungry and not at all what she’d been expecting, for he’d been increasingly careful of her. Though they’d done no more than kiss and embrace, he had kept even that to a minimum. Hardly surprising, she thought with a growing sense of disquiet. She was so fat and ungainly now that he could hardly get close to her without her belly getting between them. She felt like a beached whale, self-conscious despite the ardour of his kiss. He lifted his head with a tortured sigh, and she had to admit he did not appear to find kissing her a chore, even if she was not the slim creature he’d married.

He put his large hand to the side of her belly. “This little one will be a welcome arrival,” he said, giving her a mischievous smile. “Though the devil will probably cry all night and we’ll be too exhausted to do anything more than give each other a peck on the cheek.”

“You speak for yourself,” Grace said, and then blushed furiously, wondering how she’d dared.

Sterling laughed, obviously delighted by the comment. “I shall hold you to that, love. May I have it in writing?”

“No,” she said, pretending to put her nose in the air and stalk away. “Come along, or we shall be late for dinner.”

“Wait a moment.”

Sterling grasped her wrist, bringing her to a halt. “I have something for you.”

There was such an excited glint in his eyes it made her smile.

“A present?” Grace asked in surprise. “Now?”

“Yes. I was going to wait, but I can’t. You must have it now.”

Grace laughed, and went and sat in the parlour while he disappeared. A moment later, he was back, holding a small, flat parcel. “Merry Christmas, Grace.”

There was anticipation in his expression, and Grace understood that he’d chosen this carefully. That knowledge made her heart skip about.

She felt the edges of the wrapping and understood at once that it was a small, framed painting, or perhaps a print. Grace tugged at the red ribbon and cast it aside, hurrying to take off the paper. It was a tiny watercolour painting, a study of grey clouds and moonlight over water.

“It’s by Joseph Turner,” Sterling said, his voice low. “Only a study, of course. I couldn’t afford a finished piece, much as I would love to have bought you one. It’s taken from a sketchbook. Turner gave it to the fellow I bought it from as a present. The fool didn’t appreciate what he had but… but once I saw it, I had to have it. For it is you, Grace.”

Grace looked up at him, not comprehending. “It’s me?”

Sterling nodded, a slight tinge of colour high on his cheeks. “There are clouds in your eyes, love. Sometimes they’re stormy, when you’re angry with me or out of patience, but sometimes they’re calm and bright, like they’re touched by moonlight. Like the painting,” he added, gesturing to it and looking awkward.

Grace swallowed, her throat tight. How on earth she had married this extraordinary man? How had she gone so very wrong, and had the world give her so much when so many others were punished for their folly? He might be stubborn sometimes, but he was kind and gentle and… and now this. She was beyond blessed. Carefully, she set the little painting down on the table beside her.

“Do you like—” he began, and then broke off as Grace got to her feet and flung herself at him. “Oof!”