Page 66 of The Trouble with a Dare

Grace scrambled over to him and settled with a rustle of petticoats and skirts.

“Sterling,” she said, her voice full of concern, her small hands clutching at his arm.

He looked at her, unable to hide the terror and uncertainty of the past couple of hours.

“You knew,” she whispered, fear in her eyes. “You saw.”

He nodded. “I wanted to kill him, but… Ma made me think before I did something foolish. So I did.” He stared down at the bed cover, trying to put the words together so she would understand, glad that she waited for him to gather his thoughts and get it right. “I thought about the past months, about how happy you’ve made me. You and Betty. You’ve changed my life, made everything so much brighter and better and… and I hoped I’d made you happy too. I was scared, Grace, scared you’d regret me, but I had to believe you’d stay, that you would send him away. I knew you were strong enough to do it if you wanted to, and I knew you would call for me if you needed me. I was waiting close by, just in case.”

“Oh, Sterling,” she said, and then threw her arms about his neck, toppling him over backwards. She peppered his face with kisses. “I love you,” she said, desperation in her voice. “I love you so much and I was so afraid to hurt you. I’m so sorry, so sorry that he came, so sorry—”

“Hush, love,” he soothed her, his own heart calm now after her words had smoothed over the raw pieces of his soul, like a healing balm. “I’m not. I’m glad. He knows now. Knows he’s not wanted or needed. You told him. You protected our little girl. I’m proud of you.”

Grace laid her head on his chest and let out a shaky sigh. Sterling stroked her hair, so pale and blonde. At least no one would ever remark on their daughter’s fair colouring, so like her mother’s.

“Grace. That sheep.”

She raised her head, looking at him with such consternation at the change in subject that he almost laughed. Though he hadn’t changed the subject, not really.

“What?” she said, her nose scrunched up in an adorable fashion. “What sheep?”

“The infected one you got away from the flock, the day Betty came.”

“Oh,” she said, her face clearing for a moment before she frowned again, looking rather disgusted. “Sterling, must we talk about this now? We were having a lovely moment and—”

“Yes, love, it’s important.”

She muttered something impatient and not entirely complimentary about men and rested her forehead on his shoulder. “Go on then,” she mumbled, sounding resigned now.

“You saved the flock. They were all fine, you know. Not a sign of sheep scab, and if you’d not acted so quickly, it might have been very different.”

She raised her head, giving him a wary glance. “Oh. Well, I’m glad.”

He nodded, tracing a finger down her cheek. “So am I, but I’m sorry too. Sorry that I underestimated you. I ought to have let you in, let you make your place in the farm. I know you’re interested and not doing it lightly, not playing at it, so… so if you still want to….”

She beamed at him, such a bright, joyful smile it felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

“Oh. Oh, yes, Sterling! Yes, please. I should like that above all things.”

He quirked an eyebrow, his hands firming about her waist. “Above all things?” he repeated, a note to his voice she could not fail to recognise.

She blushed, the colour rising quickly to her cheeks. “Well….” Her gaze fell to his mouth. “Perhaps not all things,” she amended, and ducked her head to kiss him.

Grace gasped as Sterling rolled her onto her back, his mouth hot and urgent. Not that she was complaining. All at once she was desperate, desperate for his skin, for the feel of it against hers, for the weight of him and the heady, musky, masculine scent that filled her mind and made her giddy with wanting. She snatched at the buttons of his waistcoat, tugging so hard one popped off and hit the far wall, skittering to the floor. Sterling snorted with amusement.

“Easy, love, you nearly had my eye out.”

“Take it off, take it off,” she demanded, tugging his shirt from his trousers as the buttons seemed to defy her trembling hands. He laughed and sat back, divesting himself of his waistcoat and pulling his shirt over his head. Grace stared and stared, hardly able to believe this wonderful, powerful man was hers. She reached out, sliding her hands down his big chest, enjoying the rasp of wiry hair beneath her fingers. He stilled, his eyes as dark as obsidian. With a grin, he cast his shirt aside and they both looked in alarm as the sleeve caught a small book perched atop a stack on the bedside table. It toppled to the table, falling open, and a tiny scrap of paper fluttered out. Sterling caught it as it drifted towards them, frowning as he saw the writing.

“What’s this?”

“Oh! Don’t look,” Grace said, giggling, trying to snatch it from him.

Intrigued now, Sterling held it up, out of her grasp. “What is it? Keeping secrets from your husband, are you?” he teased.

“Yes,” she exclaimed, shoving at his chest, which was quite pointless. “Give it back! No, don’t—”

Too late, he read the faded writing on the paper and his lips twitched. “A dare?” he said, looking at her with amusement. “Of course. I should have known. You’re a Daring Daughter. So, this is from the famous hat, is it?”