“I’m very sorry that I didn’t tell you about the baby,” she said softly, bringing up the one subject that he’d decided to put off until another day.
“Why didn’t you?” he asked just as softly, terrified that he’d say or do something to scare her or make her cry.
Too late, he realized as she wiped a tear off her cheek with a small cooking cloth. Pretending that everything was okay, she stood up and focused all of her attention on the bowl of dough. Somehow he forced himself to remain seated when all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and tell her that he forgave her, that it wasn’t important, but it was.
He wanted to know, needed to know. He wasn’t as angry as he’d been before. Christ almighty, how could he be? She’d just lost their child and he knew that she grieved over that child with all her heart. He’d seen the anguish in her eyes as she’d cried over the loss of their first child.
She’d only been a little over a month and a half into her pregnancy, but he knew that she’d already loved that baby. While most women would simply accept the fact that they’d lost a child since it happened so frequently, Elizabeth had taken the loss hard. It told him so much about her, confirming his earlier opinion of her and making him regret ever calling her a bitch even if he’d only done it in his head. He just couldn’t see the woman that he’d held in his arms over the past two weeks while she cried her heart out being a vicious bitch who would purposely subject a child to a life of misery and being labeled a bastard.
He just couldn’t.
“I didn’t want to trap you,” she mumbled as she rolled out the dough with an expert touch and began to cut out circles.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked a little more roughly than he’d intended, making her noticeably cringe.
“I didn’t want to force you into marrying me, Robert,” she said tightly as she quickly placed the cut dough on a pan, focusing all of her attention on the task at hand so that she wouldn’t have to look at him.
“It wouldn’t have been forced,” he explained, getting to his feet and moving to help her when she picked up the pan.
He took the pan from her and carefully placed it in the hot oven, careful not to step too close to the open fireplace beneath the ovens. Once he was sure that it was far enough inside the oven, he turned around and found Elizabeth busying herself with cleaning up the small mess on the table.
Without a word, he stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her back against his body. “It wouldn’t have been forced,” he repeated more softly this time.
“Yes, it would have,” she said, moving to step away from him, but he wasn’t letting her go.
“No, it wouldn’t have, Elizabeth,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“You don’t love me, Robert. You don’t even like me and you certainly don’t want to be married to me,” she explained softly as she simply stood there, allowing him to hold her.
“What makes you think that I don’t like you?” he asked, smiling when she released an indelicate snort.
“Would you like a list?” she asked, settling back against him and making him wonder if she was even aware of the action.
“Is it a short list?” he asked absently as he enjoyed the feel of having her in his arms and no longer having to worry about proprieties and all that bullshit.
Then again, it was still looked down upon to show affection for one’s wife in public, but he didn’t give a damn. He loved touching her, holding her and he’d be damned if he allowed rules made up by a bunch of hypocrites to dictate his life. She calmed something deep inside of him, gave him peace, and made him smile even when she was going out of her way to vex him.
It was simply impossible to truly hate her.
When he realized that she’d gone quiet again, he contented himself with simply holding her. For several minutes they stayed like that, him holding her in his arms while she absently traced her fingers along his forearms. He could have held her all night, but they needed to talk. Praying that she didn’t push him away, he asked her once again for the answer that he dreaded.
“Why didn’t you tell me, minx?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her lavender scented hair.
She didn’t answer immediately, and for a minute he thought that perhaps she would never tell him, but she took him by surprise when she admitted something that he never thought he’d hear from her.
“Because I was scared.”
“Of me?” he asked hollowly as his arms tightened around her, praying that the answer was no, but that was too much to expect.
He’d made her life a living hell for too many years to count until finally he’d been forced to step away, terrified that he’d do something foolish like take her over his knee and give her the spanking that she so rightly deserved. Putting space between them had probably saved them from killing each other or losing their damned minds.
When she came back into his life, he hadn’t been able to resist her. He loved being around her, tormenting her and waiting to see how she would react, but now he had to wonder if he’d gone too far.
“No,” she said, shaking her head as she continued to trace the length of his forearms with her fingertips, “I know that you would never hurt me, but….”
“But, what?” he asked, pressing another kiss against the top of her head.
“I didn’t want you to hate me anymore than you already did,” she said so softly that he almost missed it.
“I don’t hate you, Elizabeth,” he promised.
“You’re being awfully sweet about this whole thing, Robert, and while I appreciate that, I understand. I should have told you as soon as I was sure that I was pregnant and…”
“When was that?” he asked, cutting her off.
“When was what?” she asked, sounding confused.
“When did you become certain that you were pregnant?” he asked softly, praying that the reminder of what they’d lost didn’t make her cry. It killed him to see her cry.
“After what happened in the library,” she mumbled. “I didn’t know what to do or how to tell you.”
“Would you have told me?” he asked, closing his eyes as he waited for her answer.
“As soon as I figured out a way to tell you without making you hate me” she admitted, sounding so damn miserable that he couldn’t help but smile.
“Then perhaps it’s time that we called a truce?”
Chapter 25
“A truce?” Elizabeth repeated back slowly, understandably wary considering the suggestion was coming from Robert Bradford and that this wasn’t the first time he’d suggested such a thing.
“I think that it would be for the best,” he said, repeating the same words that he’d used sixteen years ago when he’d tricked her into crawling out from her hiding spot in his father’s barn where she’d been hiding after a rather unfortunate incident involving Robert, a bowl of honey, and about five sacks of chicken feathers.
“I see,” she said, carefully disengaging herself from him as the need for self-preservation kicked in.
Although she wholeheartedly agreed that a truce of some kind would be beneficial so that they wouldn’t end up killing each other, she just couldn’t quite ignore the voice screaming inside her head to make a run for it. Knowing that it was both foolish and pointless since there was no longer anywhere to run now that they were married, she forced herself to remain in the kitchen so that she could hear him out.
That didn’t mean that she was going to do something foolish like staying within reaching distance of him. As casually as she could, she walked around the table and started to work on the eggs, telling herself that she’d be able to make it to the door if this turned out to be a trap. Other than an amused smile that told her that he knew exactly what she was thinking, he didn’t comment on the action.
“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life fighting with you,” Robert explained, stating her biggest concern.
They didn’t have a love match, the one requirement that she’d had for marriage. She couldn’t even say that they were friends and given their history and how their marriage came to exist, she hadn’t expected a cordial marriage when her father had grudgingly agreed that she had to marry Robert.
“Why didn’t you?” he asked just as softly, terrified that he’d say or do something to scare her or make her cry.
Too late, he realized as she wiped a tear off her cheek with a small cooking cloth. Pretending that everything was okay, she stood up and focused all of her attention on the bowl of dough. Somehow he forced himself to remain seated when all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and tell her that he forgave her, that it wasn’t important, but it was.
He wanted to know, needed to know. He wasn’t as angry as he’d been before. Christ almighty, how could he be? She’d just lost their child and he knew that she grieved over that child with all her heart. He’d seen the anguish in her eyes as she’d cried over the loss of their first child.
She’d only been a little over a month and a half into her pregnancy, but he knew that she’d already loved that baby. While most women would simply accept the fact that they’d lost a child since it happened so frequently, Elizabeth had taken the loss hard. It told him so much about her, confirming his earlier opinion of her and making him regret ever calling her a bitch even if he’d only done it in his head. He just couldn’t see the woman that he’d held in his arms over the past two weeks while she cried her heart out being a vicious bitch who would purposely subject a child to a life of misery and being labeled a bastard.
He just couldn’t.
“I didn’t want to trap you,” she mumbled as she rolled out the dough with an expert touch and began to cut out circles.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked a little more roughly than he’d intended, making her noticeably cringe.
“I didn’t want to force you into marrying me, Robert,” she said tightly as she quickly placed the cut dough on a pan, focusing all of her attention on the task at hand so that she wouldn’t have to look at him.
“It wouldn’t have been forced,” he explained, getting to his feet and moving to help her when she picked up the pan.
He took the pan from her and carefully placed it in the hot oven, careful not to step too close to the open fireplace beneath the ovens. Once he was sure that it was far enough inside the oven, he turned around and found Elizabeth busying herself with cleaning up the small mess on the table.
Without a word, he stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her back against his body. “It wouldn’t have been forced,” he repeated more softly this time.
“Yes, it would have,” she said, moving to step away from him, but he wasn’t letting her go.
“No, it wouldn’t have, Elizabeth,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“You don’t love me, Robert. You don’t even like me and you certainly don’t want to be married to me,” she explained softly as she simply stood there, allowing him to hold her.
“What makes you think that I don’t like you?” he asked, smiling when she released an indelicate snort.
“Would you like a list?” she asked, settling back against him and making him wonder if she was even aware of the action.
“Is it a short list?” he asked absently as he enjoyed the feel of having her in his arms and no longer having to worry about proprieties and all that bullshit.
Then again, it was still looked down upon to show affection for one’s wife in public, but he didn’t give a damn. He loved touching her, holding her and he’d be damned if he allowed rules made up by a bunch of hypocrites to dictate his life. She calmed something deep inside of him, gave him peace, and made him smile even when she was going out of her way to vex him.
It was simply impossible to truly hate her.
When he realized that she’d gone quiet again, he contented himself with simply holding her. For several minutes they stayed like that, him holding her in his arms while she absently traced her fingers along his forearms. He could have held her all night, but they needed to talk. Praying that she didn’t push him away, he asked her once again for the answer that he dreaded.
“Why didn’t you tell me, minx?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her lavender scented hair.
She didn’t answer immediately, and for a minute he thought that perhaps she would never tell him, but she took him by surprise when she admitted something that he never thought he’d hear from her.
“Because I was scared.”
“Of me?” he asked hollowly as his arms tightened around her, praying that the answer was no, but that was too much to expect.
He’d made her life a living hell for too many years to count until finally he’d been forced to step away, terrified that he’d do something foolish like take her over his knee and give her the spanking that she so rightly deserved. Putting space between them had probably saved them from killing each other or losing their damned minds.
When she came back into his life, he hadn’t been able to resist her. He loved being around her, tormenting her and waiting to see how she would react, but now he had to wonder if he’d gone too far.
“No,” she said, shaking her head as she continued to trace the length of his forearms with her fingertips, “I know that you would never hurt me, but….”
“But, what?” he asked, pressing another kiss against the top of her head.
“I didn’t want you to hate me anymore than you already did,” she said so softly that he almost missed it.
“I don’t hate you, Elizabeth,” he promised.
“You’re being awfully sweet about this whole thing, Robert, and while I appreciate that, I understand. I should have told you as soon as I was sure that I was pregnant and…”
“When was that?” he asked, cutting her off.
“When was what?” she asked, sounding confused.
“When did you become certain that you were pregnant?” he asked softly, praying that the reminder of what they’d lost didn’t make her cry. It killed him to see her cry.
“After what happened in the library,” she mumbled. “I didn’t know what to do or how to tell you.”
“Would you have told me?” he asked, closing his eyes as he waited for her answer.
“As soon as I figured out a way to tell you without making you hate me” she admitted, sounding so damn miserable that he couldn’t help but smile.
“Then perhaps it’s time that we called a truce?”
Chapter 25
“A truce?” Elizabeth repeated back slowly, understandably wary considering the suggestion was coming from Robert Bradford and that this wasn’t the first time he’d suggested such a thing.
“I think that it would be for the best,” he said, repeating the same words that he’d used sixteen years ago when he’d tricked her into crawling out from her hiding spot in his father’s barn where she’d been hiding after a rather unfortunate incident involving Robert, a bowl of honey, and about five sacks of chicken feathers.
“I see,” she said, carefully disengaging herself from him as the need for self-preservation kicked in.
Although she wholeheartedly agreed that a truce of some kind would be beneficial so that they wouldn’t end up killing each other, she just couldn’t quite ignore the voice screaming inside her head to make a run for it. Knowing that it was both foolish and pointless since there was no longer anywhere to run now that they were married, she forced herself to remain in the kitchen so that she could hear him out.
That didn’t mean that she was going to do something foolish like staying within reaching distance of him. As casually as she could, she walked around the table and started to work on the eggs, telling herself that she’d be able to make it to the door if this turned out to be a trap. Other than an amused smile that told her that he knew exactly what she was thinking, he didn’t comment on the action.
“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life fighting with you,” Robert explained, stating her biggest concern.
They didn’t have a love match, the one requirement that she’d had for marriage. She couldn’t even say that they were friends and given their history and how their marriage came to exist, she hadn’t expected a cordial marriage when her father had grudgingly agreed that she had to marry Robert.
