Several hours later, Grace was laughing still, as she and Jack strolled along one of the many paths that led through Richmond Park.
In every direction, nature thrived; the grounds were composed of majestic hills with breathtaking views, serene ponds and woods full of magnificent old trees bedecked in regal cloaks of verdant green. But it was the wildflowers she loved best, their colorful heads dotting the landscape like thousands of tiny jewels.
Obviously, Jack had known she would enjoy the park-which, to her begrudging delight, she had. Just as she'd enjoyed the phaeton ride and a brief exploration of the shops and businesses that lined the Thames-side of Richmond itself. Despite her initial hesitation over the excursion, the day had turned out to be one of the best she'd known in recent memory.
If only we could remain here like this indefinitely, she thought. If only this day away could last forever.
Brought back to reality by her foolish, wistful musings, her humor dimmed a bit. She repressed a sigh. "I suppose we ought to be getting back."
"Oh, surely not," he said. Slipping his pocket watch from his waistcoat, he opened the gold lid to check the hour. "Why, it's barely six. Plenty of time left yet to explore. In fact, why don't we walk around a little more, then have an early dinner here in Richmond? I know just the inn."
"I suppose we could, but I-"
"-will be absolutely famished if you insist on waiting until we return home," he interrupted.
"I'm used to dining late. Town hours, remember?"
"Yes, but we usually have nuncheon and we missed ours today. As a result, I fear I'm coming down peaked."
She gazed into his healthy, youthful face. "You don't look peaked."
"I am. Inside. You should hear my stomach crying out in agony even as we speak." A roguish smile spread across his mouth.
///
She laughed again, her resolve crumbling.
As oddly malleable today as a handful of clay, she soon found herself falling in with his plan. Strolling at a leisurely pace, they spent another half hour in the park before returning to their carriage. In peaceable harmony, he drove them toward the inn.
When they arrived, the innkeeper showered them with a voluble welcome, the round-bellied proprietor with his toothsome smile and tufted grey eyebrows doing everything in his power to make them feel at their ease. Puffing out his massive chest with pride, he showed them to his "best private parlor." Promising to return soon with a bottle of his finest wine and most delectable hot repast, he withdrew, closing the door at his back.
The moment he departed, Grace became abruptly aware of the fact that she and Jack were alone-a curious sensation, given the fact that they'd been alone together all day. Not to mention the fact that they were married and shared both a house and a bed.
Preposterous.
Still, until now, their day had been spent in public settings, the world's watchful gaze conferring an unspoken restraint of sorts. Now that restraint was gone.
Suddenly in need of space, she crossed to the window and peered down into the inn yard below. As she watched, nimble-footed hostlers ran to and fro, while off in the distance the mighty Thames curved in a steady, relentless flow.
Determined, unchangeable, unforgiving.
Am I those things as well? she wondered.
A tremor skipped across her skin as Jack drew to a halt at her side, then again when he curved a palm over her shoulder. Bending, he pressed his mouth against her neck. Her lips parted, eyelids falling closed, while pleasure sang a sweet song in her blood.
Suddenly, a brisk knock came at the door, followed by a click of the lock, as the innkeeper and a pair of maids bustled inside. Immediately, she pulled away from Jack, relieved by the interruption.
He cast her an inquiring glance but made no comment while the table was prepared for their meal. He and the innkeeper carried on a lively conversation, Jack pronouncing the wine an excellent choice, much to the beaming approval of the other man.
And then they were alone once more, the table nearly groaning beneath the plentitude of the offerings before them.
Sliding into a seat opposite, Jack took up a plate and served her first. She couldn't help but notice that he chose only her favorites, including a large spoonful of cheesy scalloped potatoes that made her mouth water in anticipation.
He served himself next, carving from both a rare roast beef and a tender boiled ham, adding dollops of coarse grain mustard and freshly grated horseradish alongside. With a selection of accompaniments taking up the remainder of the space on his plate, he poured wine for them both, then dug into the meal.
She half expected him to mention the embrace they'd shared at the window. Instead, he launched into an amusing tale about a boyhood prank he and Cade had once perpetrated in church that soon had her relaxed and laughing again.
While they talked, food disappeared from her plate and wine from her glass, which he kept replenishing at regular intervals.
Finally she stopped him with a hand over the top of her goblet, giving him a firm shake of her head. "No more. I've had too much as it is."
He peered at the bottle and the two inches of wine left inside. "A shame not to finish this, seeing it's our host's best vintage and all."
"You drink it," she said, holding firm to her decision. "Besides, I remember all too well what happened the last time you plied me with alcohol and the sore head I got the next morning. I have no interest in repeating the experience."
"That was brandy, a far more potent spirit. But if you're sure … "
After a last questioning look, he tipped the remainder of the Bordeaux into his glass, filling it nearly to the rim. Lifting the beverage, he took a long swallow. "As I recall, you seemed to enjoy that night-and the next morning as well, once you got over your initial discomfort."
For a moment, she didn't know if he was referring to the loss of her virginity on their first night together or the results of all the liquor she'd consumed that evening. Either way, his statement was unerringly accurate. In spite of her trepidation then, she'd more than enjoyed that first night. She'd love it and him. She'd been so happy. So innocently full of hope, and the joy of simply being together.
But now she knew his actions for the lies they'd been.
Only his touch hadn't been a lie, she realized. In that, he'd never deceived her.
"Yes, well, those days are long gone," she said, laying down her fork.
Reaching over, he captured her hand. "They don't have to be."
///
Her gaze went to his. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Just that we have the power to do anything we want, to be the people we each wish to be. I'm tired of this estrangement, Grace. Are you not weary of it too?"
Is that what today has been about? Suddenly it all made sense.
She looked away. "But I thought you were content with things as they are."
"I'm content having you in my bed, though content hardly seems an adequate description for the passion we share. I want more. I want you. Can you not find some way to forgive me? Even a little?"
Her heart boomed in her chest, blood throbbing with near pain between her temples. "You want my forgiveness?"
"Yes. And I want you as my wife. My real wife. Can we not try again? Start over anew?"
For a long moment, she stared, not quite comprehending what he'd just said. Yanking her hand from his grasp, she shoved back her chair and stood up. Hugging her arms around her waist, she paced several steps away.
She didn't know how to respond or what to do, stunned by the declaration he'd just made. She'd assumed he would be glad to see her leave when the Season came to an end. That he would savor the freedom of their separation, since it would allow him to return to his bachelor life and his bachelor ways. Instead, he was telling her the exact opposite. That he wanted her to remain. That he wanted to make their marriage work.
I hate him, don't I? she thought wildly. All she needed to do was say those words aloud, and it would all be over. But did she want it to be over? And did she still truly wish to leave?
A shiver racked her frame despite the summertime warmth inside the room. He'd already destroyed her faith in him once, crushing her hopes and her heart so that she'd had to close off a piece of herself in order to survive. Could she afford to lower her defenses again? Did she dare risk letting him in? Of trusting him despite his past deceits?
With conflict warring in her breast, she paced forward and away. Forward and away again.
On one of her passes, he reached out and caught her hand, drawing her to a halt. Their gazes met, his eyes a deep, percipient blue.