Just as she was on the verge of conceding defeat, when the fluttering came once more, a gossamer quiver that made her inhale with awe.
"Well, I'll be," he murmured. "I did feel something. At least I think I did. Will he do it again, do you imagine?"
"I'm not sure. I can barely feel it myself, but it's there. Our baby is really there."
She sent him a smile, buoyant and without barriers.
Something in his eyes changed, his pupils dilating inside rings of peerless blue, as he gazed deep into her own.
Her lips parted, her breath coming faster for reasons that had nothing to do with her excitement over their child. He bent nearer, pausing for an instant, as though he were giving her a chance to retreat. When she didn't, his mouth met hers-warm and slow and astonishingly sweet.
Her eyelids slid closed and she held herself utterly still, as if she were afraid even the smallest movement would shatter the moment. Instead, she let herself float, giving herself permission to indulge-if only for a few precious seconds-in the perfect beauty of his touch. Breathing deeply, she drew in his scent-a delectable combination of shaving soap, warm skin and man that swirled like an elixir in her head.
Then, before she had time to make a clear choice about whether to step out of his hold or move deeper into it, he took the decision out of her hands. Gentle as a sigh, he broke their kiss, easing his lips ever so gradually away.
He left his arm looped in an undemanding circle around her waist, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to release her entirely. "I've missed that. I've missed you."
"What do you mean? I've been right here."
"You're here, but not always with me. You keep me … separate."
As she considered, she realized he was right. In spite of all his support and companionship these past few weeks, and in spite of her undeniable pleasure in his company, she did keep him at a distance. To protect herself, she'd put up an emotional shield, an invisible wall that no one-most especially Jack-could possibly penetrate. But during the past few minutes, she'd let that wall drop. She'd let him in.
Breaking eye contact, he glanced away. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you. Something I ought to have said long ago."
She froze, unable to believe he would do this here and now. But she'd known from the day he arrived that this moment would come, that he would leave as abruptly as he'd arrived.
Muscles suddenly rigid, she tried to step out of his grasp. When he wouldn't let her, she forced herself to relax and wait.
It would all be over soon. He would set her free, then he would leave, finally and for good.
"Grace, I love you."
Her gaze flew to his, confusion drowning out the fabrication she'd prepared in order to show just how little she supposedly cared. "What did you say?" she whispered in a faint voice.
///
His eyes locked on hers. "I said, I love you."
She blinked and gave her head a tiny shake. No, you don't, she thought.
"But I do," he stated, as though he'd heard her silent denial. "And what's more, I'm not leaving. I know you're waiting for me to, I can see it in your eyes. But you're not getting rid of me so easily this time. I'm staying, whether you like it or not."
Blood throbbed between her temples, her heart hammering violently in her chest.
"I know you still don't trust me," he continued. "I realize you believe you have good reason not to. Perhaps your doubts were valid in the beginning, but no longer."
She couldn't move, couldn't speak.
Reaching up, he stroked the back of his fingers over her cheek. "You're the only woman I want, the only woman I will ever want. Despite what you think you saw that night with Philipa Stockton, I've been faithful and I'll continue to be. I can't prove it with words, only in deed. Just as I can't prove the strength of my love, I can only show you, day by day by day. And I will, even if it takes the rest of my life to make you believe me."
Taking a breath, she worked to form a response, so conflicted she scarcely knew how to react. But before she could, he moved his fingers to cover her lips.
"It's all right," he reassured her. "You don't have to say anything right now. I just wanted you to know how I felt. How I feel. And that I'm going to fight for you, Grace. You loved me once. I can wait and hope you will again."
Leaning close, he pressed his mouth to hers-quickly, gently.
"In the meantime," he said, his tone thick as he pulled away, "I'll be here for you and the baby. We'll live wherever you want. The choice will be entirely up to you. Just don't ask me to go away. I tried that once and it nearly killed me. I'd rather live with your indifference than not live with you at all."
Stepping back, he went to his bedside table. He returned carrying something. Opening his palm, he revealed the heart-shaped pendant he'd given her so many months ago.
"I've kept this," he explained. "You might say it's become a talisman of sorts. I … I carry it everywhere. But I'm going to give it to you again, if you'll take it. Whether you decide ever to wear it or not is up to you."
"Jack," she murmured, as she let him press the jewelry into her hand.
Smiling gently, he kissed her forehead. "Now, enough of such syrupy talk. Why don't you get dressed and I'll finish doing the same. We can have breakfast together. Then I'm off for an appointment with a couple of the local farmers."
"Farmers?" she repeated, nonplussed at the abrupt change of subject.
"I have an idea for planting an orchard in the fallow field that lies south of the house. You may not realize, but a couple hundred acres are attached to this property. I thought it might provide us with some extra income, while also giving the people around here a new source of employment."
"You're right. It would," she agreed. "It's an excellent notion."
He smiled again. "I'm glad you approve. Well, go on now and get dressed, sweetheart. The rest of the day awaits."
They met in the breakfast room three-quarters of an hour later, sharing a meal and friendly conversation during which neither of them remarked in any way on Jack's unexpected declaration. Nor did they discuss the fact that she hadn't said anything in reply.
Once breakfast was finished, he bid her a warm good-bye, then departed for his meeting. Meanwhile, she was left to do as she wished for the remainder of the morning.
Deciding she would enjoy some fresh air, she donned her most comfortable walking boots and a bonnet, then set off along the tree-lined path that led toward the village. She told Mrs. Mackie she wouldn't go far or be away too long, promising to turn back immediately should she experience the least hint of vertigo or nausea.
But she felt well. Excellent, in fact. The best she had in weeks. Physically, at least.
As for her emotional state …
She listened to her boots slap softly against the packed earthen path and to the random call of birds perched in various tree branches above her.
I love you, Grace.
His words echoed in a dulcet whisper through her mind.
Without realizing, her step slowed, her thoughts turning inward.
I love you, Grace.
Yes, but did he really mean what he said?
And if he did, why had he waited until now to tell her? Why today and not yesterday? Why not last week or last month or last year?
///
Maybe because he hadn't realized his true feelings until recently, the emotion coming on him so gradually that he hadn't seen it for what it was?
Or perhaps he'd known for ages that he loved her but had been hesitant to reveal himself and risk rejection.
Then there was another possibility-one she found the most likely and the least satisfactory. He didn't really love her but only said he did because of the baby.
Her hand went to her stomach, thinking of the life inside. Was it this little baby he actually loved-and through a sort of benign default, her too?
Lowering her hand again, she walked on.
If she were the same person she'd been a year ago, she would have been dancing on air to hear him speak such words, never questioning his truthfulness. But she wasn't that woman anymore-that naïve girl-and to her chagrin, she realized she did need more from him than words. He'd hurt her too deeply in the past for her to blithely accept his declaration of love on its face.
But as he'd pointed out himself, what other proof could he provide, if words weren't enough? What could he do, except show her each and every day that he meant what he said, that he honestly and truly loved her?
Still, that would take time.