NFH 04 Truce (Historic) (22 page)

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?”

“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.

After his announcement that first night when he’d described what he’d expected of her, she’d anticipated to live a life of solitude where he ignored her until their child was an adult and her usefulness had come to an end. Then she’d imagined that he would probably move her into a cottage where he would never have to see her again. It wasn’t an existence that she would have accepted meekly, which meant that their marriage probably would have been filled with turmoil, arguments and eventually hatred.

She didn’t want that kind of marriage.

So, if he was offering her an olive branch, she would happily accept it. As long as it was beneficial to both of them and it didn’t end with her living in the middle of nowhere with only squirrels and her ever growing hatred for Robert to keep her company.

“What are you suggesting?” she asked, trying not to get her hopes up that they could be friends. He’d been very kind towards her for the last couple of days and while that gave her hope, she also realized that it could have been out of pity.

“I’m suggesting that we work together to set some terms for this marriage that we can both live with,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched her work.

“That sounds reasonable,” she had to admit, more than reasonable considering that most men didn’t care one whit if their wives were happy.

“From this point on, I think that it would be best if we started with a clean slate,” he suggested, sounding hopeful as she grabbed a pan, the small bowl of butter and the plate of cubed slices of ham and headed for the stove. She opened the stove door, making sure that the fire that the servants had set before retiring for the night was still going before adding some more coal and wood to ensure that the fire was hot enough to cook their food.

“Meaning?” she asked, not exactly sure where he was going with this.

“That we forget the past and start fresh,” he said after a slight pause.

“And how exactly do you propose we do that?” she asked as she dumped the ham into the pan. “We’ve always hated each other.”

“Not always,” he pointed out as he moved to lean against the wall to her right.

Instead of arguing with him or admitting just how much she didn’t hate him, she focused all of her attention on stirring the ham so that it wouldn’t burn. He didn’t say anything for several minutes, probably waiting for her to admit to something, but she refused to confess anything until she knew where she stood with him. Finally he grumbled something about her being stubborn and began.

“Most marriages start with a fresh beginning and I’d like that for us,” he said as if what he was suggesting was even possible.

“That’s because most couples didn’t grow up hating each other,” she pointed out, stirring the ham a little more than was necessary.

“True,” he murmured his agreement as he reached over and plucked a piece of ham out of the pan and popped it into his mouth. “But, most couples spend the rest of their lives hating each other.”

She didn’t bother arguing that point, because he was right. While she knew of several couples that were able to tolerate each other, she knew far too many couples that couldn’t stand the sight of each other. Her parents, unfortunately, fit the latter category. On the surface, her parents appeared to tolerate each other and to even like each other, but that was just a show they put on for the
ton
and their friends. They barely acknowledged each other in private and, when they spoke, it usually ended in arguments.

“What I’m suggesting,” he said, pausing only long enough to steal another piece of ham, “is that we accept what happened when we were children and move past it. I’d like a fresh start with you, Elizabeth.”

“And do you really think that’s possible?” she asked, her lips twitching as he stole another piece of ham.

“Yes,” he said without pause.

“Oh, and why is that?” she asked, sighing heavily as he stole another piece of ham and forced her to dump the rest of the cut up ham into the pan.

“The orangery,” he simply said as he stole another piece of ham.

“The orangery?” she repeated back in confusion, wondering what exactly that night had to do with starting fresh.

“Mmmhmm,” he said around another stolen piece of ham.

“Why?” she said, frowning down at the pan as he stole another piece of ham. At this rate there wouldn’t be any ham left in the pan by the time she threw in the eggs.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?” he demanded with a pout as he yanked his hand back.

“Stop stealing the ham!” she snapped, gesturing with the wooden spoon she’d just lightly rapped against his knuckles in warning.

“This isn’t making me hate you any less!” he snapped back, doing his best to glare down at her, but the way his gaze kept dropping back down to the ham as he licked his lips hungrily had her smiling and reaching for a small plate.

“Here,” she said, scooping some ham onto the plate. She’d barely moved to hand it over to him when she suddenly found the plate ripped from her hand and Robert devouring the ham.

“Your appetite is frightening,” she said with an exasperated sigh even though it secretly pleased her that he wasn’t furious by the fact that she enjoyed cooking.

His only response was a glare as he continued to eat his ham. When he was finished, he sent a hopeful look at the pan, but one gesture with the spoon had him placing his empty plate back on the counter.

“Now, what exactly does the orangery have to do with this truce of yours?” she asked, hoping to distract him from the ham so that there would be some left for her dinner.

She was starving, more like ravenous at this point. She honestly couldn’t remember ever being this hungry before. Even the few times she’d been too sick to leave her bed and had been forced to survive on broth and tea for a month hadn’t left her this hungry. She could probably eat all the ham, she thought with a groan when she was forced to slap Robert’s hand away again.

“Vicious minx!”

“Stop stealing the ham!”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d feed me!” he snapped back as he rubbed the back of his hand.

“I’m not going to feed you until you explain this truce of yours,” she said, hoping that it would be enough to slow down his thieving ways until she could finish cooking the food.

“Fine!” he said as he deftly snatched another piece of ham out of the pan and popped it into his mouth before she could slap it out of his hand with the spoon.

“Get on with it, Robert,” she said, pouring the egg batter into the pan, hoping that it would be enough to deter him from stealing any more ham for a while.

It didn’t.

He leaned back against the wall, getting more comfortable as he popped the egg-covered piece of ham into his mouth. “You didn’t hate me that night in the orangery.”

“I didn’t know who you were,” she pointed out, stirring the ham and eggs while she kept an eye out for his devious hand.

“Ow!” he hissed, but this time he was smart enough to pull his hand back and continue making his argument for a truce. “Exactly my point. You didn’t know that I was the little boy who used to make your life a living hell and you liked the man that I’d become,” he said, his tone daring her to lie when they both knew that she’d more than liked him that night.

“That’s true,” she admitted, because really, there was no point in lying at this point. It certainly wouldn’t help matters.

“The only reason we’ve been at each other’s throats over the past couple of months is because of our previous history,” he explained and she was very tempted to add that she’d also done it because it was fun.