He didn’t answer for a moment, but placed her hand on the rock between them, stilling it with his palm softly over her knuckles.
“You fidget when you are self-conscious,” he said pointedly.
“You can’t know that.”
“I know it as well as I know how you take your tea.” His simple answer made her wriggle once more. When he raised his eyebrows, she stilled. “I won’t have you self-conscious around me, of all people.”
“You do realize how mad that sounds when you no doubt despair of my ways.” Dorothy pulled her hand from beneath his and gestured back toward the trees, a strange feeling curling in her stomach. It was as though she had missed a step going down a staircase as she looked at him, her stomach making that whooshing feeling. “You just demonstrated to others how much you despair of me as we talked about marriage.”
“What I said came from a good place.” His voice grew firm now. “Dorothy, I know it is not a good thing to hear, but you must know that not all marriages are founded on love. It is an idealized idea. In fact, if I hadn’t met your parents, I would have said that love didn’t even exist.”
“I beg your pardon?” She nearly fell off the rock in surprise. “You didn’t think it existed?”
“Your parents showed me it can exist. I remember seeing how much they loved one another, but such things are not common.” He shook his head.
“You think not? What about all the great love stories out there? What ofRomeo and Juliet? What ofTristan and Isolde?”
“All stories, Dorothy, are pure fiction.” His expression hardened. “You cannot expect such things to exist. We marry for convenience, for children, to produce heirs.”
“God’s wounds, is that how you truly view it?”
Dorothy stood up on the boulder, determined to get away from him once again. Stephen followed her, towering over her with his greater height. He looked down at his feet, clearly very conscious of the dirt he would have to step through to keep up with her.
“You will marry a woman who you think will give you an heir and nothing else?”
“As I said, she must be someone who is aware of a duchess’s duties. A lot of responsibility comes with the position. You must see I cannot marry just anyone.”
“Pah! I wonder why we talk of courtship at all when you should be interviewing a lady as an employer would vet an employee.” At her words, he cocked an eyebrow, as if it was not the worst idea in the world. “Don’t you dare start interviewing Lady Frederica. Actually, what am I talking about? Do, do so. By all means, you’ll frighten her off, and then I shall win this wager of ours.”
She stepped off the boulder, continuing up the hill, and Stephen followed her, swiping away the branches on either side of them with some difficulty.
“You do not have to keep following me.”
“I do. I have to. Your brother asked me to look after you.”
“I do not need your protection, Stephen. I never did. Why would I put my trust in someone who is so quick to disparage and insult me in front of others? I’d rather trust a snake.” She jumped off the line of boulders and landed between the tree roots.
“I’m not that bad,” Stephen murmured behind her, but she took no notice.
She strode off between the trees when the torn edge of her gown got caught in brambles once again. She pulled on it sharply, but in her haste, she didn’t see what she was doing with her feet. One foot landed in a gap between the tree roots, and she staggered to the side.
“Careful!”
A hand abruptly came up around her waist. Dorothy wobbled on her feet, flinging around as Stephen took hold of her. They staggered together, his hands on her waist and her hands on his arms as they stared at one another.
Abruptly, they both fell still. Neither one of them moved or said anything. They just continued to stare at each other.
Dorothy could not believe how close they stood together now, how near they were, or the fact that he was still touching her. Surely this broke all of his rules of propriety? Yet, apparently, his need to stop her from falling, his need to protect her, had outweighed his need for propriety.
“You can release me now,” Dorothy pointed out in a quiet voice, her manner suddenly rigid and cold.
Stephen released her fast and stepped back.
“Thank you,” she muttered and looked down at her torn skirt. “I imagine you hate this.”
“I hadn’t even noticed.” He glanced at the rip in her gown and dismissed it with a wave of his hand.
Silence fell over them again, and she wondered if he was also thinking how strange their staggering together had been. For a minute, she had felt strongly his need to protect her. It was a far cry from the Stephen she was used to—the one who thought of rigidity and nothing else.
