With that in mind, he had been hard at work attempting to come up with something that might sway, tempt, or win over his wife. Maeve, whose bright smile and winning ways, whose delicious figure and intelligent mind had so captured him. She might never trust him again, but surely, surely there was something he could do or say that would convince her to try one more time?
With that hope in mind, Silverton had picked his favourite spot within the gardens of the Hall and set about providing Maeve with the most idyllic picnic he could manage. The newly hired staff, with some help from his sister-in-law, had provided them with a selection of cheeses, fresh bread, fruits, and even a few chocolates to tempt her.
Once he had the perfect scene laid out before him, it would be easier. At least, he had repeated that mantra a few times. But even with the thick rug laid down, the spot between the cornflowers picked, and the view of the lake pinpointed, Silverton wasn’t satisfied and set about pacing despite his stiff leg. The problem was that no matter how he strived, it was never going to remedy what Maeve had gone through. How was he supposed to alter what had happened to her?
Merely listening to Maeve move around her chamber as he recovered next door had been the most acute torture. The glimmer of her laugh had him wanting to push off his covers and hurry to her. Listening to her talk to Betty had left him dreaming up lines of poetry until he was certain, if his former self could see his pining arse now, he would have snickered at this drivel. It did not help that her younger sister watched him with the sort of judgmental precision that would have scared off many a man and had him desperately missing the softer, sweeter presence of his wife.
God, how he wanted to see her. And yet, Maeve’s arrival to this wooden glen would mean he immediately needed to confess every piece of embarrassment, doubt, fear, and bafflement over whether she might care for him in the slightest. These anxieties were eating him alive.
When Maeve rounded the corner of the long gardens and drew nearer, he watched her unblinkingly, hoping not to miss a single element. The feeling was so intense within his chest—the sensation that of a whirlwind or a volcano—that he was practically dizzy from it. It coloured his vision so that Maeve’s beauty was heightened, her simply braided hair resembling a coronet in his mind. The youthful, flowered sprig dress of hers, that recalled their honeymoon, swung around her hips and legs, and all he wanted to do was rip away the folds of material and bare her skin to the golden rays of sunlight that would hit off her auburn hair. The green notes in her hazel eyes stood out more brightly and with luminosity. As she got within ten feet of him, the stark image of her creamy limbs, sprawled out and sun-kissed, played so heavily in his brain that Silverton’s whole body felt consumed by heat and lust. He was quite sure she would notice his aroused state.
“What a lovely spot you have chosen. I would never have located this without your instructions. It is quite secretive,” Maeve called out, her tone bright, cheerful, and innocent, with no idea of the explicit nature of his thoughts as she smiled and looked around the glen, framed as it was by the bending trees and high reaching grasses. “The blossom is beautiful.” She stopped and gazed at him, concern touching and creasing her brow. “Are you quite all right, my lord? You look unwell with so much colour in your cheeks. Do not stand on my account. Is your injury bothering you?”
“No,” he said. The words coming out in more of a snarl because he had not expected to feel so awkward at being back in her presence. Rather than being little more than a lust-crazed boy, he should be down on his hands and knees begging for her forgiveness. Abruptly, he turned away, moving to one side so she would have better access to the arrayed carpet.
“I heard from Grace that you were a terrible patient.” She sounded at ease, and when he glanced back, she had sat on the carpet and was arranging her skirts around herself. Could she not see the turmoil he was in? Maeve sighed as she looked up at the heavens. “It is nice to have the sun back again. Were I still a teacher, I would have to wear my bonnet, but here I suppose I can get away with going without.”
“It’s better.” He wanted to explain that without her hat, Maeve’s gorgeous shinning hair was a waterfall of colour, and all he wished to do was spread it out on his pillow and bury his face in it. Instead, he grunted.
“I was heartened to hear of Fischer’s recovery. Harrison seems pleased with his progress. I understand that your mother is now safely located with several good women who will care for her properly. If you would like, when the child is born, perhaps we could visit her. I am sure she would like to see the baby.”
Forcing himself to crouch, Silverton joined her on the carpet. He had prepared a speech. He knew what he wanted to say; hell, he’d even rehearsed it in his head. Several times. Yet it seemed beyond him, now Maeve was here. His speech listed why they would need to put their past behind them and focus on what was ahead. It was a good decision for all concerned to be practical because she had agreed to wed for sensible reasons. But gazing at Maeve now, the words would not come to his lips, no matter how much he willed himself to talk. Instead, he wanted to tell her precisely how his soul sang at the sight of her before him again.
“I assume you wish to discuss our marriage going forward,” Maeve said.
She reached forward and helped herself to one of the slices of bread. Her sentence and cooled manner cut into the mounting courage that Silverton had amassed. He would never have thought himself a coward before, but gathering it all was a slower process than he had previously anticipated.
And on his wife spoke, not pausing for him interject on the subject. “Your original proposal has not come to pass.” Here, she smiled at him, the sort of happy look that he had once taken for granted but now clung to with increasing desperation. “And of course, I am pleased you are not going to die, that goes without saying. But now, we must continue—that is—I suppose, with what we are going to do next. I would not have revealed the pregnancy to you in such a rushed manner.”
Maeve had been playing with her slice of bread, caught between eating it and wanting to finish her sentence. Finally, she put it back down and put her hands in her lap. It was obvious that there was more she wanted to say, but just as clear that she was waiting for Silverton to say something.
“Of course, I was pleased to hear about the baby,” Silverton said. He was delighted by it, with the sort of painful joy that caused his heart to beat uncomfortably and a smile to spread over his face every time he dwelt on it. However, it was his priority to convince Maeve that the child was not the reason he wished to have her close—she was the most vital, necessary, crucial thing to his continued being. He wanted their child, but the sole and most important element of the family he hoped to build was her shining presence in the centre of it. He wetted his lips, resolving to say that, but Maeve interjected.
“I know it is the main reason we wed. Even if it is no longer required now that you are not at death’s door, and your brother…” With a stiffening of her spine, Maeve added a fierce protective note to her tone, “It is early still, but the child—my child will also be more than justrequiredto me.”
“Our child,” Silverton said. In an effort to keep himself on point, he continued, although his words were clipped and formal, “I agree—the news is more than a requirement. It is a delight.”
This, at least, finally brought a real smile to Maeve’s face, and she nodded as she looked at him, an unmistakable hint of a laugh in the dimple of her cheek. “Nothing has quite worked out the way we planned it.”
“God no,” Silverton replied. And he was thankful to every holy thing in the world that his hare-brained scheme had failed so successfully.
“Oh,” Maeve said, as if realising she had made a mistake, a blush flooding her cheeks as she hastily gabbled out a sentence. “I suppose I should not have made light of it, and I am so sorry for what occurred—”
“It is the best thing, and my only regret is the danger my own stupidity put you in. For that, I do not think I will ever forgive myself.”
“I wanted to come here,” Maeve said. “I wanted to see you. And it is just as well I did, or else who knows what would have happened.” She was staring at him with a firmness that he admired. Yet there was a vulnerability in her words and in her gaze that motivated Silverton finally to say what had been bottled up inside him for far too long.
“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” Silverton said with force. He reached out and squeezed the back of her resting hand.
Maeve stared down at their interlocked fingers, her eyes wide and questioning, the expression on her face confused. It was the first time they’d touched since that desperate moment in the study a week back. The sheer terror and emotion had gone from their lives, and yet, she still clung to him in such a needful manner. His body carried out with a painful wish to pull her close, to press Maeve’s frame against his own with a savagery that he wondered how she could not see his sharp hunger.
Yet he did not wish to frighten her with his ferocity. There existed between them a small, fragile bond that in this moment was just where their hands met and nothing more. It was a vast responsibility to think that with the wrong words, or the wrong action, he would render their connection, hope, chance, and future gone.
Then you had better get it right, his conscience told him.
He looked up and found her watching him. Her expressive face was pensive, and then she let out a tiny sigh. It touched him profoundly with its simplicity, and he knew he did not have to be afraid since this woman gave him all the strength he would ever need. She was here, and there was no need to be frightened anymore.
Gently, Silverton moved closer and lifted Maeve’s hand up until it rested against his chest, so her palm was right above his heart, her soft touch warm against his shirt. “It seems as if it’s now my fate to hunger for you all the time. Of course, I am happy about the baby and cannot wait to meet the infant, but it is you I love. And I should have showed that to you every day, rather than doing what I did. My actions, when I think of them, were not what you deserved. I have been selfish for far too long. But now I find you….” Unable to just utter the words anymore, Silverton leant forward, placed one hand on Maeve’s waist, and she leant her forehead against his.
