“No, it wouldn’t have, Elizabeth,” Robert 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?” Elizabeth asked, settling back against him and making him wonder if she was even aware of the action.
“Is it a short list?” Robert 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 simply held her. For several minutes, they stayed like that, him holding her in his arms while she absently traced her fingertips 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?” Robert 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?” Robert 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,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head as she continued to trace his forearms with her fingertips, “I know that you would never hurt me, but…”
“But, what?” Robert asked, pressing another kiss against the top of her head.
“I didn’t want you to hate me any more than you already did,” she said so softly that he’d 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,” Elizabeth mumbled. “I didn’t know what to do or how to tell you.”
“Would you have told me?” Robert 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” Elizabeth admitted, sounding so damn miserable that he couldn’t help but smile.
“Then perhaps it’s time that we called a truce?”
Chapter 25
“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,” Elizabeth said, carefully disengaging herself from him as the need for self-preservation kicked in.
