“Are you sure?”
He frowned at her. “Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Perhaps because you were getting strangled by your cravat a short while ago?”
He turned away with a snort and picked up another massive rock. “Happens on occasion. I’ve never enjoyed tying fabric around my neck, but apparently it is considered vulgar not to do so.” Puffing out a breath of exertion, he set the stone on top of the other he’d placed. “Fashion is the most nonsensical thing in the world. Damned if I’ll ever understand it.”
“I quite agree.”
“You do?” He gave her a sharp look over his shoulder.
“Yes. But it’s not why I’m here.” Stiffening her resolve, she said, “I want to discuss the reason behind your reaction this afternoon.”
“There’s nothing to discuss besides the obvious.”
“And that would be?”
“As you’ve already noted, my cravat is a dangerous contraption.” He glanced toward the sky. “Perhaps I should file a complaint against the man who invented it.”
Sarah sighed while he went back to his work. “While I generally enjoy a bit of levity, this is serious, Matthew. Whenever something reminds you of the loss you once–”
Without a word, he walked away like she’d seen him do several times before. Gripping her basket harder, she marched through the folly’s archway so she could block his path when he came from the other direction. “You’re running away again. Matthew, I understand the extent of your pain, but I cannot bear watching you deal with it like this.”
His mouth began twisting into a snarl, but rather than push back and fight her, he turned away once more. Determined not to give up, Sarah raced around to the other side of the folly, arriving just in time to cut him off again.
He drew to a halt, his body tensing as if he wished he could toss her aside and storm off. Sarah watched his fists clench and his eyes spark with contained fury. “Who do you think you are, Sarah, coming here and making demands?”
“I am the woman who plans on becoming your wife. But only,” she told him pointedly, “if you’re willing to let me into your life.”
“Sarah,” he hedged while his shoulders slumped a notch. “I’m not sure you–”
“Listen to me.” Now that she finally had his attention, she needed to keep it. Maintaining a firm tone, she added, “I grew up in a home filled with love and laughter, with parents who treated each other respectfully and who taught me the value of communication. Matthew, I know you’ve suffered tremendous loss, and based on what I’ve witnessed, you continue to do so.”
“If you came here hoping I’d open up, I’m afraid I must disappoint you.” He shifted as if prepared to move past her.
She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Tell me what happened. From the beginning.”
“No.” He shook his head and turned away. “Some things are best forgotten.”
“What was your mother like?” Sarah asked without remorse while dogging his every move. “Did she read stories for you when you were a boy? What about your father? I’m sure he must have shown you how to ride or perhaps how to whittle? And what did your siblings–”
He rounded on her, forcing her back a step with his dark glare. “Stop it!”
“No.”
A large hand curled around her upper arm with bruising force. Pulling her sideways, he pushed her up against the folly’s wall and pinned her there while his body seemed to tremble with unleashed rage. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me - what you’re forcing me to face.”
“I know you’ve been trying to bury your grief most of your life without dealing properly with it.”
“Grief? Is that what you think this is?” Leaning in, he made a low growl. “There are demons that nip at my shadow and keep me from sleep. They’re ugly and all too eager to drag me down into the pit of despair where they want me to live. That’s what I’m fighting, Sarah - the memory of my parents and older brothers setting off for Oxford without me because I was too young to join them. Of them not heeding my warning about the weather because they knew better. I was ten years old. Ten! And yet I was forced to see them after the accident, forced to inhale the sweet smell of honeysuckle strung up to mask the stench of death. Because as my grandparents said, I needed to face reality. Can you imagine what that was like? Dear God, my sister’s forehead had a deep gash that the undertaker had not been able to hide while my mother...”
He dropped his gaze while breathing hard, as if fighting for inner control. Sarah held herself perfectly still while absorbing the horror of what he described.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “No one should have to endure that. Least of all a child.”
#
IT FELT AS THOUGH SHE’Dforced open a box he’d struggled so damn hard to keep shut for almost two decades. Part of him hated her for it. The other was doing its best to shove the memories back inside as quickly as possible so he could lock them up.
