Nathan cleared his throat to break the silence. “I am accustomed to being surrounded by people who say nothing while using a plethora of words. Your silence is eloquent.”
In the corner of his eye, he saw her bonnet dip down toward the ground. “I am sorry,” she said, her soft voice even more difficult to hear.
He made a grunt of impatience. “Do not apologize for not speaking. I am not going to force you to converse with me if you do not wish to. However, if something is troubling you, I would prefer you voice it.”
Her bonnet did not raise but her head did shake her refusal. Nearing a copse of trees, he led her down a weaving path. The air cooled in the shadows as they made their way to the base of the hill.
“Sara,” he tried again, trying to keep the impatience from his voice. “I truly wish you to feel comfortable enough to speak your concerns with me. If we are to rub along for this week, we ought to make an effort to be honest with each other.”
She did not respond, instead focusing on climbing the ascent of the hill. Nathan did not fully blame her, for the slope was steep enough to steal their breath away as they climbed. He had the advantage of his cane providing him more support and traction; he adjusted his arm until his palm slid around hers, and he linked their fingers together, gently pulling her up along with him.
Sparks flew out of her palm and traveled up her arm, sending Sara into deeper confusion. She could not understand how her mind could be so indecisive regarding the matter. When she had walked alone earlier, her mind was clear in its contemplation, acknowledging the gravity of the situation. She had even determined to speak with Nathan about ending their arrangement early and spending the rest of the week in separate bedchambers.
But watching as he approached the folly, wonderfully handsome with that smolder in his eyes she was coming to recognize, all such thoughts fled until all she could think about was his kiss. It remained that way until he had called her Mrs. Grant, effectively startling her mind into functioning properly once again.
Now, with his strong hand linked with hers, thought was threatening to abandon her once more.
He pulled her along with confidence, assuring her by his grip on her hand that he would help her should she stumble. They neared the peak, the wind playing with the strings of her bonnet. Sara raised her free hand to hold them in place.
They crested the hill, coming to a stop near a large rock. Nathan released her hand and climbed up on top of the rock, his limp not hindering him in the slightest. She wondered briefly at his agility in spite of his impairment.
He looked down at her with a small smile on his face, offering his hand. “Come up with me, Sara,” he invited.
“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly,” she replied immediately, shaking her head.
“Why not?”
“It wouldn’t be proper.”
“Was it proper of you to burst into my library in a wet dress and demand this week with me?”
Her face flamed and she looked away from him, unable to reply.
“I won’t let you fall, if that is your concern.”
She shook her head again. Sara heard him give a long exhale and the scrape of his boots against the rock indicated he was climbing down. She felt him come and stand near to her, his presence a lodestone to her awareness. He took her elbow and turned her to face him. She kept her head down, but he lifted her chin until she had no choice but to look up at him. She could feel her pulse beating against her neck rapidly and she fought to control her breathing. Her eyes involuntarily focused on his mouth again.
“Sara,” he said, his voice uncharacteristic in its gentleness, “you must trust me.”
She swallowed. “I am confused,” she whispered.
A flicker of relief crossed his face. “About what?”
“This. What we are doing.”
His hand fell away from her chin and he took a step back. Sara saw his lips start to tighten into their familiar scowl. A few ants climbed into her throat. “Please don’t be angry,” she begged, unwilling to have another attack in front of him. “Please just allow me to explain.”
“I am . . .” Nathan cleared his throat. “I am not angry.” It wasn’t anger filling his stomach but disappointment. No wonder he had awoken alone this morning; she was having second thoughts after all. He supposed the light of day always made people see things differently than the dark of night.