by Joanna Shupe
Christina had removed her heavy hat but still wore her black coat. Long brown strands of hair had escaped to frame her face, now rosy from the cold. She laughed at something Sarah said, and the sight of her joy was like a punch to his solar plexus.
He loved to see her happy.
Gill was the first to spot him. “Was there something you require, sir?”
“Merely looking for my wife,” he signed, speaking at the same time for Christina’s benefit.
She met his eyes and her mouth curved into a sheepish smile. “Hello, Oliver. Do you need me?”
Always, something deep inside him whispered. He shook off that fanciful thought. There was no place for silly romantic notions in his life. He believed in logic and reason, things he could see and examine. “Nothing serious. I merely wished to take a break and spend some time with you.”
Even more color stained her cheeks, which he found absurdly charming. A hand tugged on his sleeve. He glanced down at Sarah. “Yes?”
“Christina is coming to the stables with me,” his sister said.
Gill began signing and speaking. “Now, Miss Sarah. Mrs. Hawkes has already said that she does not like horses and has no desire to join you at the stables. You must not—”
Oliver stopped paying attention to Gill and faced his wife. “You do not like horses?” How had he not known this?
“I . . . I never learned to ride properly as a girl.” She shifted in her seat. “As I grew older there hardly seemed a reason to start. The animals are big and . . . unpredictable.”
He knew enough about her parents to suspect more to that story. Had they not owned horses for riding? Everything about her life in England remained a mystery to him. He resolved to spend more time talking with her, getting to know her in the rest of the time they were married. “I am happy to teach you.”
Her face paled. “No, that is unnecessary. You are busy and there is no use—”
“Nonsense,” he interrupted. “I am not too busy for this. You shall enjoy it, I swear.”
Sarah jumped up from her seat and reached for Christina, nearly pulling the woman from her chair. “Hooray! You and I will soon be galloping in Central Park—” His sister turned away and Oliver could not follow the rest of what she said. No matter. He started to follow the two out of the kitchens.
Gill’s hand stopped him. “Are you certain about this?” his butler signed. “Your wife expressed a fear of horses a few moments ago.”
It stood to reason she was afraid considering she hadn’t spent much time around the animals, but they were harmless. Oliver had ridden nearly his entire life. No doubt she would come to love riding once she tried it. “She is only afraid because she has no experience with them. I shall show her and teach her. It will be fine.”
Gill did not appear convinced. “Go gently with her. She has had a lot of change in a short period of time.”
Oliver waved his hand. “She is stronger than she seems,” he signed. “She survived her parents, after all.”
He strode out of the kitchens, ending the conversation. People underestimated Christina: first her parents, then Van Peet. Gill. Oliver had witnessed glimpses of her bravery, the fortitude buried deep. All she needed was help to grow her confidence. As he recalled, she had been afraid of Apollo at first until he had helped her get used to the dog.
When he and Apollo caught up, Christina was standing in the mews, perfectly still, the breeze blowing her hair as she faced the stables. Sarah had disappeared somewhere inside the two-story building. Oliver placed his hand on Christina’s lower back. She started then spun toward him, her eyes wide. “Oliver. You frightened me.”
He gave her a reassuring smile. “Come inside. Let me show you around.”
She was already shaking her head before he even finished. “No, I would prefer to wait here. I am able to see Sarah and the horses from this spot.”
At several yards away from the three yawning entrances of the building?
Oliver moved closer and stroked his knuckles over her cheekbone. “Do you trust me?”
Her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. “Yes.”
“Then allow me to take you in and show you the horses. You shall soon see you have nothing to fear.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed, her gaze bouncing between him and the entrances. “Oliver, please. I do not think—”
“Nonsense. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He took her hand in his and began gently leading her inside. She allowed it . . . barely. Her feet moved slowly. He did not rush her—but neither did he let up. She merely needed experience, and the only way to do that was to enter the stables.
The smell of horses and leather mixed with hay washed over him as they went in. The stables housed five full-time grooms and Oliver’s fourteen horses. The building had been designed in the same French Renaissance style as the mansion itself, with the interior renovated three years ago to include a carriage elevator, electric lighting, and wider stalls for the animals. Terra-cotta and brass were used throughout, with carvings of horses as decoration. While he did not often spend time here, he loved the space.
The head groom, Mr. Harris, rushed over. Harris had been around long enough to pick up a few simple signs. “Sir, welcome. Did you plan on riding this morning?”
Oliver shook his head. He preferred to ride just as dawn broke, when the traffic was almost nonexistent. Then he could ride in the park and not worry that he’d miss any warning sounds from other riders. “No,” he signed. “I am showing the horses to my wife today.”
“Very good,” Harris signed, tipping his cap at Christina. “Welcome, madam. Please let me know if you need assistance.”
“Thank you,” Christina said. Oliver took her hand once more and brought her farther inside. Her head swiveled as she took it all in. He could not tell for certain, but he thought she appeared impressed.
“There are fourteen horses in the stables, kept for a variety of purposes,” he said as Apollo darted ahead, down the row of stalls. “When we finally get you in the saddle it will be on one of the gentler mares.”
Several horses walked to the front of their stalls to investigate the newcomers. Christina edged closer to him and he put his arm around her waist. Patches, the mare with the sweetest temperament, would probably fit Christina best. It was the horse Sarah was permitted to ride.
When they reached the correct stall, Oliver stopped. Patches immediately came over, and Oliver dropped Christina’s hand to stroke the horse’s muzzle. The glossy brown-and-white coat was soft beneath his fingers. He glanced over his shoulder to where Christina stood, her arms wrapped around her waist. “Come here,” he signed.
She shook her head, wide eyes never leaving the horse.
“Please,” he signed. When she continued to refuse, he decided some gentle prodding was in order. He took her hand and brought her near the stall. “I will not let anything happen to you. Just come and pet Patches.”
“Patches?”
“Yes, because of her coloring. See for yourself.”
He tugged her over. Patches sniffed and moved her head in Christina’s direction. His wife tried to retreat but Oliver stood behind her, preventing an escape. “It is all right. She is just saying hello.”
Christina stood frozen while the animal nudged her hand. When no treat was revealed, Patches grew bored and tried Oliver’s hand.
“Here,” he told Christina and produced two sugar cubes from his pocket. He’d grabbed them from a container near the entrance. “Put these in your palm and she will eat them.”
Christina shook her head and tried to withdraw, but Oliver remained close, keeping his front to her back. “I swear, she will love it,” he told her.
He could not hear his wife’s response but she pressed into him, away from the horse. He understood fear, had lived with his own demons for years after losing his hearing. However, fears merely needed to be met head-on to conquer them. Taking his wife’s hand, he placed the sugar cubes in her palm. “Now hold
them out.”
Christina’s hand trembled as it inched forward. The horse smelled the sugar and opened its mouth, lips seeking, to get at the cubes. When the mouth brushed over Christina’s palm, she jerked, which sent the cubes flying. Before he could say anything, she shoved past him and ran out of the stables, tears brimming in her eyes.
Christina did not stop running until she reached her bedroom, cold fear like ice in her veins. Once there, she flopped on the bed and dissolved into tears. Part of her was disappointed in herself. It was silly to be afraid of horses and Oliver had only wanted to help.
The other part of her was angry with Oliver. What gave him the right to disregard her wishes and force her to do something like that? She had repeatedly voiced an objection to touching or feeding the horse. Even if he had not heard her protestations he should have been able to read her body language.
When would her choices be her own? At what point would others stop forcing her to bend to their will?
And what was wrong with her that she allowed it?
You are weak. First your parents, now Oliver. They all profess to know what is best for you.
When would she gain the ability to speak up and decide for herself?
A gentle hand swept over her back and she tensed. Then the mattress dipped, signaling the presence of another person. It did not require a genius to figure out who had arrived. How had he entered without her hearing him?
“Christina,” Oliver said. “Tell me why you are crying.”
She pressed her lips together and remained silent. Oliver meant well. He was not a cruel person. For heaven’s sake he had married her to keep her away from Van Peet. Plus he’d given her parents a marriage settlement. There had also been last night, when they had shared beautiful intimate moments together. He cared for her, she was certain of it.
So it felt petulant to complain about having her choices taken away. What woman truly chose anything in this world? Christina was not alone in this. Young girls had been used as pawns in the pursuit of money and power since the dawn of time. Married women mattered even less, as everything they owned belonged to their husband . . . including their bodies.
Oliver stretched out on the mattress, his presence warm and solid beside her. “I am so sorry,” he said. “I thought I was helping you. With Apollo, you were initially scared until you grew accustomed to him. I erroneously assumed the same would happen with horses. I never meant to upset you.”
The logic was sound, which stood to reason. Her husband was a very logical man. She wished she could also attack this problem logically, to arrive at some unforeseen conclusion that would cure her, but these fears were not in her control. They were silly and irrational, emotional reactions that had grown worse over time.
“When I first discovered I was deaf,” Oliver said, “I was scared to death. I cried, I screamed. I threw things. I could not sleep because the constant silence terrified me. What if someone came into my room? What if the house caught on fire in the middle of the night and I could not hear the alarm? So I forced myself to stay awake, which did not help my adjustment.”
Sniffing, she wiped her eyes and rolled to face him. She was eager to learn more about him, about his childhood.
His arms were folded under his head and he focused on the ceiling. “My mother was incredibly patient, however. She kept telling me there was no way backward, that we had to keep going forward. She had a strong will, much stronger than mine. She pushed me when I would have given up.”
She studied his handsome profile, the sturdy jaw and straight nose. He seemed so strong, so capable. Yet it would terrify most anyone to suddenly lose his or her hearing. Putting her hand on his cheek, she forced his head to the side where he could see her mouth. “What does that mean, you would have given up?”
He said nothing, merely stared, but the truth was reflected in his bright green eyes. He did not hide anything from her, instead revealed the shame and misery he clearly carried over what he had contemplated. She could barely breathe thinking on all that would have been lost had he succeeded. “Oh, Oliver.”
Letting out a long breath, he fixed his gaze on the ceiling once more. “I never wanted to be a burden or an embarrassment to them. To anyone, really. We come from a world that expects perfection. Any flaw or abnormality is unacceptable.”
How well she understood. She thought of all the times the other girls had laughed at her, the biting comments that cut deep, often over something as little as a mismatched ribbon in her hair.
Unfortunately, cruelty never relied on rationality.
Yet those criticisms paled in comparison to what Oliver must have faced. She had not stopped to think of others with more difficult circumstances; instead she had selfishly focused on only herself. The world, she was learning, was much bigger than Mayfair or Fifth Avenue. No wonder a man with Oliver’s intelligence and pride had lost the patience for high society. She rested her hand on his chest, needing to touch him in some small way.
He placed his hand atop hers and threaded their fingers together. “The first thing that significantly helped was a dog. I had been deaf for almost eight months when my father brought home a collie. I think my parents were worried I was lonely. They were not wrong, but I did not realize how much I needed that dog. I named her Diana because she was a hunter. She never left my side, alerting me whenever there was a noise. I was finally able to sleep through the night.”
She squeezed his hand, content to listen.
“Then they found Dr. Jacobs, who was nothing short of a miracle. At the time, I had retreated, spending all of my time alone with my dog. I was frustrated, not to mention angry and scared. I had never even met another deaf person. My parents had started researching deaf schools but I refused to go. Eventually, after many long months of instruction and discussion, Dr. Jacobs helped me see that things were not so bleak. That I would have a completely normal life, just a life that was a bit different.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat, overcome with gratitude for his parents, Dr. Jacobs, and his dog. Oliver was the most remarkable man she had ever met, and everything he shared only made her adore him more.
He shifted onto his side so they faced one another, his palm cupping her jaw. “I am telling you this because I want you to understand that I know what it is to be afraid. My parents pushed me to move beyond the fear, but I should not have done the same with you. My problems were vastly different and we are not the same person. Meaning, what worked for me may not be what you need. I do sincerely apologize, and if you never wish to see a horse again then I will support you.”
Her heart tripped behind her ribs. She had not expected such understanding. And he was letting her choose? “You will not make me ride?”
“Absolutely not. I shall buy you a velocipede to get about, if that is what you wish. Then you may ride a machine instead of a horse.”
Emotion rose in her chest, like a hot air balloon rising off the ground. He was listening to her and taking her wishes into account . . . and that meant absolutely everything. She leaned in and kissed him, unable to keep from expressing her gratitude and appreciation for all he had shared. He seemed surprised and a half second passed before he kissed her back. Then his lips began sliding over hers as he worked her mouth with exquisite tenderness.
“I will not push you into doing anything against your will ever again,” he said when they pulled apart. “But also know that I am willing to help should you change your mind.”
“Thank you, Oliver.” Her heart raced in a steady rhythm. She clung to him, her fingers knotted in his hair, their legs tangled on the bed. Desire hummed through her veins, buzzing and building, a reminder of their previous night together. She longed to stay here for the rest of the day.
“Good. That is settled, then.” He kissed her nose and then started to roll away.
“Wait,” she said, holding on to his waistcoat. He looked over his shoulder at her, his brows lowered in confusion. It was hard to meet his eyes so she stared
at his forehead. “You said you were not too busy today. I thought perhaps . . . Well, I thought perhaps we could stay here.”
His expression cleared, his mouth twisting in amusement. “Spend the day in bed? I am shocked by such a torrid suggestion. Have I already corrupted you?”
Chapter Sixteen
Oliver knew he had embarrassed his wife, yet he hadn’t been able to resist teasing her. She was too adorable, staring up at him with a mix of desire and shyness. He understood her shyness but hoped, by making a joke, to demonstrate that their physical relationship should be fun. Mutually rewarding, and something they should both desire.
And really, would he ever refuse a request from her to stay in bed?
Her gaze slid away from his face, color darkening her cheeks. “You make it sound so . . .”
He waited for the word but it never came. “Tawdry?” He crawled toward her on the mattress. “Dirty? Delicious?” Her lips twisted as if fighting a smile and she began backing away from him. His hand shot out to capture her ankle and he dragged her closer, her skirts bunching around her legs. “Dashed enjoyable?”
She was laughing now, trying to shove her skirts down. “Oliver, stop! We should lock the door first.”
“No one would dare enter with us both in here, not if they wish to keep their position.”
“How can you be certain?”
“They know I am in here with you. Any fool would correctly conclude what we were doing in here, especially when we miss luncheon.”
She craned her neck to see the clock. “Miss luncheon? But it is still morning.”
“Yes, but this is going to take a very long time.” Now on his stomach, he settled between her legs and moved her skirts higher. “A very, very long time.”
She squirmed and he looked up to see if she was opposed to him using his mouth on her. “Objections?”
She shook her head. “My bustle was poking me but I am fine now.”
