William dropped his gaze, allowing the grievous truth to trickle down him like the cold, stale drip of melting ice. Her marriage had not been joyful. She hadn’t loved her husband as he’d thought. Pain for her and regret for ever having believed otherwise swirled into a vortex of guilt in his middle.
“Anna, I’m—”
“So now you know I lived a life of privilege.” She turned to him, harbored tears in her eyes. “I never intended to lie to you, I simply wanted to find a way to start anew. I should have told you so much—that I cannot bear children and that I cannot do all the things I led you to believe I could…” Her chin quivered as she held his gaze. “I was afraid, especially when I learned how you felt about the wealthy, afraid you would despise me. I am sorry.”
The pain in her words ripped open what remained of his battered shame. He covered her hand with his. “I have known for some time that you did not come from the background you feigned.”
“You did?”
“’Twas not difficult to surmise. You…” He stopped, and cleared his throat, reevaluating his tact so his words would not cause unintended wounds. “Your abilities are different than those of a farmer’s wife. I have never seen anyone who was so adorably unaware of the risks of cutting an onion.” Allowing only the slightest smile, not the chuckle that rose from memory, he pushed up from the bed and pulled her to standing. “What woman of simple means would have occasion to study Italian? Your hands are far too soft, your speech far too—”
“That is enough.” Her cheeks pinked and she lowered her head. “I can see now I was foolish to believe I could ever hide my past.”
He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “Now that I know the truth from your own lips, I want to know more about the real you. With none of the charade.”
She lifted her chin, her innocence, trust, and sudden nearness fogging his once clear mind.
“I should like that very much,” she said. “Though I must admit I find myself ashamed, disclosing aloud what few skills I have compared to you.”
Guilt clawed at his chest. If only she knew they were not so different. His spirit groaned and he clamped his teeth shut to cage the truth that suddenly wished to break free. He stared down at her, the swelling sincerity in her sweet face assuring the suspicious parts of him that she was not like the first Anna. Nay, in every way she was different.
But you believed Anna Muhr sincere until the moment she—
He stepped back and straightened his shoulders to slough off the barbs of memory, but they gripped harder. “We best prepare for bed.”
Large eyes blinking, eyebrows slightly tipped, Anna swallowed and spun away. “You may, if you like. I have a few remaining chores that require my attention before I retire.”
“Nay, allow me.” Passing her to reach the door first, he clenched his fists to keep from touching her. Any slight brush against her skin cou
ld topple the precarious wall of defense he’d erected. “I neglected to be sure the latch on the door is in place.”
He left, still struggling to free himself from the snares of his past. In front of the kitchen fire, he closed his eyes and took long draws of air. She has given herself completely to you. But he could not do the same. Could he?
Staring at the dancing flames, he cursed his cowardice. The longer he withheld the truth, the greater the chance of destroying not only her faith in him, but the life together they’d only just begun.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The cold early winter wind plumed into the hood of Anna’s cloak, biting her skin with its icy teeth. December now, and with it, the shorter days that followed. Six weeks had passed since the innocent child lay lifeless on the Watson’s floor, forever marking them. With one hand Anna clasped the fabric around her neck, still clinging to the laden basket with her other. She’d left the Watson’s only a few minutes past, but already the sun had started its doleful decent toward the horizon. Anna increased her pace, but the low murmur of nausea she’d battled for several days now forced her speed to abate. Swallowing, she fought the unpleasant sensation with a grimace, steadying her mind upon how she would tell her husband she’d promised Eliza to deliver this basket of supper to Thomas’s shop so Eliza and the baby needn’t traverse out of doors in such harsh conditions. As he’d made her vow never to venture into town without informing him, she determined to stop home first, despite the waning daylight.
After several minutes more of chilled walking, she spied their house at the end of the road. A pit developed in her middle and not from mere physical discomfort. It had been so long since she and William had become one. The warm memories of fleeting rapture dissipated like her breath on the wind. William had been so genuine, so real, but the amiable affection he’d shown before they’d shared such intimacies had somehow turned as cold as the coming winter. Still kind, still caring, yet without the nearness or warmth. Without even the hint that perhaps he might once again renew his attentions to her.
She sighed and gripped the cloak ever tighter. Nay, there had been a few times she’d thought she’d seen a spark of desire in his eyes, but it disappeared too quickly for her to detect what true emotions lived there. The house grew closer with each step, as did the sensations she’d struggled to stamp from her mind. The soft touch of his calloused hand on her cheek, the way his lips folded against hers—how he’d shared with her the pleasurable, sacred secrets of husband and wife. She had never known such passion could exist, or that it could feel like heaven.
Anna reached the stoop and stared at the latch as the wind pulled harder at her cloak. If only she had kept the emotions within, not allowing them to spill from her mouth in a moment of vulnerability. Though her heart whispered of love, she refused to grant such feelings residence. Not when her husband had such a visible distaste for the word. Thinking would lead to feeling, and feeling would lead to speaking—and speaking such a word would only lead to more pain. Never could she allow it to take root in her spirit. Not until he did.
Gripping the latch, she pushed the door open and pulled it shut against the driving wind.
William straightened from his crouched position by the fire. “Where have you been?”
“Just returning from the Watson’s.” She entered and rested the basket on the table before going to the fire to check on a stew she’d started before leaving for Eliza’s. Stirring, she continued. “And I must leave once more, but I shall not be long.”
She stood and turned to find William resting against the table, his arms crossed.
His eyebrows lifted. “You should have told me where you were going, Anna.” Was that worry she detected in his voice? Hope fluttered behind her stays.
“’Twas only to Eliza’s. You were busy and I—”
His hard expression stopped her words and he cast his gaze to the basket. Nay, not worry but frustration. She cleared her throat to prove the realization didn’t pain her. “The…the weather is too foul for Eliza and the baby to venture out in. I offered to deliver supper to her husband this evening. I do not see how that can be so wrong.”