The Brigadier's Runaway Bride (Dukes of War Book 5) (12 page)

“It’s not that,” he assured her.

“Then what is it?” she asked, her eyes wide.

Edmund swallowed. Truth be told, he had absolutely no idea.
 

All Sarah wanted was to be a good mother. Well, all he wanted was to be a good husband and father.
 

Thus far, it wasn’t going very well.
 

Putting aside the fact that she’d run away within minutes of saying their vows rather than spend another moment in his company, his wife’s eyes were purple with exhaustion, she winced every time she moved, and the babe whose mouth was pressed to her leaking nipple was refusing to suckle.

She wasn’t just completely in her rights to be half-hysterical.
 

Sarah was counting on Edmund to fix the problem.

“Try Noah,” he said.

Her lips tightened. “Edmund…”

“Maybe Timothy
isn’t
hungry. Or maybe he doesn’t know what to do either. But it’s not working, so there’s nothing to lose by giving Noah a shot.”

She bit her lip. “Alright.”

He placed Noah into the cradle, then took Timothy from Sarah so she could push to her feet and rescue the now-sobbing Noah.

She sat back down and brought the baby to her breast.

Noah immediately began to suckle.

Relief flooded through Edmund as he sagged back into the rocking chair with Timothy. “There. He’s doing it. Do you feel better?”

Sarah stared at him with startled, pleading eyes. “It
hurts
.”

Bloody hell. Edmund stared back at her in silence and frustration. He wanted this to
work
. All of it. Life. Parenthood. Marriage.
 

So far, there was plenty of room for improvement.
 

He couldn’t escape the irony. Once the babies learned to feed and Sarah got some rest… then what? When he’d dreamed of the moment he saw Sarah’s naked breast again, he certainly hadn’t anticipated this. She was so fragile, so wounded. He couldn’t begin to imagine what he’d put her through. The pregnancy. The delivery. He wouldn’t blame her if she never wished to make love to him again. A good husband would give her all the space she required.

Edmund was scared to touch her, for fear of hurting her. He was suffused with guilt at the droop in her spine, the dark blotches beneath her eyes. This entire situation was his fault.

He would never hurt her again.

Chapter 11

A week later, Sarah scooted her chair closer to the fireplace and retrieved her sewing basket from the carpet.
 

The twins were asleep—for the moment—which meant now was as good a time as any to try and salvage what she could of her two most comfortable morning dresses. Her eyes were so tired she could barely keep them open, but she could not sleep while there was work to be done.
 

She piled the material atop her knees. The armless chairs required her to wrestle the fabric in her lap to keep it from slipping to the floor, but she had no alternative. Some sort of finance fellow had come calling for Edmund, and since he no longer had a study in which to receive business callers, the small downstairs sitting room was the only choice.

Finances
. Sarah stabbed her pins into the faded cloth. Whenever a money man had come to the Fairfax home, it had either been to evict them for unpaid rents or to threaten violence upon her brother for his gambling debts.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled her shears from the basket and began slicing the bodice off the dress in her lap. Whatever horror she’d had of revisiting the poorest moments of her youth had tripled now that she had the welfare of an entire family to worry about.
 

They needed to stay in London—the city was rich with opportunities for two growing boys—but moving in with her parents was not an option. Their household was smaller, and an even less stable environment. Edmund’s brother Bartholomew was rock solid, but had no room for yet another newly married couple and their infant twins.

She would have to ask Ravenwood for money. Edmund would hate taking charity from the man who’d almost taken his bride, but it was the only way. She would not risk her family’s health, her children’s lives. Sarah set down her shears. If begging for alms was the sole solution, then she would waste no time in—

“What are you doing?”

She jerked her head over her shoulder. Edmund stood in the open doorway. “How was your meeting?”

He stepped toward her, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Are you cutting up your dresses?”

She curled her shaking hands into fists. “Are we being evicted?”

He pulled up short. “What?”

“Our finances,” she gritted out. “How bad is it?”

“Neither good nor bad. But I’m working on it. Danbury and I were discussing some investments I’d made.”
 

Investments? With what capital? A horrible thought made her dizzy with fear. “Are you gambling?”

“Look at me.” He lifted her chin in his hand. “I am not gambling. We will not be evicted. Nothing is wrong.”

She jerked her chin from his grasp. He was wrong. Investing
was
gambling. It meant tying up money the family might need now. It meant the possibility of losing it all in the future. “What kind of investments?”

He lifted one of the limp sleeves in her lap. “Why are you cutting up your gowns?”

“Because I’m trying to be practical.” Her eyes stung at the idea of losing hope for stability. “Someone has to.”

“How is ruining dresses practical?”

“They’re already ruined. This bodice is stretched and stained beyond all salvation.” She lifted the one on her lap, then gestured toward the sewing basket. “And the skirt of that one has been re-hemmed so many times it’s fraying at the seams. By combining the usable parts of each, I can create a serviceable day dress.”

Edmund eyed the material doubtfully. “With a purple muslin bodice and an orange and yellow cotton print skirt?”

“I didn’t say it would be beautiful.” She tossed the dress aside and leapt up to glare at him. “I said it would be
usable
.”

He gripped her shoulders and lowered his face toward hers. “I want it to be beautiful. I want you to
feel
beautiful.”

“I don’t want to feel beautiful.” Her lip trembled as she gazed up at him. “I want to
be
beautiful.”

“You are,” he said quietly.

Liar
. Her throat tightened. They both knew she was not.

She tore her gaze away so he wouldn’t see the hurt in her eyes. She couldn’t hide from the truth. Her post-pregnancy body was even less attractive than her pregnant body. A feat she hadn’t thought possible. She could scarcely stand to see herself naked, but Edmund had been avoiding her touch even fully clothed. A far cry from the man who nine months ago couldn’t keep his hands away from her.

Nor had she wished him to. If she’d had any idea their intimacy then would lead to such a chasm today…

“Those dresses are rags.” He lifted her chin with his knuckle. “Let me buy you a new gown. We can commission an entire—”

“I don’t want a new gown.” She forced her eyes to meet his. “I want a home I’ll never have to leave. A husband who will never leave me. A happy, healthy family, with—”

“I will
never
leave you,” he growled, gripping her shoulders. “I did not walk one hundred miles and sail two hundred more just to give you up. If you prefer hideous patchwork gowns, wear them. But for as long as I am alive, you will have a home and you will have me.”

She stared up at hm. His gaze was hot and unwavering. His body mere inches from hers. She trembled, her entire body thrilling to finally,
finally
, be back in his arms. If he were not gripping her so tightly, she could lean forward just enough to brush her breasts against his strong chest.
 

Perhaps if she touched him, he would remember how much he had loved to touch her. Perhaps if she closed her eyes to concentrate solely on the feel of his body next to hers, the past would melt away. Perhaps if he kissed her, if he touched her, she could believe he still found her desirable.

Pulse pounding, she reached for him with hopeful, hesitant fingers. If they could kiss, if they could at least
embrace
—

The moment her hands brushed his waistcoat, he jerked away as if scalded by her touch.

He released her shoulders and leapt backward, running a hand through his hair as though to rid his palm of the feel of her body.
 

Her heart broke. She slumped back down onto the chair and retrieved the fallen day dress. “Go mind your investments, then. I’ll take care of the mending.”

“I can commission—”

“
Go
,” she repeated without looking up. If he could not bear to touch her, then no gown on earth would make her feel beautiful. She would concentrate on being practical. On nurturing the twins. On resigning herself to a life without passion.

She kept her eyes on her sewing. She would make it through this. One stitch at a time.

Chapter 12

Within weeks of giving birth, Sarah could feed her newborn babies in her sleep. In fact, she was pretty certain that was precisely what was happening most of the time. She lived in a constant state of exhaustion.

Sarah eased into a rocking chair to burp the baby. She was so tired. When was the last time she’d slept soundly? Long before the twins. Before discovering she was with child. Before learning Edmund was presumed dead. She hadn’t had a restful night’s sleep since the day he’d purchased a commission in the Army.

Now he was back. A miracle. A nightmare.
 

Had she worried her husband’s interest would wane now that her bright eyes and slender figure had been replaced by heavy purple bags and a flabby, sagging stomach? A harsh laugh strangled in her throat.
 

His interest hadn’t simply
waned
. Edmund flinched if he so much as touched her.
 

Oh, he was a model husband. A model father. He was up with the babies just as often as she was, and did everything in his power to ensure she had every comfort. Favorite foods. Soft pillows. Expensive robes.

They argued. Fiercely. He’d wanted to employ a wet nurse, a nanny. Despite the much-needed relief such help would bring, she could not allow him to whittle away what little resources they had on tasks she could do herself. She’d spent four-and-twenty years watching her parents piddle away the slightest fortune in the blink of an eye. She would not repeat their mistakes.

Would she repeat her own?
 

Sarah gazed down at the nursing babe in her arms. Love filled her heart. She didn’t regret having children. Nor did she regret the actions that led to her pregnancy. She wished their moments of passion hadn’t been limited to one night.

It wasn’t just that she needed Edmund to desire her still. She wanted to
deserve
his desire. And she knew she didn’t. Couldn’t begin to try.
 

Where she had once been pretty enough to catch any man’s eye, a glimpse of her own reflection was like peering at a stranger. A pale, fat, flabby, exhausted stranger. No wonder Edmund recoiled from the slightest physical contact. She could barely stand the sight of her own skin when bathing herself. If she hated her body, why should her husband feel any different?