Romancing the Rogue (27 page)

“Uncle Wil, you’ll wear a hole through the floor,” Elise complained.

Sophia screamed again, the sound loud and clear even through the closed door. Wilhelm knew how to read screams; Sophia’s throat-shredding howl sounded of misery and resignation. It raked every nerve down his spine, drilled his head with the threat of total insanity. Vibrated the scars on his body with sympathetic pain.

“Honestly, I sat out when my mother gave birth to Madeline, and twice for my Aunt Cecile. Trust me, this is normal.” He ignored her and she added, “Sometimes women deliver some weeks early; I know my mother always did.”

He shot her a look of warning and she finally seemed to comprehend she’d made a poor comparison, as her mother had died giving birth to Madeline.

An unnecessary reminder of all he stood to lose. That morning his solicitor had urged him to sign affidavits and bills of transfer, some legal tangle about the Eastleigh estates, quoting the “
prudence of caution against possible misfortune.”
Wilhelm had bawled out the old man, perhaps unfairly, since everyone knew Lady Devon might not live to see the next sunrise. She had scarcely risen from bed the past several weeks. When she had, she’d fainted or doubled over.

Wilhelm grasped his head as Sophia screamed again then broke into jagged sobbing. He hadn’t known true torture before now; this was so much worse.

Elise rose and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please, Uncle Wil. You must not be so worried.”

He spoke through his hands. “I cannot stand being out here, helpless to do a thing.”

“Well, you are certainly not allowed in. And you would be equally helpless inside the room anyway. All fathers are anxious the first time. It shouldn’t be much longer.”

“It has already been all day and half the night!”

“It’s different for every mother. This is still—”

An ear-splitting shriek seemed to rattle the walls. Wilhelm sank to his knees and roared in frustration. Elise quit trying to comfort him and sat next to him on the floor, waiting, while time ground past on rusty cogs. All they could do was wait and listen. Wilhelm resorted to striking his head on the floor, prostrate and agonized along with each of Sophia’s cries.

Finally they heard different sounds, exclamations from Mr. Greyes, then Louisa and Helena. Wilhelm leapt to his feet, listening breathlessly. Finally, the faint cry of an infant and celebration inside the room. He scrambled to the door, his hand twitching on the handle.

He jumped back as Louisa opened the door; she startled, taking in his disheveled appearance. He felt ready to charge the gates of hell; no doubt he looked the part.

Aunt Louisa regained her composure and presented a melon-sized bundle with a tiny swollen, ruddy face wrapped inside it. “Your daughter,” she said reverently.

Speechless, Wilhelm ran his fingers through his hair and laughed, a nervous sound that convinced no one. He looked past the fact that the baby somewhat resembled a miniature troll and saw something of Sophia, the same pouty lips and eyes slanted up at the corners. But a single curl of golden hair was atop her head.

“She looks like Sophia,” cooed Elise. “But she has your hair, Uncle Wil. Imagine that!”

Aunt Louisa pushed the infant at him. Going purely on instinct, he cradled her against his chest. Could not have weighed more than a loaf of bread, but he felt all of earth’s gravity in his arms. His heart rent in half, making room for another woman. A very little one.

Louisa and Elise exchanged gratified smiles. “Mr. Greyes says the blue tinge on her fingers will fade as her heart learns to—”

Sophia screamed, a high-pitched sound of pure fear. It drained all the blood to his feet. He looked to Louisa for an answer, but her stricken expression stalled his heartbeat. He placed the baby in Elise’s arms and barged through the door, steeling himself for the worst.

He pushed away hands grasping his arm, heard himself arguing and shouting, but all he saw was Sophia. She looked like a ghost, an incarnation of the personal hell the devil would make for him. Her face was pale, damp, twisted in suffering. Cords of delicate muscle in her neck bulged as she cried out. Her head fell back; her entire body tensed with her animal-like groan of pain. Wilhelm’s eyes went unwillingly to the discarded pile of sheets on the floor, soaked with blood, then to the sheets on the bed already covered in fresh blood.

He dropped to his knees at the side of the bed and grasped her hand while she shrieked in agony. “What is it?” he begged.

“I don’t know, my lord.” Greyes wouldn’t look him in the eye. “The delivery of the baby went well enough, but the hem
— ah,
bleeding…”

Sophia’s entire body seized. Her shriek stopped his heart.

Wilhelm reeled, shaking his head in disbelief. No.
No!
Shock in equal parts denial and despair crept over him. He began to lose control over his mind, powerless against the macabre images flashing over his vision, taking hold.

He was losing her. Wilhelm knew this was but the beginning of it, and already he couldn’t breathe. He felt like dashing his brains out, he wanted to scream, he resisted folding Sophia in his arms and begging her not to leave him. Instead he feigned calmness, faintly aware of the others bustling around the room, speaking in harried voices.

Minutes
. How could he have taken months, weeks, days, even hours with her for granted, when all he had left now were miserable, greedy minutes? He squeezed his eyes shut, praying to any god who would listen.
Please. Anything but this. Anything.

“Wait — ah, oh… I cannot believe it!” Greyes rustled the sheet and shifted his weight.
“There is another.”

“Twins!” exclaimed Louisa at the same time Helena breathed, “Twins?”

“Why yes… any minute now.”

Wilhelm tried not to crush the bones in Sophia’s hand and measured the others’ reactions. They purposefully scurried about, anxious, but their desperation seemed to fade. Sophia grasped the side of the bed, her arms shaking with strain. Wilhelm climbed behind her, holding her up, ignoring a chorus of protests from the doctor and self-proclaimed nurses. Moments later they all forgot about him, focused on a bizarre routine
—

Louisa and Helena
sighed in delight
as Mr. Greyes held up a wet froglike baby; it wailed angrily.

“Your son!” Greyes announced as Louisa and Helena rushed to help.

Sophia laughed weakly and fell back against Wilhelm’s chest. She breathed in heavy gusts, which he supposed she wouldn’t do if she were waning in her last moments. The first relief he’d felt in weeks.

Sophia panted and raised a shaky hand to move the hair from her face. Wilhelm brushed the strands behind her shoulders and stroked his thumbs over her jaw. The satisfaction in her expression made her look a little better, not as drained.

She raised her chin and regarded him for the first time since he’d entered the room. “You are a mess,” she accused, her eyes bloodshot, her skin ashen and clammy. Her robe clung to her skin, soaked with sweat and blood.

He erupted in shaky laughter and kissed her temple. “I was — I thought…” He trailed, abandoning the unwelcome thought. “Are you all right, love? How do you feel?”

Sophia delivered the most exasperated, cross glower he had ever seen. “
Brilliant.
Now quit
fussing,
Wil.”

Greyes passed the tiny pink baby to Helena, who bundled him in linen. She came around the side of the bed and presented a dark-haired, round-faced little boy. Louisa joined them with Elise holding the little girl.

“Oh,” Sophia sighed. “He has a little dimple in his chin!” Helena put the baby boy in Wilhelm’s arms. The others swooned, saying how beautiful the baby was, and Wilhelm kept silent, watching for Sophia’s reaction. He handed the baby to her and Louisa placed the other in her opposite arm.

“I am a mother,” she whispered. Sophia laughed, blinking back tears, and warmth engulfed him from head to toe. He could watch her all day like that, so
happy.
The shadow haunting her eyes was not merely absent; she seemed to shine. “Thank you, Wil.”

He started to quip something about how it appeared she’d done all the work, but then she looked him in the eye and flashed her glorious siren smile, her eyes misty. She mouthed, “
I love you.”

That did it. He wept like a baby with his face buried in her hair. He heard the others leave the room, heard Sophia talking quietly to the babies in a ridiculous flirty voice. She made no comment, allowing him a moment to fall apart.

Months earlier when he’d thought he lay dying in her arms, he remembered a bone-deep cold with the sensation of sinking under water. Her voice had sounded through the darkness, and he’d held tight to it, welcoming the pain, knowing it meant there was still hope. Even when death had come for him, he’d resisted — fought like hell.

He had stayed with her instead of succumbing to the relief of death for the same reason he’d chosen her over the allure of vengeance. It was why he dumped out a bottle of cognac instead of drinking it. She was better than a soul mate. That she loved him in return represented
balance:
reward for every injustice ever served him, satiation for his every appetite, intellectual or physical, sublime light to contrast his darkness.

Beauty, music, laughter, and now children. She gave him everything, and his heart couldn’t hold the joy. He held her, basking in an elysium so intense it bordered on pain.

His maudlin mood faded when Sophia muttered, “That was
awful.
”
She spoke in a cheery voice, probably for the benefit of the babies. “I did not expect such force. I’m sorry to have frightened you, Wil.” She added seriously, “I think I shall try the Queen’s way next time.” At his silence she explained, “Chloroform.”

“
Next time?
” he stuttered, then managed, “I don’t think I can do that again.”

“Then I shall ask the doctor to drug
you
as well.”

“Knock me out cold.”

~~~~

Sophia hummed a
Sicilian lullaby to little Rose, who fought her drooping eyelids. After a few months of voracious growing, she was delightfully stout, her head covered in a riot of honey curls. Baby Richard curled against her back, sleeping soundly. Dark hair as thick as carpet twisted around his temples. His peaceful face resembled his father’s, including the detail of the slightly dimpled chin. Difficult to tell with his fat cheeks, but he seemed to have his own pair of adorable Cavendish dimples.

Almost midnight. Sophia slept uneasily when Wilhelm traveled without her. He was overdue at Rougemont, and she didn’t like the look of the stormy winter skies. He’d been gone to London a fortnight, their longest parting. She didn’t care for it.

She rocked the cradle with her foot. Tick, tock… the mantel clock’s second hand made her increasingly aware of her longing. She’d slept on his pillow every night, but his scent had faded. She thought of how he made faces at the babies while they cooed; he’d been the one to make them laugh the first time. He’d joked to baby Richard, “
Look sharp, mate — we are outnumbered by all these frightening women
.”

Despite his teasing, Wilhelm managed to make a family out of the people at Rougemont, Aunt Louisa like a mother and the Cavendish siblings adopted children. Everyone seemed so happy, at times she had to convince herself it was real.

She sighed. Baby Rosalie had finally drifted to sleep huddled next to Richard. The pair should sleep through the night… with some luck.

Sophia lost patience with the four walls of the room and indulged in a bit of restless wandering. She let Fritz in; he missed Wilhelm too and seemed pleased to tag along. She went to the music room and lit a lamp by the piano. No need to fish through the box for sheet music; Mendelssohn was perfect for pining and worrying, and she had several such pieces memorized.

Sophia scolded herself for being so dejected over Wilhelm’s absence. A man of consequence had duties. A request for a meeting from the Secretary of State for War? A good reason to go. Wilhelm had explained that the newly elected Sir Cardwell planned to reform the army based on the events of the Russian War and had requested Wilhelm’s advice. Of course she supported it, believing there was no better man for the job than her husband, and she’d told him so.

The lamp flickered as Fritz got up and wandered away. She hoped Wilhelm’s impatience hadn’t gotten the better of him, that he hadn’t been traveling through the storm rather than waiting for the train. She could imagine him irritably pacing around the railway station in Torquay, daring the weather to defy him.

She heard a faint click, the lock on the door.

“Sophie, my love,” he whispered from behind, “play a little longer. That is lovely.” He kissed her temple and inhaled deeply, resting his face in her hair a moment.

She couldn’t keep her eyes on the keys; she watched Wilhelm set his gloves, jacket, and necktie on the lid of the piano. She became distracted as he pulled apart the sides of his shirt. Ah, but he had locked the door…

A sigh escaped her as he brushed the hair from her neck and dotted kisses along her shoulder, moving away the sleeve of her nightdress with one hand and sliding the other across her ribs. “Hmm, yes. My
Thursday mix,
” he breathed in her ear.

How had she forgotten the way his voice made her stomach drop? Never mind Mendelssohn.

Sophia turned on the bench and caught his lips with hers. He still kissed her eagerly, as though he feared it might be their last. Tender and fervent, with a contagious hint of aggression. He set her on fire from the inside out.

“What are you doing here?”

“I followed your music.”

Sophia took in his exhausted, weather-beaten appearance then helped him shrug out of his wet shirt. “You’ve been riding in the rain,” she accused.

“My siren called me. I must obey.” He tossed his shirt onto the pile of discarded clothing. Only his trousers remained. He teased her by lowering the zipping fastener part way then paused as though distracted.

“I sincerely hope you do not catch ill.” Her appreciative gaze belied her scolding words.

He winked and looked at her from under his eyebrows. “You spoiled my romantic musings. I wasn’t finished.”

“I apologize.” She reached for his trousers and pulled the fastener down. The
zip
sounded inordinately loud in the room. “You may be pleased to hear I have been pining over you since the moment you left.”

He knelt to rest between her knees and tugged on the satin ribbon tied at her collar. “I can’t sleep without you,” he confessed.

She stroked across his chest, wondering if she should admit to restless nights in a cold empty bed. What a ridiculous mooning old pair they were. He caught her hand and kissed it slowly, then her wrist, closing his eyes.

“You should not have come, but I’m glad you did.” She rubbed her hands over his stiff shoulders. He moaned, leaning to angle her hands where he wanted them. “Did it go well in London?”

“Yes, thank you. But can we discuss it in the morning?” He rose and lifted her by the waist then dropped onto the sofa with her lying over him.

She grazed her fingernails along his jaw, tickling whiskers he hadn’t shaved for a day or so. Surprisingly, he wasn’t dirty; he smelled fresh and wild from being out in the rain, intensifying his spicy pine-and-leather scent. She tousled his wet hair as she rested on his shoulder. Ah, it was good to have him back.

“Welcome home, Wil.” She held his face and kissed him the way she wanted it, demanding he follow her pace.

Then she set to reminding him why it was worth riding through a storm to come home.