The Brigadier's Runaway Bride (Dukes of War Book 5) (16 page)

Sarah nodded, but her mind was focused on Edmund. He wouldn’t
be
a good father. He
was
a good father. A wonderful husband.

Was she a wonderful wife? Did she put his comfort and well-being before her own?
 

Swallowing, she considered the meaning behind Mr. Blackpool’s words. For Edmund to have mentioned their lack of nanny or wet nurse meant that their absence bothered him. Sarah had thought such help a spendthrift measure, but perhaps curbing the expense had meant curbing her husband’s ability to feel like he was providing for his family to the best of his ability.

Edmund already felt uncomfortable about the limitations of his townhouse. Cognac under the stairs, no guest quarters for his parents… Sarah’s heart sank in realization. ’Twasn’t just the interior of the small townhouse that bothered Edmund. He hated everything. The busy street, the bustling neighbors, the noisy carriages. He’d nearly jumped out of his skin just from a knock upon the door.

There could only be one reason why he would stay in a location that affected him so viscerally.

He would do it for her.

She was the one who had always talked about London life. The little girl who had longed for fine dresses, and rich food, and waltzes beneath a thousand lit candles.
 

But she was an adult now. Life was more than gowns and dancing. It meant opening one’s heart to those who mattered most.

Up ahead, Edmund was pushing open the door to the nursery and dashing inside to comfort the wailing twins. Upon sight of him, their cries vanished, to be replaced by happy coos.

Sarah held back a smile. Edmund had much the same effect on her.

“They are just
darling
,” came Mrs. Blackpool’s shrill of delight as Sarah and Mr. Blackpool entered the nursery. “They look exactly like you and Bartholomew did at that age. Now tell me, which one is which?”

“This is Noah,” said Edmund as he cuddled the child to his chest.

“And this one is Timothy,” Sarah finished as she picked up their other son.

Mrs. Blackpool looked from one to the other several times before throwing up her hands in amused defeat. “Oh, I can’t imagine why I bothered to ask. Identical is identical, and I haven’t the eye to discern them.” She tilted her head at Edmund. “I’m still not completely certain you aren’t Bartholomew.”

“Mother.” With a sardonic expression, Edmund wiggled his right foot. “How can you doubt I’m Edmund?”

“Oh, you’re Edmund
now
, that much is certain. But when you were a baby, and even when you were two or three…”

He paled.

“It’s quite possible that you were always Edmund,” Mr. Blackpool said quickly, upon seeing his son’s appalled expression. “I’m almost certain of it.”

“May I hold Timothy?” Mrs. Blackpool asked, lifting her outstretched hands toward Edmund.

“
Noah
,” Edmund corrected stiffly.

“Noah,” Mrs. Blackpool agreed as she brought the infant to her chest and pressed a cheek to his tiny whorl of hair. “They are such darlings. Oh, I wish you would reconsider living in our house. Can’t you just picture the twins romping in the garden like you and your brother used to?”

Sarah slid a glance at Edmund. He made no reply.

He didn’t have to.

Chapter 16

In the middle of the night, Sarah awoke to discover her husband’s arm curled protectively around her even in their sleep.

Her heart warmed. Perhaps her life with Edmund wasn’t what she’d imagined it would be a year ago, but there was scarcely cause for complaint. Her newborn sons filled her with more love than she’d ever dreamed possible and Edmund was the perfect father, the perfect husband… save for for one thing.

He never touched her.

Except that wasn’t completely true. There were the little moments. The brush of his thumb against her cheek, his fingers entwining with hers when they rocked their sons side by side, the soft press of his lips to her hair when he thought she was asleep.

And now, this. His arms was tucked about her ribs, just beneath her breasts. Any movement she made would cause the weight of her breasts to drag sensuously across the hard muscle of his arm.

Just thinking about it made her breath quicken.

It had been almost a year since the first—and last—time they’d ever made love. That night in Bruges had been terrifying and magical. For years, she had known Edmund was the one for her. That night had been her opportunity to give herself to him.
 

Every time she thought back to the feel of hot kisses on her bare skin, she craved to experience it again. To have the sight of his powerful body surging above hers, the scent of sweat and desire intoxicating the air…

Her nipples tightened and pushed up into her thin linen nightrail. If she were alone with her memories, she might slide her hand down between her legs and dip her fingers where her husband’s shaft had once filled her.
 

But she wasn’t alone. She had Edmund.

She turned slowly, carefully. Just enough to let her knuckles brush against the front of his nightshirt. His skin was hot through the thin linen. His staff, erect.

Heat flushed her neck and cheeks. She jerked her hand back to her chest, next to her rapidly beating heart. Just because his member was erect did not mean he was dreaming about employing it with her. In Bruges, he had told her that a man’s body often became aroused while he was asleep.

He had also told her to take full advantage of it.

Before she could lose her nerve, she turned toward him and touched her hand to his chest. Their thighs now touched, their faces mere inches apart.

His eyes flew open and he tightened his hold about her waist, pulling her even closer.

She gasped, but did not pull away. Instead, she clutched his nightshirt in her fist so that if he let her go, she would pull him down with her.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmured, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

She blushed, but held his gaze. “Don’t wish to sleep.”

“Mmm. I can help with that.” A slow, wicked smile curved his lips. His fingertips began to trace lazy patterns up her spine. “Do you have anything particular in mind?”

“
Everything
.”
 

She sucked in a breath as he slid his fingers into her hair and brought her parted lips to his.

His mouth was warm and firm. Everything she’d longed for and couldn’t have. Until now. As much as his kisses claimed her, she claimed him, too. He wasn’t just Edmund. He was
hers
. Her husband. Her soul mate. Her dream come true.
 

She ran her fingers up the hard planes of his chest to the wide breadth of his shoulder. His body was leaner than it had once been. Stronger. Harder. The feel of his corded muscles beneath her palms was almost like making love to a different person.

If he had been a boy then, he was a man now. There was no hesitation in the passion of his kiss, the demands of his tongue. There was no doubt in the possessiveness of the strong hand cradling her head, her hair entwined with his fingers. She could not break the kiss if she wanted to.

Not that she wished to. She wanted more than mere kisses inflaming her blood. She wanted his big body naked over hers. She wanted to hear him pant with exertion, to feel the sweat on his hot skin as he drove his staff between her legs. She wanted to feel young, and beautiful, and sensuous.
 

She wanted to be
craved
.

Her body trembled as his hungry kisses lowered to the lobe of her ear, her bare throat. She wanted more. She wanted to feel him everywhere. Already the familiar ache between her legs had her yearning for him to fill her with his shaft.
 

She grasped his upper arm. He trapped her hand in his and pushed her wrists back against the pillow. Her heart thundered as his mouth covered the pulse point at the base of her throat and then continued downward toward the loose bodice of her nightrail.

Instead of releasing her wrists in order to tug the neckline of her nightrail below her breasts, he lowered his open mouth to one of her straining nipples and laved it through the thin fabric. Her back arched at the delicious rasp of soft linen, the wet heat of his mouth.
 

When he freed her wrists to slide the hem of her nightrail from her calves to her hips, her blood soared with anticipation. At last, he would bury his shaft within her. At last, he would once again be hers. Heart racing in excitement, she widened her legs to give him easier access.

Instead of instantly driving within her, he spread her legs with his strong hands and buried his face between them.
 

The wicked mouth that had just been on her breast now covered her most private of places. From the first lick of his skilled tongue, pressure began to build within her, demanding release. Each lick, each suckle, had her muscles tensing with desire.
 

Eyes shut tight to better experience the onslaught of sensation, she reached down to grasp a handful of his tousled hair. Not to stop him, not to pull him up, but to ensure he stayed right where he was, because the pressure was growing growing growing and her legs were already beginning to quiver with anticipation.

As his tongue continued its intoxicating pattern, he slipped two of his fingers into her tight sheath, thrusting with every lick.

She gasped as delirious waves of pleasure rocked through her, clenching her muscles and her toes and leaving her insensate.

When at last he lifted his mouth from her body, she raised her head to bid him do the same with his rod—and saw that the entire front of her bodice was soaking wet. Mortification flushed her cheeks. Had she been spurting
breastmilk
while her husband pleasured her?
 

With his gaze still focused between her legs, Edmund started to push her nightrail higher.

She scrambled backward toward the headboard, covering her leaking breasts with one arm as she shoved down the hem of her nightrail with the other. Embarrassment paralyzed her. She couldn’t possibly make love to him like
this
.

What had she been thinking? Worse yet would have been the shame if he had divested her of her nightrail. In the past seven weeks, she’d managed to lose most of her excess weight… but her stomach was now flabby, and crisscrossed with white stretch lines. What man would be attracted to that?

Brow furrowed, he pulled himself into a sitting position. “Is something the matter?”

She gulped. What wasn’t the matter? She might as well admit it. Theirs was a romance built on physical desire, and her new body was far from desirable. Even to her. She couldn’t bear to disappoint her husband. Not when she wanted his desire so much.

He tilted his head, his expression confused. “Sarah?”

A baby’s shrill cry sounded from the nursery.

“I have to tend to the children.” She scrambled from the bed with alacrity, pausing only to snatch a clean robe from the back of a chair before she flew out the door.
 

The white scars striping her belly would never go away, but she couldn’t make love to him like this. A smart woman would wait until the moment was right. Until her body was as close to what it had once been as possible. A smart woman would dress in a provocative gown. Set the scene for a romantic evening. A smart woman would not take the risk of having him turn from her in repulsion. Perhaps extinguish the fire altogether so he could not see what she had become.

Her hands shook as she clutched the robe to her swollen breasts. She wanted him so much and loved him so deeply. If she bared her soul and he no longer wanted her, her heart would break forever.

Chapter 17