The Dukes of War: Complete Collection

by Ridley, Erica

  She shucked out of her coat and tossed it against the wall, then froze in horror. “I can’t reach the buttons on my back.”

  Timothy’s cries grew more insistent.

  “Ring the bell pull,” Edmund said patiently. “We can get help.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I don’t want your servants to see my breasts.”

  “The housekeeper—”

  “Will not see me leaking milk from my nipples!” Her voice cracked in desperation.

  “Hold Noah.” Edmund transferred the baby to her arms. Timothy seemed to wail louder at the slight. Edmund slipped off his coat, hat, gloves, scarf, and threw everything in the corner atop Sarah’s. He loosened Sarah’s gown from neck to waist, then rushed over to the cradle to pick up his screaming son.

  Timothy quieted the moment he was in his father’s arms and Edmund smiled.

  “What are you doing?” Sarah demanded.

  He eased into one of the rocking chairs. “Letting you feed Noah.”

  “But Timothy was crying first.”

  “He’s not crying now, and you’re holding Noah. Is there honestly a reason to switch?” Edmund stopped rocking in order to glance over at his suspiciously silent wife.

  Her eyes were welling with tears.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered, leaping to his feet.

  At his blatant lapse in the no-profanity rule, tears spilled down her cheeks. Devil take it.

  He laid Timothy in the cradle, and was rewarded with the baby’s immediate ear-splitting cries. He plucked Noah from Sarah’s arms and jerked his head toward the cradle. “There. Now you can feed Timothy. He’s even crying again.”

  Sarah covered her face with her hands and choked back a sob.

  “I don’t know what order to do things in,” she said miserably, and turned toward the cradle. “I just want to be a good mother. I’m doing everything wrong.”

  “You’re a wonderful mother,” he assured her as she picked up the crying baby. “Look at me. I have no idea what’s happening, either. We’ll figure it out together.”

  Sarah sniffed back her tears and sank into the other rocking chair. She pulled down her bodice and lifted Timothy to her chest.

  Edmund closed his eyes in relief.

  “It’s not working,” Sarah cried desperately. “He’s not sucking.”

  “Maybe he’s not hungry.”

  “He hasn’t eaten.”

  Edmund tilted his head. “Maybe he’s nervous.”

  “Maybe it’s me,” she said, her expression bordering on panic. “Maybe there’s something wrong with my nipples and my children are going to die of starvation because I can’t even feed them!”

  “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 losin
g 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?

  The nursery door creaked open. Soft candlelight from wall sconces in the corridor outlined her husband’s wide shoulders and tousled head.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “I had to feed the twins. That’s not something you’re equipped to help with.”

  He entered the nursery and sank into the rocking chair next to hers. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

  Sarah didn’t reply. There was no point in telling him she felt more alone than ever when he was inches away but still miles out of reach. But what was the alternative?

  The only thing worse than no longer being desirable would be forcing him to feign his attraction.

  She’d never had to feign hers.

  His eyes looked just as sleep-deprived as hers, but it didn’t matter. She found him as irresistible as the day they’d met. He had changed, too, but the hardness in his muscles, the darkness in his eyes, somehow made him even more dangerously attractive.

  He wasn’t just stronger than before. The piercing intensity in his eyes, the constant readiness in his stance enveloped him with an aura of coiled power. When all that singleminded focus was pointed at her, Sarah’s knees melted. She forced herself to look away.

  ’Twasn’t just that she yearned to feel his touch. She feared it. Dreaded the moment his firm hands gripped her waist—and discovered it now squished like pudding.

  Her throat tightened. She was no longer the woman he’d left. The one thing that surpassed her desire for her husband was the terror of rejection. She agonized about the day Edmund would finally reach for her… only to be repulsed by what he found.

  She wasn’t his dream woman anymore. She was over-tired, hyper-sensitive, stretched-out reality.

  Sarah pushed to her feet and lay little Timothy back in his cradle. With any luck, perhaps she could steal another hour’s sleep.

  She turned from the cradle and gasped to find Edmund towering just behind her. She hadn’t heard him rise from his chair. And now she was trapped between the sleeping babies in their cradles and the immovable wall of her husband’s chest. Her heart thundered as she lifted her gaze to his.

  “Are you avoiding me?” His eyes were dark. Furious.

  She kept her voice steady. “How could I avoid you? I live in your house. Sleep in your bed.” />
  When she slept at all. She’d once imagined married life would mean the sensual exhaustion of nights spent lovemaking. Not the delirious fatigue of taking care of twins, of falling into bed half-conscious, only to lie awake searching for a position that didn’t hurt her back or make her nipples leak.

  Or bring her into contact with her husband.

  So, yes. She was avoiding him. Or had been. There was nowhere to go but backwards into the cradles or forward into his arms.

  She held her ground.

  “Are you angry with me?” His eyes were dark, his voice deceptively light. “Is that the problem? You see me as a villain in all of this?”

  Of course she wasn’t angry with him . She was bitter at the entire situation. For both of them. His homecoming should’ve been a dream come true. Their wedding, a fairy story. Their lives full of pleasure. Surely he felt the same.

  “Do you see me as a villainess?” she snapped back.

  He blinked in confusion. “You?”

  She gestured toward her belly. “Me.”

  He shook his head. “Bruges was more my fault than yours. I do not blame you for becoming pregnant.”

  His words were carefully chosen.

  She was not fooled. Her eyes narrowed. “What, precisely, do you blame me for?”

  “I’m not angry at you.” His lips tightened. “I’m angry at everyone. At myself. I thought I was invincible.” He clenched his fingers. “I was wrong.”

  She bit her lip.

  “I thought my friends would never leave me. I was wrong.” His eyes flashed with hurt. “I thought I would be searched for, missed, rescued. I was wrong.”

  Her heart twisted.

  “I thought I would come home to you, to the life we used to have.” He clenched his jaw. “I was wrong.” His smile was bitter. “You cannot expect me not to be… disillusioned.”

  She wrapped her arms about her stomach, hurt mixing with fury. “You have suffered. But you are not the only one who has faced challenges and disappointment. You can’t reappear after nearly a year and expect everything to be just as it was!”

  His lip curled. “You tried to marry my childhood friend and give his name to my sons. They would have never known that I—”