The Dukes of War: Complete Collection

by Ridley, Erica

  Rage raced through his body like a lit fuse. The thought of his children growing up parentless in an orphanage… But what options had she had? She had no fortune of her own. No means to support her child. And no man would wed a pregnant bride.

  No one except Ravenwood.

  “My brother opened an account for me that same day, to do with as I would. I now have a small bit of money.” Her cheeks flushed. “That is, we now have a small bit of money. It’s for all of us, in case of emergency. I hope never to have to use it.” She bit her lip. “I was terrified I might have to.”

  His fingers dug into his palms. He kept them out of sight beneath the table.

  “Oliver came to me first,” she continued. “He didn’t have a ha’penny to his name, but you know how he is. One look at my belly and it was clear I needed rescuing.”

  Edmund’s lips twisted into a smile. He knew exactly how his friends were. Good men. Every last bloody one of them. Of course they would have done their best to help Sarah.

  “Realistically,” she continued. “Ravenwood was the only choice. Bartholomew hadn’t left his bedchamber since returning from war, and Xavier had only recently started talking again…”

  Edmund blinked at her. “Xavier wasn’t talking?”

  She shook her head. “He looked whole. But he came home more damaged than the rest.”

  Edmund’s chest tightened. He had missed so much while he was gone. He hadn’t been there for anyone. Not Sarah. Not his brother. Not his friends. Yet all of them had managed to find their own way out of the darkness. Perhaps they hadn’t experienced what Edmund had gone through, but they’d each been mired in a hell of their own.

  “It was Ravenwood’s idea,” she said at last, her voice little more than a sigh. “I fought it at first. I felt like I was betraying you.”

  “I was dead,” Edmund said.

  “I was betraying your memory. Our love. I was betraying your entire family. Robbing your parents of their grandchild. Forcing an heir upon Ravenwood. The title would have passed to a child that wasn’t even his blood.”

  Edmund swallowed. That… was true. He hadn’t thought about what it meant for Ravenwood. He hadn’t been stealing Edmund’s bride. He’d been destroying his hopes for his own future. Someone else’s child would have inherited the dukedom his family had built up for generations. Ravenwood wasn’t just rescuing Sarah. He’d been sacrificing himself for Edmund.

  For friendship.

  He stood up from the table and pulled Sarah into his arms. She wrapped her arms about him and buried her head on his chest. He stroked her hair, kissed her temple. Held her close.

  “You did the best that you could,” he said quietly. “You thought I was dead.”

  “You weren’t dead.”

  “You didn’t know that.” He laid his cheek to her hair and inhaled deeply.

  She shuddered. “I betrayed you.”

  “You didn’t.” He stroked her cheek. “I’m here, Sarah. You’re safe. I’m back. Feel my arms about you. My heartbeat against yours. I have you now.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “And I will never let you go.”

  Chapter 15

  A week later, Sarah stood before the sitting room window and gazed outside. She lifted a freshly poured cup of tea to her lips and inhaled the steamy aroma.

  May. ’Twas already the end of May. The bustling street was awash with sunshine and the sounds of city life. Her eyes crinkled. Jaunty curricles clopped past vendors peddling fresh-picked flowers or piping-hot pies. Children’s laughter mixed with the chirping of birds. The twins were eight weeks old. Soon they would be old enough to take to parks. To play with other children.

  She set down her teacup to crack open the window. A cool breeze ruffled her hair and brought a smile to her lips. She closed her eyes. On days like this, she longed to be out-of-doors. To spread her arms wide. To tilt her face up toward the sun and breathe in the smell of springtime.

  The window slammed down.

  She started, her eyes flying open in surprise. Her breath caught. She was no longer alone in the sitting room. Edmund had joined her.

  He edged her out of the way in order to yank the curtains closed. His hands trembled.

  She touched her fingers to his arm. “I am sorry. Is the air too cold?”

  “The city is too… city.” He stepped back from the hidden pane as though stray carriage wheels might tumble in at any moment.

  Sarah bit her lip. “I’m sorry—”

  “Do not apologize. You have never been the problem. It’s nothing.” He ran a hand through his hair and motioned across the room toward the tea table. “May I freshen your cup?”

  Her eyes narrowed as she took in Edmund and his townhouse from a fresh perspective. Putting aside the inherent let’s-not-discuss-it suspiciousness of her big, rugged brigadier offering to pour tea, she couldn’t help but notice that the chairs and tables of the sitting room were placed as far as possible from any windows or points of entry.

  In fact, none of the rooms in his townhouse had sofas or chairs near any windows. Some had pieces of furniture before the sills, making opening the curtains inconvenient at best. In here, they were well protected from the outside world.

  She took Edmund’s arm and allowed him to lead her back to the sofa.

  Until today, she hadn’t thought much about the lack of natural sunlight in the townhouse. To be honest, she’d been incapable of much thought at all—two newborn babies needed constant nurturing, and didn’t leave much time for reflecting on one’s greater environment.

  That, and, in her exhaustion, dim candlelit rooms had been perfect for her tired eyes.

  Her heart thudded. That they hadn’t left the townhouse since their arrival eight weeks ago with a baby on each chest hadn’t been cause for concern. If she didn’t have the time or energy to pull back a curtain, she was certainly in no condition to promenade in St. James Square or waltz the night away at Almack’s.

  But perhaps it wouldn’t even have been an option.

  “Would you like to take a stroll with me in the park?” she asked as casually as she could, watching her husband to gauge his interest in ever going back outside.

  “We can’t.” His answer was swift and firm. “We have children.”

  She nodded and pressed her lips together. “How about we wait until they leave for Eton? Should you fancy a stroll then?”

  His blue eyes flashed at her in irritation… but she had not missed the twitch of his fingers or his lack of reply. Her throat tightened.

  No. He would not like to venture from these walls. Not today; not twelve years from now. Their home was to be their prison.

  Just like her parents’ home had been Sarah’s prison during the long months of her pregnancy.

  “Is it the noise?” she asked. “The weather? Soon it will be summer. Don’t you think the boys should enjoy crawling on soft grass in pleasure gardens or splashing with other children at the Peerless Pool on Old Street?”

  His jaw tightened. “How should we ferry them there? City streets aren’t a safe place for small children. I was nearly run over a dozen times walking from the docks to Mayfair, and I’m a full grown man. There’s too many people, far too much noise—”

  A knock sounded on the townhouse door.

  Edmund leapt from his chair, placing himself in the path between Sarah and the entryway. His muscles visibly tensed at the sound of his footman opening the front door to greet the caller.

  Familiar voices spilled into the townhouse.

  Edmund whirled around to face Sarah. “It’s my parents. Blast. I told them not to come—”

  “You told your parents not to visit?” she repeated in disbelief.

  “They can be… disruptive,” he hedged with an embarrassed shrug. “I wanted to give the boys a little time to get used to the world before letting their grandmother loose. I’m surprised she adhered to my edict for this long.”

  The footman appeared in the doorway. “Master Blackpool, you have—”
<
br />   “No need to announce us. I’m his mother!” Mrs. Blackpool barreled into the sitting room a-flutter. She kissed Edmund’s cheek, then Sarah’s, and then glanced around the sitting room. “Where are my grandchildren?”

  “Sleeping. Good afternoon.” Edmund turned to greet his father. “How was the trip up?”

  “Long,” Mr. Blackpool replied as he handed his coat to the footman. “Have you any cognac?”

  “I think so. But I don’t know where.” Edmund squinted over his shoulder. “Possibly beneath the stairwell.”

  Sarah blinked. “You keep cognac beneath your stairwell?”

  “I stored everything there that used to be in my study when I put together the nursery. The cognac—”

  “The nursery,” breathed Mrs. Blackpool, clasping her hands together. “Let’s go at once. I want to see them. I will positively expire if I cannot pinch their little cheeks right this second.”

  “They’re asleep, Mother.”

  She sniffed in disdain. “You should come live with us. A man’s study is no place for infants, Edmund.”

  “They’re not in my study. It’s now a nursery.”

  “Not a proper nursery. This townhouse is a bachelor home. Not at all the thing for a wife and children.” She pursed her lips. “I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn. You know very well that our house in Maidstone has a plethora of empty rooms. Every single one of you could have a bedchamber and a private study by this time tomorrow.”

  Mr. Blackpool cleared his throat. “There aren’t quite that many rooms.”

  “Well, babies don’t require studies, do they? It hardly changes my position. By the time they need tutors and governesses, we shall have added on a half dozen additional rooms. Sarah’s can be next to mine, Edmund’s next to yours, and the babies—”

  “Unnecessary, Mother.” Edmund linked his fingers with Sarah’s. “We appreciate your kind offer, but we won’t be moving in with you.”

  Sarah’s shoulders relaxed slightly. The last thing she wanted was to sleep on opposite ends of the house as her husband. He might no longer desire her carnally, but she was quite fond of falling asleep whilst listening to him breathe.

  Living with his parents might mean more room, more servants, but if it also meant the end of any hope for a passionate marriage, she would much rather stay in London.

  “Edmund, darling,” his mother cajoled, her voice a high-pitched coo. “You must come live with us. Didn’t you enjoy racing down our country hills and playing in the river? Wouldn’t you want your twin boys to have the same sort of childhood you and Bartholomew enjoyed?”

  He would, Sarah realized, as her husband’s stance stiffened. He was caught between conflicting desires: what was best for his sons and what was best for his sanity. Living in Maidstone would be like having their own private pleasure gardens.

  It would also be a living hell.

  Mrs. Blackpool meant well—she loved her children far more than what was fashionable, and worried about them ceaselessly—but less than half an hour of her presence had visibly set Edmund’s frayed nerves even more on edge. If they shared a roof, Mrs. Blackpool would have opinions on everything, and never cease sharing them. The woman was flighty and dramatic, and kindhearted to the point of obliviousness. She would force their small family to spend every waking moment in the bosom of her love.

  “How long can you stay?” Edmund asked his parents. “Can you spend the afternoon with us?”

  “I shall stay until you see reason and come back home,” his mother returned promptly.

  “Then you won’t mind sleeping on sofas. ’Tis the only option. If this townhouse had guest quarters, I wouldn’t have had to store my study beneath the stairs.”

  Mrs. Blackpool’s cheeks reddened. “I suppose we could stay with Bartholomew. His townhouse is larger, and an inn is wholly out of the question.”

  Sarah’s lips twitched at Mrs. Blackpool’s obvious revulsion. Some aristocrats equated inns with sleeping in the rookeries. Sarah imagined Mrs. Blackpool simply refused to let her children out of sight. And definitely not her grandchildren.

  Edmund motioned his parents toward the chairs. “Sit. Please. Let me ring for more tea.”

  “I don’t want tea,” said Mrs. Blackpool petulantly. “I want to see my grandchildren.”

  “Mother, for the final time. They are asleep. Try to understand.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I don’t need to speak with them. I just want to look at them!”

  Edmund sighed. “If I had the slightest faith that you could do so quietly…”

  “I would never wake a baby!” Mrs. Blackpool shrilled.

  Twin wails sounded from upstairs.

  “Awake now,” said Mr. Blackpool. “Might as well let her see them.”

  A muscle twitched at Edmund’s temple, but he led his parents toward the staircase.

  Mrs. Blackpool scurried right behind him, nearly tripping over herself in her eagerness.

  “Be thankful all she did was raise her voice,” Mr. Blackpool told Sarah conspiratorially. “During the ride to London, I had to talk her out of scaling up the townhouse walls, should the door go unanswered.”

  She had to hide her smile at the image of flamboyant Mrs. Blackpool climbing row houses like a circus monkey. “We are fortunate indeed that such measures did not prove necessary.”

  “How are you feeling? I seem to recall after the birth of my sons, my wife took weeks to recover.” He frowned. “Edmund says you don’t have anyone to help you?”

  “Not the case at all,” she assured him. “I have Edmund, who is more than simply help. There is nothing he would not do to ensure my comfort, or the safety and well-being of our children. Because of him, I am more than a mother.” Her voice cracked on the truth of the words. “Because of him, we are a family.”

  “Marvelous.” He gave her shoulder a brusque pat. “That’s all my wife is trying to ascertain.”

  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 thr
owing 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 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.