The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,132
end frustrated him, when, from the beginning, he’d given her no reason to doubt him. But he also knew she’d been scared. And had her fear been unfounded? No. In the end, he’d done every lawful thing he could think of—and a few unlawful things, too—and he’d not been able to keep faith with her. His failure didn’t excuse what she’d done, but after a month and a half of being without her, he also knew his feelings weren’t going to change.
He loved her. He wanted Oliver back. He wanted all of them to be together, even if it meant sitting on Finn’s stoop with her. Yes, he knew about that, too. His mother had spare no details when it came to painting Elizabeth in a sympathetic light.
He’d never forgive himself for losing their son. But he wanted his life with Elizabeth again. Their old life, but better. He wanted a little brother or sister for Oliver, and a house to call their own.
He gathered his courage and braved the autumn chill to pay the most important call of his life. She’d been to visit him earlier in the day, as she had every day, but he’d kept his progress from her secret. He wanted to surprise her.
He walked to her townhouse because he was too anxious to sit in a carriage. Also, because the sway and jostle of a carriage was abominable. It put him in mind of his illness, and of the ship. He smelled the hulks less often now, but just the thought of sitting in a closed conveyance made his stomach roil.
His steps slowed when came in sight of her townhouse and observed the nursery window awash in a gold glow. His belly tightened. If he found her rocking empty arms in the nursery chair, what would he do?
Had she been this way the entire time he’d been ill? What if she never came out of her grief?
He allowed himself to wonder what if for just a moment. Then he firmly put the thought away. “What if,” nothing. He marched up her steps and rapped on the knocker. He’d vowed to be her husband in sickness and health. She’d been at his side in his sickness—twice. The least he could do was sit with her while she mourned their son.
Rand opened the door. He gaped before recalling himself. “My lord,” he said, stepping back and opening the portal wider. “It’s good to see you’re standing.”
“So I agree. Is my wife about?” He shouldn’t be looking for his wife. They ought to be together. He should have come to her directly after being released. His frustration with her at the time now seemed like a foolish waste of opportunity.
“She is, my lord. Shall I call her down to the drawing room?” Rand turned his eyes to the landing, as if she would materialize on her own. Or…as if he hesitated.
Uneasiness again unsettled Con, but only for a moment. He didn’t want to shock her while she was actively mourning Oliver’s empty room, nor would he be frightened away. He made for the drawing room. “Yes, do. Once you’ve sent for her, ring for tea.”
He paced impatiently as he waited for his wife to arrive. At long last, he heard her footfalls. They slowed to a more sedate pace just outside the drawing room door. Then she turned into the room. He sucked in a breath at the sight of her. She was radiant.
Her worried smile graced him.
Her upswept hair was done simply, and if there were dark circles under her eyes, they were only more evidence of her concern for him.
Once, he’d turned away from her fussing over him. Tonight, he yearned to take her in his arms and kiss her thoroughly.
He didn’t. They were just coming to trust each other again. He must be patient.
He crossed the room in four strides and swept her into his arms. Forget patience. He needed to feel her now.
She let out a soft moan as he crushed his mouth to hers. God, she smelled so much better than the hulks. Like woman and baby.
He didn’t stop to think harder on the fact that he, too, hadn’t let Oliver go from his mind.
Instead, he explored her parted lips as if tracing a memory. He ran his hands over her, searching, asking for permission, and she allowed him to. He’d gone hard at the sight of her. With her in his arms, his every muscle screamed for release. But through the haze