Chapter 19 #2
Vane’s muscular form lay against mine. A rush of fear overcame me as another spasm fluttered across my belly.
My confinement was drawing closer, and I had been denying the fear of childbirth and the possibility that I might not survive it.
I yearned to feel safe in his arms, to have him comfort me with his strength—the strength I did not possess.
The soft candlelight illuminated his face. Asleep, his features displayed none of the harshness he turned on me when awake. Jack was right. My husband wore a similar disguise to mine. Vane had just as much reason as I to conceal his feelings.
His chest rose and fell with each breath. Where had he been during the day? Had he thought of me at all?
Jealousy surged inside me at the thought of this woman Elizabeth who he’d loved so deeply. I ran my fingers along the stubble on his chin, tracing the line of his scar. He sighed, and the ghost of a smile played across his lips as he whispered one word.
“Cherie.”
I brushed my lips against the scar. He murmured in his sleep and reached toward me. I took his hand and held his knuckles to my lips. A single tear ran down my face and splashed onto his hand. I wiped it across his palm before kissing a trail where the tear had fallen.
Holding his palm against my cheek I closed my eyes, whispering of my love for him.
His body stiffened then I heard his voice, harsh and cold.
“What do you want?”
I opened my eyes to see him staring at me, eyes the color of ice. I had reached the point of no return and shattered the road leading back.
“You, husband.” I kissed the tips of his fingers. “I want you.”
I lowered myself over him and placed a soft kiss on his lips.
With a low growl, he rolled me onto my back and pinned me to the bed, thrusting his tongue inside my mouth.
He grasped my hair in one hand, forcing my head back against the bed.
Ignoring my cry he fisted the top of my chemise with his other hand and tore it from me.
The rush of cold air sent ripples of shock down my spine, tightening my chest. I gave a groan, part agony, part desire, as the need for him surpassed all else.
His lips burned as he kissed my neck, drawing his lips together and sucking hard against my tender skin until I cried out again.
“Do you want me, woman?”
His voice was rough and hoarse as he rubbed his hand across my breasts, pinching the nipples between his finger and thumb until I writhed against him, overcome by the twin sensations of pleasure and pain. He released my hair and sat back, his eyes hooded and dark.
“Oh, how I wish to God it were so,” he whispered, his voice loaded with pain.
He ran his hands across my stomach where the skin stretched over the child.
His hands faltered as my muscles contracted before resuming their path to my thighs.
A flame burned through my veins where his fingers touched me, and my center pulsed softly with longing.
His hot, wet mouth claimed my breast the same time he brushed his fingers against my flesh.
It was exquisite—my sensitized body wept at his touch.
He moved his fingers lightly, too lightly, against me.
My body screamed for release, and I parted my legs, willing him to give me what I craved, what I knew his expert touch could do.
Then he withdrew his hand and I whimpered at the loss.
“Tell me what you want,” he growled.
“I want you,” I cried, aching for him to touch me again, lifting my hips toward him.
He started to caress me again, and my whole body tightened. “Tell me again,” he said, moving his fingers; teasing, probing, keeping me on the brink of shattering, withholding the satisfaction I craved.
“I want you inside me,” I begged. Hot tears of shame welled in my eyes as I clutched the sheets on the bed and sobbed, “Oh, Vane!”
He withdrew his hand, unmoved by my sharp cry of frustration and loss which deepened as he moved off the bed.
“Vane, please!” I cried, but he turned his back and began to dress.
A sharp pain in my belly racked my body and I caught my breath, squeezing my eyes shut and gritting my teeth until the pain subsided. When I opened them again he was fully dressed and heading for the door.
“Where are you going?” I struggled to sit.
“It matters not.”
“No!” I wailed, “Don’t leave me!”
“You think you can seduce me now my brother has rejected you?”
He lifted his hand against my protests.
“Do not deny it. I’ve seen you direct your smiles at him. Women! Whores, the lot of you! If I want a whore there are many in the village who are willing and would give me considerably more pleasure than you could ever hope to do.”
“’Tis not true, Vane,” I pleaded. “Not all women are like her. I am not like her!”
“Like who?” he said, his voice dangerously quiet.
“Elizabeth,” I said. “I am not Elizabeth, and Jack is not William.”
His expression darkened. He lifted his hands as if to wrap them around my neck but drew back, balling them into fists. He set his jaw into a hard line.
“Woman, if you wish to survive this night, speak no more.”
“But…”
“I said enough!” he roared, his face contorted with rage.
I stepped back, tripping and fell onto the bed. He turned his back on me, slamming the door behind him, angry footsteps echoing down the stairs.
With nothing else to do, I lay on the bed and wept with shame. My pathetic attempt at seduction had only served to drive him away, into the arms—and perhaps the bed—of another.
When I struggled down the stairs the next morning there was no sign of Vane. Lily and Jack were talking quietly in the kitchen. As I entered they stopped, but not before I caught her sharp voice.
“…back in a sennight, though he has little to return to.”
Jack laid a warning hand on her arm, and she turned to me, her expression full of contempt.
“He’s gone,” she said, her voice laced with anger.
“Do you wish for me to go also, Lily?”
“Aye,” she sneered. “You drove him away last night. Mayhap your absence would bring him back to his family—to those who love him.”
A spasm of pain gripped my body, and I fell against the doorframe. Jack reached toward me, but Lily pulled him back.
“Do not come near my husband!” she cried. “You think you can whore yourself out to every man who falls in your path? You probably don’t even love the man who sired your child.”
“I do!” I cried, the anger I felt against her injustice forced out by the pain in my heart and body. “I love him more than you could ever understand, and I will never love another! Surely you don’t think Jack and I…”
“Be quiet, you whore!” Lily’s usually kind face contorted with fury. “You have done nothing but disturb our peace since you—”
She broke off at my sharp cry of agony. A gush of warm liquid ran down my legs and splashed on the floor.
My legs began to give way beneath me and Jack took me by the arms and pulled me toward the table.
Clutching the edge with one hand I moaned as another wave of pain engulfed me.
It felt as if my body were being ripped apart.
Jack supported my weight, and I gripped his hand, not caring that I dug my nails into his palm.
Through the haze of pain I heard his voice, calm and reassuring.
“Lily, take care of Lisetta while I find the midwife.”
“No,” I choked as a spasm of pain shook my body. “Don’t leave me, Jack!”
I heard Jack’s voice interspersed with Lily’s sharper tones though the pain obliterated the words.
The spasm receded, and I breathed out. Jack tugged at my arm.
“Can you move, sister? You need to be upstairs.”
I shook my head and my body tightened again causing a peculiar stretching between my legs. I tried to move but the feeling intensified, and I moaned in pain.
“Forgive mem” Jack said, kindness in his voice. “I won’t try to move you. Is there anything you need?”
I need my husband.
I shook my head, sobbing.
“Do you wish for my brother?”
I jerked my head up, hope springing in my heart which died on seeing the sadness in his eyes. He kissed the top of my head, stroking it with his free hand.
“Lisetta, I am so sorry he’s not here.” He smiled weakly as if trying to convince himself of the truth in his next words, “I am sure that when he returns he’ll want to see you—and your child—safe and well.”
I gripped the table as the pain overwhelmed me again, grateful for his strong arms supporting me as we waited for Lily to return with the midwife.
My confinement lasted several hours, and as night fell, I gave birth to a son.
I had begun to deal with the pain of each contraction, and as my body stretched to accommodate his entry into the world, I grew calmer, determined to be strong for his sake.
The midwife tried to send Jack out of the room, but he stood firm, holding my hand and ignoring Lily’s admonishments.
At one point, I looked up at the man supporting me and thought it was my husband.
I cried out his name before turning my head in disappointment, realizing that the blue eyes looking back at me were not the eyes I had been praying with all my soul to look upon again.
When my body eventually tightened in the instinct to bear down, the pressure inside me was almost intolerable. Encouraged by Jack and the midwife, I gritted my teeth and strained as hard as I could.
Surrendering to my weakness, as the child slid from my body, I screamed the name of the one person I wanted by my side.
“Vane!—Vane!!”
I collapsed forward, my body floating. I kept my eyes closed, sensing the oncoming blackness, and the welcoming relief from pain—both physical and emotional. The world swirled around me as I heard the midwife’s voice.
“’Tis a boy.”
A sharp cry returned me to the world—the pitiful wail of a child. The sound ripped through my soul, and in that moment I understood my purpose. A mother’s instinct told me that my son needed to be safe in my arms.
All that mattered was the urge to protect him.
I struggled to my feet and held out my arms.
“Give me my son.”
“Mistress, you must rest. Let your brother take you upstairs to your room first…”
“I. Need. My. Son,” I said slowly and clearly through gritted teeth, shaking off Jack’s steadying arm though my legs trembled.
“Give him to her, Edwina,” Jack said softly, “I can carry them both.”
The midwife wrapped my son in a blanket and handed him to me.
As he opened his eyes to look at me for the first time I felt a warm rush of love.
It was as if Vane himself looked back at me with the love I yearned for.
I knew then that if I could never have the love of the father, then the love of the son would be my solace.
My tears splashed onto his perfect little face, but for first time in my life they were tears of joy.
I barely registered Jack as he carried me upstairs. He placed me on the bed, then reached for the child, but I refused, clutching him to me as if my life depended on it.
“It seems I have a nephew.” He smiled. “Have you thought of a name?”
“Aye,” I replied, bending my head to kiss the top of my child’s head, breathing in the beautiful scent of him.
“I will let you rest now, Lisetta,” Jack said. “Edwina will attend you in the morning.”
Before I could answer, he had gone. The babe wriggled in the blanket, working an arm free. I held out a finger, and he curled his little hand around it, forming a tiny pink fist. My son—whom I loved as much as I loved his father.
“Welcome, my love,” I whispered. “Geoffrey Valentine Sawford.”