Chapter Sixteen
Victoria couldn’t sleep that night.
The hours following Dr. McCullom’s visit dragged on with all the speed of caramelized sugar.
Time was slow and sticky, unpleasant in its sheer quantity.
Even if she hadn’t been able to comprehend it, she respected Rafe’s need for distance, and she settled for caring for him from afar.
No longer able to concern herself with something as trivial and mundane as correspondence, she spoke to the kitchen staff to ensure food was brought to the nursery.
Even when it returned untouched, she knew at least she’d tried.
Much like his niece, she could not force her husband to take sustenance.
She spent the hours following a solitary supper pacing her chamber, moving from the chair to the bed to the window in a random cycle of restlessness.
Sleep was impossible with the pall that had been draped over the house after news of Faith’s condition had spread throughout the staff.
Each time Victoria closed her eyes, she pictured Rafe’s raw heartbreak, the tortured helplessness she’d read in his expressive eyes.
She would have given anything to take away that pain, to heal the child so wounded by grief that life was more a trial than a gift.
Her innards were contorted with sorrow and impotence—if she felt this poorly, then how awful must her husband feel?
When she could stand it no more, Victoria donned her dressing gown and crept up to the nursery.
She couldn’t stomach the thought of Rafe spending the night standing silent vigil over the babe, solitary in his grief.
Whether he wanted her there or not, Victoria cared for the child as well.
Faith was her family, too. It was unthinkable that she would not be allowed to offer comfort and love when and where she could.
The door to the nursery was slightly ajar, so she pressed it open on its silent hinges.
Watery moonlight streamed through the parted curtains to reveal Dominic and May asleep in their respective miniature beds.
May’s curls were a wild and unruly creature, obscuring her face as she snored lightly.
Dominic had fallen asleep clutching a cherished toy soldier.
The exhausted Nan was asleep in her own bed nearby.
What Victoria did not see was her husband.
Or the bassinet.
Heart clogging her throat, Victoria’s mind began to run through the worst possibilities. Had something happened to Faith? Why wouldn’t Rafe have sent for her if it had? Was he even now weathering the tragedy alone somewhere in the house?
Victoria gathered up the fabric of her nightclothes and dashed back down the stairs, heedless of the noise she made in her haste. She headed toward the first place she could think of to find her husband. She turned the knob to his bedchamber without knocking and opened the door.
There, she found Rafe lying atop his mattress, naked from the waist-up, his skin glowing golden in the warm light from a single low-burning candle and the flickering hearth set into the wall near the foot of the bed.
The room was warm, but not uncomfortably so, and it smelled of her husband… woodsy and masculine.
He cradled Faith against his chest with her cheek pressed to his heart. The bassinet was set near the bed. The child was still and silent.
Hearing her enter, Rafe turned his head toward the door and made a small motion with his fingers to bid her to enter quietly.
Victoria did so, pressing her fingers to her lips.
She felt as if she stood on a precipice between hope and unimaginable sorrow.
She almost did not want to ask the question on the tip of her tongue, so she might continue to exist in ignorance. In the end, her need to know won out.
“Is she…?”
“Sleeping,” Rafe whispered.
Victoria choked on a sob of relief. She was forced to steady herself with a hand on the back of a chair lest her knees give way completely.
“I did everything I could think of,” Rafe explained, his voice even and soft, low and comforting as the steady drum of summer rain upon the roof of a cozy house.
“Nothing consoled her. She would not stop crying, so I removed her from the nursery so Nan and the children could sleep. We paced the main floor. I spoke to her. None of it helped. I thought only to bring her here so I might change my shirt, and her hands were so cold.” Tears blurred Victoria’s vision as she continued to listen.
“I stoked the fire and picked her up. Once she felt the warmth of my skin, she calmed down. When she heard my heartbeat, there was a change in her. She even ate a little.” He lifted his chin to the pewter bubby-pot and rag on the nearby table.
Dr. McCullom had previously offered it as an alternative to assist Faith in obtaining enough sustenance, but he’d also cautioned that the device needed to be thoroughly cleaned after each use because he’d seen far too many infants fall ill.
Rafe shifted slightly so he might gaze down at the top of the baby’s downy head.
Victoria could not force the words through her tight throat, but she knew McCullom had been right—holding the child close had, indeed, helped.
“Her skin on mine seemed to buoy her condition the most, so here we are.”
The sight of the tiny baby on Rafe’s broad chest, watching the infant breathe in the steady, even rhythm of sleep, of finally experiencing a glimmer of hope, made Victoria’s tears spill over.
She collapsed to her knees at the side of the bed, burying her face in the crook of her elbow as her body poured forth its relief and gratitude.
Rafe’s large, warm hand took hers; his knuckle stroked her thumb in a gentle motion of comfort and support.
She would gladly accept all of it.
Victoria awoke in the warm circle of Rafe’s arms. It took her several bleary moments to recognize her surroundings, but, as her senses stirred one by one, she realized where she was and how she had come to be enfolded by her husband’s warm body and cradled in his intoxicating scent.
In the wee hours of the morning, she’d drifted off to sleep while holding his hand, sitting as she had been with her head resting upon the mattress beside him.
She didn’t know how long she’d slept, but her knees had been numb, her neck ached, and no morning light peeked around the edge of the bedchamber’s curtains.
Stretching her protesting muscles, she’d looked up to find Rafe had drifted off to sleep as well in a half-seated position, propped up with pillows.
She’d found it unreasonably charming that he, like his niece, was prone to light snoring.
The infant remained still and sleeping on his chest. Rafe’s neck had been bent at an awkward angle, but he looked so worn and weary that it hadn’t mattered when a relieved sleep finally claimed him.
Not wanting the baby to fall, Victoria rose to her feet and, very carefully, picked up the infant and transferred her to the bassinet beside the bed.
Rafe startled and stirred when he realized the child’s slight weight was no longer resting on him, but Victoria had calmed him with a gentle hand to his forehead, her nails combing back his thick, dark locks of hair.
When she would have retreated to her own bedchamber, his hand closed tightly around the edge of her dressing gown.
Loath to disturb him from his exhausted slumber, she’d very carefully climbed atop the mattress and settled in beside him, curling up against his side and resting her cheek against the deep, steady rhythm of his heart—much like Faith had done.
And, also like the babe, the sound had lulled her into a deep, comfortable sleep.
She’d woken that morning with Rafe fitted perfectly against her back, his even breathing tickling the nape of her neck, his body curled protectively around her.
It was warm and secure. Though she was still clothed and he, mostly so, it almost felt more intimate than lovemaking.
This was a different sort of vulnerability for both of them.
Victoria indulged in several minutes of simple enjoyment of their situation.
He was so solid against her; his arm slung over her waist was pleasantly heavy, his bedding was sinfully soft beneath her cheek, and their closeness suffused her with an unexpected degree of warmth.
After the drama of the day before, it was grounding to take the time to pause and simply feel.
What would it be like to wake up each morning like this?
To do so without the barrier of clothing between them?
Unnerved by the turn of her thoughts, Victoria turned her mind to more important things.
She should check on the baby. Slowly, she began to try to extricate herself from her husband’s grasp.
Still sleeping, Rafe protested with a low groan.
His arm tightened its hold and pressed her against the length of his body.
He buried his face in the nape of her neck.
Victoria smiled until she felt the unmistakably hard, persistent throb of his arousal nestled against her rear.
Instantaneously, a spark ignited low in her belly; she began to feel her pulse between her thighs.
It took everything in her not to press her hips back into him, to reacquaint herself with the impressive size of his member, to beg him to do to her what he’d done all those weeks before—to make her weak and trembling with pleasure, to unleash in her that wild freedom only he could coax from her body and soul.
As he dragged a sleep-languid hand along her side and traced her curves, she was torn between bolting and wanting to see what would happen if she rolled to her back and welcomed him into her arms…if she forgot all the secrets and history between them and moved forward as man and wife.