The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(104)
He sealed his vow with a kiss. Then again—with his body, heart, and soul.
Epilogue
Seven months later
That night, lying in bed, Rosie watched her husband enter their bedchamber.
Despite her dark mood—or perhaps because of it—she noted how absurdly attractive he was. One wouldn’t think it possible, yet during their year of marriage, he’d grown even more handsome. He smiled more. He looked more relaxed, his face tanned and hair gilded from the wedding trip they’d taken abroad. He engaged in daily physical pursuits—riding or boxing at his club—and his black silk dressing gown showcased his honed virility.
The man she adored looked happy and healthy, and her heart swelled with gladness. When he’d first told her about his plans to give up Corbett’s and his other clubs, she’d had mixed feelings. She hadn’t wanted him to change for her. Wanted him to know that she loved him unconditionally.
“Don’t do it for me,” she’d said resolutely. “Do whatever makes you happy.”
His eyes had grown serious.
“I’ve worked all my life, in one form or another,” he’d said quietly. “I’m done with it. Now all I want is to enjoy being married. I want to spend time with my beautiful wife, who I’ve waited for all my life. I want to travel with her, show her exotic places, and share adventures with her… especially in bed.”
That had been that.
He’d done all the things he’d wanted—and not necessarily in that order.
They’d gone on a glorious, extended wedding trip. They’d toured the vineyards of France, the villas of Italy, and the breathtaking islands of Greece. Exploring foreign lands with the love of her life had been an exhilarating time of adventure and discovery… and, near the end of it, Rosie had received another surprise.
Not that it ought to have been a surprise, she thought dryly. Since their wedding night, Andrew had stopped using the sheaths, and given the frequency of their lovemaking, it had only been a matter of time before she got with child. When he found out about her pregnancy, Andrew had arranged their immediate return to London.
Since arriving home, she’d divided her time between lying nauseated in bed, casting her accounts in a chamber pot, and bursting into tears for no reason. She felt worn, frayed, and ugly—like the little rag doll that Andrew kept in his bedside cabinet. The fact that he’d kept a memento of her all those years was achingly sweet… but she didn’t want him to think that she resembled the pitiful thing.
And she feared that he did. No, she didn’t just fear it, she knew it. Knew that he was losing interest in her. His behavior proved it: her passionate, exciting lover—who’d made love to her during a gondola ride in Venice, on a secluded beach in Crete, and on a balcony overlooking Paris—hadn’t touched her for weeks.
Panic thrummed as the subject of her brooding came over to her. Tucking a curl behind her ear, he murmured, “How are you feeling, sunshine?”
“Fine.” She was not fine. How could she be when the man she loved no longer found her attractive?
“Good.” He paused. “Can I get you anything?”
Over the past few weeks, she’d learned to resent that solicitous tone. The unfailingly gentle manner in which he treated her—as if she were an invalid.
“No,” she said shortly.
He went to his side of the bed. She watched as he removed his dressing robe—and, Dear God, she couldn’t stem the longing that flooded her at the sight of her husband’s naked form. She couldn’t stop her eyes from devouring his powerfully hewn chest with its light furring of hair, the rippling ridges of his flat belly. And between his muscular thighs…
Her mouth pooled. His cock hung big and thick, semi-erect.
Her pulse racing, she raised her eyes to his and saw the frown carved between his brows. As if he were disgusted… at her? Her heart seized. A moment later, he doused the lights and got into bed. He put an arm around her but did nothing else. They lay next to one another in the darkness, still and stiff and awkward as two corpses.
He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t love me…
In an act of pure desperation, Rosie turned and put a hand on her husband’s chest.
His hoarse voice came at her like a blade through the darkness. “Sunshine, perhaps it would be better if I slept in the dressing room tonight.”
Her heart lodged in her throat. In all the time that they’d been married, he’d never slept apart from her. In fact, he’d told her that she was the first woman he’d ever spent the entire night with, and she loved how he never let go of her, how they always woke tangled up together.
Now she said in a choked voice, “You can’t even stand to share a bed with me anymore? I disgust you that much?”
The mattress shifted, and the lamp flared to life.
Andrew was sitting up in bed, staring at her. “What the devil?”
She struggled up against the pillows. “I know I’m ugly and fat, but I’m still your wife! You’re supposed to love me no matter what. You promised.”
He looked… mystified? “First of all, you’re gorgeous. Second, you’re not fat—you’re expecting. And third…”
“Third, what?” she challenged.
He opened his mouth—and closed it. “Third, this conversation is so insane that I’ve forgotten what I was going to say,” he muttered.