Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(63)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

For he fully intended to be with her in the future—legally and sanctioned by the church in public, intimate and loving in private. He’d never bared his soul to another as he had to her. She saw his animal and had the temerity to pet it.

He loved her.

And he believed she loved him—even if she wouldn’t acknowledge it yet. If he let her drive him away, they would never find this bond again. They’d be what they were before: two souls drifting, alone and isolated, apart eternally from the people around them.

He couldn’t live like that again, and he wasn’t about to let her return to that limbo.

So he leaned into her, using his greater strength and height to emphasize his words. Oh, and the rude flesh still embedded in hers. That he used as well.

He shoved his hips against her, reminding her of what they had just done, and said, “I had never bedded a woman before you. I made that plain. Did you think I let you seduce me lightly? No, I did not. You made a deal with me the moment you gave me entry into your body.”

“I made no such deal!” Her eyes were angry—and frightened—but he would not let her make him back down.

“Precious Isabel,” he whispered. “You made a deal with your heart, your soul, and your body, and you sealed it with the wash of your climax on my cock.”

She blinked, looking dazed. He’d never used such words before, especially not with her, but their bluntness was necessary.

“I… I can’t marry you,” she murmured almost to herself. There were tears in her eyes and she looked trapped. He mourned the anxiety this was causing her, but he would not let her go. “You’re nothing but a poor schoolmaster. What makes you think I’d marry you?”

Her words were hurtful and he did not appreciate them, so his answer was crude and to the point. He tilted his pelvis into hers, sliding his reawakening erection against her slippery passage.

She gasped, her eyes locking with his, and he saw the moment when all her specious arguments fell away. When her hope of getting out of this easily died.

“I’m barren.”

The words were stark, bitter. He heard them and then he heard nothing else for a little bit. He watched her sad face, pinched and somehow lonely as she told him.

“By the third miscarriage, I knew I’d never birth a live child,” she was saying when his hearing came back to him. “Despite all the doctors that Edmund brought in. But it was the fourth miscarriage that was the worst. I bled for a very long time, and the doctors said I was lucky to live, but there was a price, they said. I was damaged beyond repair internally.”

She said it calmly, but he knew she must’ve screamed and wailed at the news, for his Isabel was not a passive woman. She would’ve fought the verdict. Would’ve died trying to have another child. Thank God that was impossible.

Winter knew that soon, very soon, he would need to mourn the children he would never have. At the moment, though, he had but one goal.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said when she stopped to draw breath.

She looked at him almost scornfully. “Of course it matters. All men want children of their blood, and I cannot provide you with them. I can never have what other women have so easily. A baby—children—are lost to me.”

“It is a loss, I agree,” he said, gently withdrawing from her.

He let her legs touch the ground, but when she would’ve fled from him, he simply picked her up in his arms and crossed to a settee, settling her in his lap like a little child. He couldn’t count the number of times he had comforted weeping children in this position.

“Winter—” she began.

“Shhh.” He put his fingers to her lips. “Hear me out. I cannot deny that I would’ve liked to have made babies with you. A little girl with your hair and eyes would’ve been the delight of my life. But it is you that I want primarily, not mythical children. I can survive the loss of something I’ve never had. I cannot survive losing you.”

She was already shaking her head, disobeying his wish to be heard. “You’re a young man, Winter Makepeace. You may think now that you don’t care about your own children, but that will change. Why do you think I’ve never remarried? Someday you’ll look at me and see a barren hag.”

Something in her voice made him look closer at her. Her eyes were haunted, her face ashamed. “Did your husband look at you thus?”

“No. No, of course not.” But she closed her eyes as if she couldn’t bear some awful pain. “Edmund was always the gentleman.”

“And yet he left you with his bastard to raise. Salt to rub in the wound.”

Her eyes flew open, desperate and wild. She shook her head even as she said, “I’ll not be a millstone about your neck keeping you from having a real family. I couldn’t bear for any man to look at me like that again, but especially not… not you.”

That small stutter at the end of her speech made his heart swell. He knew then that it was only a matter of time and patience. Probably quite a lot of patience.

“I’ll never look at you in any way but complete admiration.” He stroked her hair soothingly. “You will never be a millstone about my neck. Rather you’re the sunshine that brightens my day.” He swallowed. “Don’t you see? You brought me into the daylight. You’ve embraced parts of me that I was never able to let see light. Don’t make me retreat again into the night.”

She closed her eyes wearily. “It isn’t enough. Don’t do this to yourself—to me. Not even my money will make it seem worth marrying me in a couple of years.”

He winced at her jibe. Her husband had scarred her deeply and she was mentally fleeing in panic. He’d not talk her into this right now. Gently he set her on the settee and got up, fastening his breeches. “It’s evident that I’ll not convince you tonight. You’re tired and I confess so am I. Let us leave this for the morrow.”

Naturally she opened her mouth again, but he was expecting that and covered her sweet lips with his own mouth, kissing her until she softened.

Then he lifted his head. “And mind, precious Isabel, not to insult me too badly when we argue, hmm?”

He made sure to leave swiftly—before she could say more.

“MY LADY!”

Isabel opened her eyes to see Pinkney standing hesitantly by her bedside.

The maid proffered a folded scrap of paper. “My lady, this note came for you just now. The lad who brought it said he’d been paid a shilling extra to run it here. I think it must be important, don’t you?”