Page 31 of The Duke Steals a Bride (Stolen by the Duke #5)

Chapter Thirty-One

“C ome here. Now.”

Edwin’s voice was a low growl, as he grabbed Christine’s hand, pulling her behind a large oak tree.

Quickly, he glanced around, checking on the twins, before breathing a short sigh of relief. Isabella and Beatrice were occupied with untangling the strings of the kite and weren’t focusing on what their father and stepmother were up to in the slightest.

“You are insatiable,” murmured Christine, with a frothy giggle, as he pulled her to him, burying his face into her neck, kissing it passionately. “What about the girls? This is not the time or the place for such activities…”

“It is always the time and place when I catch a whiff of your delectable perfume,” he whispered, biting her lightly on the neck, feeling himself harden again. “I simply cannot restrain myself, little mouse. I want to take you against this tree. Right now.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath, like a hiss, and felt her shiver with passion in his arms. He bit her neck again, harder, causing her to yelp, before he wound his fingers into her hair, bringing her lips to his own.

She has the sweetest lips I have ever tasted. They are like ambrosia to me. I cannot resist them.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue opening her lips, plumbing the depths of her mouth. She moaned in her throat, clinging to him. He was becoming lost once again, losing himself within this fierce desire, that seemed to deepen by the day…

“Papa! Papa!”

Beatrice’s voice, high pitched and threaded with fear, reached him as if from a very long distance. He sprang away from Christine, panting hard, momentarily confused, smoothing down his hair with trembling hands. Christine looked like she was awaking from a trance, as well.

Beatrice was running towards them, white faced, her dark ringlets streaming behind her in the wind. The pink ribbons that entwined them were loose, threatening to fall to the ground.

He ran towards his daughter.

“What is it? What the devil is wrong?”

“It’s Bella,” cried Beatrice, her eyes filled with fear. “She…she has climbed too high in a tree, and she says she cannot get down…”

“I told you not to wander away!” he cried, his head whipping around, searching for his older daughter, irritation and fear overtaking him, in equal measure. “I told you both to stay with the kite!”

“I am sorry, Papa,” cried Beatrice, tears streaming down her face now. “I told her not to climb the tree, but she would not listen to me!”

“This is not the time for recrimination,” said Christine, in a firm voice, even though her own face was twisted with concern. “We must get to Bella.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath. They all started running, following Beatrice. It seemed that Isabella had wandered a good distance away, for she wasn’t close any longer.

How long was I distracted? It only seemed like a few moments!

He cursed aloud, increasing his speed, almost overtaking Beatrice in his haste. Christine lagged behind a little, panting hard, trying to keep up. He didn’t look back at her. Anger and fear were hardening his heart, and with it, a bitter self-loathing, a recrimination so fierce that it took what little breath he still had away. A hard, bitter voice lodged in his mind, berating him soundly.

You became distracted by your new wife. You weren’t paying attention to your children. You vowed that would never happen on your late wife’s deathbed when you held them in your arms as newborns.

“There she is!” Beatrice stopped running, pointing in the air, to the top of a tall elm tree. The little girl was panting hard.

Abruptly, Edwin drew to a stop, peering upwards. His heart constricted with fear. Isabella had climbed very high, indeed. And now, the little girl was perched on a very high branch, clinging to it tightly. The branch was bowing and bending precariously, threatening to break beneath her weight.

“You foolish girl!” he exploded. “Have you no sense at all?”

“I am sorry, Papa,” said Isabella, looking stricken. “It did not seem so very high from the ground…”

“Stay where you are,” he barked, quickly taking off his jacket. “Do not move an inch!”

Isabella nodded. She looked so frightened his heart constricted again. It was a very long way to the ground, and if she fell, she would probably hurt herself badly—if not break her neck and die.

Do not think of what might happen. Just focus on getting her safe.

Grimly, he started climbing the tree towards her, cursing beneath his breath. It was a long time since he had climbed a tree. He felt droplets of sweat dripping down the back of his neck.

He gritted his teeth, reaching for a branch, putting his weight upon it carefully. He needed to be cautious, as well as quick. If he made a wrong move, he might tumble to the ground—and that would not help his daughter.

“Stay still, Bella!” Christine’s frightened voice reached him from below, carried on the wind. “Stay very still!”

He glanced upwards. Isabella was trying very hard not to move. She was clinging so tightly to the branch that he could see that her knuckles were white. She whimpered, sounding like a scared puppy.

Not long now. I am almost there.

He hauled himself upward again, balancing on a branch, hearing a small tear. He realized his shirtsleeve had ripped and he had grazed himself on the rough bark of the tree. He ignored the blood he felt trickling down his arm, focusing on Isabella.

“I am almost there,” he called. “Do not move!”

Suddenly, the wind picked up again, almost howling around him. He cursed again. It was a very windy day—it was the sole reason he had suggested they fly the kite on their afternoon walk.

His heart seized with bitter self-blame again. They hadn’t even gotten to fly the kite at all—instead, he had left his daughters to untangle the strings of it alone, while he had been kissing his wife behind a tree. And now, one of his children was clinging to a tree branch, about to topple to the ground, if this fierce wind had its way.

Negligent. Careless. Utterly unforgiveable.

He kept moving, trying to ignore the wind. Isabella was shivering, now, holding tightly, the branch swaying dangerously. She whimpered again…before the branch abruptly snapped.

Isabella let out a high cry, falling to the ground. He saw her white dress and dark ringlets blurring through the air…and then, there was a sickening thud.

“Isabella!” he cried, desperately descending the tree, scraping himself again in his haste. “Isabella!”

She was lying on the ground. But he couldn’t see her properly yet, for Christine and Beatrice had rushed to her, bending over her. He jumped when he could, rushing to her side, as well. It felt like his heart was about to burst.

Is she dead? Has she broken her neck? How can I bear it?

He reached her, letting out a sigh of pure relief. Isabella was conscious and beginning to sit up slowly. She was as white as a sheet—but she hadn’t lost her life.

“Where does it hurt?” cried Christine. “Are you injured?”

“My ankle,” replied Isabella, with a shudder of pain. “It hurts.”

Edwin ran his eyes over her quickly, assessing the damage. The sleeves of her gown were ripped and her arms scraped, but not badly. Her ankle, however, was twisted painfully. It looked like it might be broken, or at the very least, badly sprained.

“Stay still,” he whispered, picking her up gently. “We will get you back to the house and call the physician immediately.”

They started to walk back towards the house in silence, passing the kite where it lay on the ground, still tangled. It looked abandoned and forlorn. His heart tightened. So much for their fun afternoon flying it together.

This is your fault. You know it is your fault entirely. Isabella could have died. She could have broken her neck, or her legs. She could be a cripple now.

They reached the back of the house at last, rushing inside.

“Quickly!” he cried, gripping the little girl tightly. “Get pillows and prepare a comfortable chair! And someone get on a horse and fetch the physician. Right now!”

The servants jumped, rushing to do his bidding. Beatrice and Christine hung back a little as he placed Isabella gently in a cushioned chair, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly. Her injured ankle was propped up on a pillow.

“Do you want water?” he whispered. “Are you thirsty?”

The little girl shook her head. He was pleased to see that a little bit of color had returned to her face. She wasn’t quite as deathly white any longer.

“What can I do?” asked Christine, in an anxious voice. “Shall I fetch your favorite toy, Isabella? Or perhaps fetch Sooty and her kittens from the nursery, to keep you company while you wait for the physician?”

Edwin rounded on her, his eyes snapping. “She does not need anything from the nursery,” he barked, irritation overwhelming him. “I will stay with her until the physician arrives.” He took a deep breath. “Take Beatrice back to the nursery. You are both in the way.”

Christine’s face crumpled. He ignored her, turning back to Isabella, his heart beating irregularly. After a moment, he heard retreating footsteps. Christine and Beatrice had disappeared. His heart tightened again.

Good. I spoke the truth. They are not needed here. Not at all.

* * *

That evening after a fraught, silent dinner, Edwin stood behind the French door, watching Christine on the balcony. She was staring at the night sky, as she liked to do. Lately, he had been joining her there, irresistibly drawn to her side, like a moth to a flame, before dragging her to his chambers, to spend the night in each other’s arms.

But not tonight. Tonight, he simply couldn’t bring himself to go anywhere near her.

He sighed, wiping a hand over his face, feeling unbearably weary, thinking about the dreadful afternoon. The physician had arrived eventually, examining Isabella, before declaring that the little girl’s ankle wasn’t broken. It was a very bad strain. He ordered complete bed rest for a few days. Isabella was promptly carried to her bed, with a tray ordered for her evening meal.

He gritted his teeth. He would make very certain she would be obeying the physician’s orders and not moving an inch—he had ordered the servants to maintain a constant bedside vigil.

I was so close to losing her today. If she had landed even slightly differently, she might have died. It does not bear thinking about.

And yet, he could think of nothing else. It was gnawing at him, like a mouse on a wheel of cheese.

And alongside that corrosive guilt, he was vividly recalling that terrible midwinter day, eight years ago, when he had held both of his motherless newborn daughters in his arms, vowing to them that he would devote his life to them—and that nothing, and no one, would ever distract him from that sacred purpose.

He stared hard at Christine. He had forgotten that vow today. And it was all because of her.

He watched her lean against the balcony railing, her head tilted higher toward the sky, a slight breeze playing with the curls framing her face. She looked unbearably sad, as if a light had been extinguished within her.

Even with her face twisted in sorrow, it is still the most bewitching face I have ever beheld.

His heart tightened. Christine tried to engage him in conversation constantly over dinner, but he had been clipped, replying to her in a non-committal way. Eventually, she had given up, and they had finished the meal in strained silence.

Suddenly, her head whipped around, staring at the door, as if she sensed him looking at her. He shrunk back, so he couldn’t be seen.

“Edwin?” Her voice was tentative. Unsure. “Is that you?”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he turned on his heel, walking quickly towards his chambers, making sure to lock both doors.

His heart twisted in bittersweet sorrow as his valet undressed him for the night. It would be hard resisting her tonight, knowing that she was just behind the adjoining door. So very hard. But he was resolved.

He had taken a vow to protect his children and to let nothing distract himself from it…and he had broken that vow. His daughter might have lost her life today because of it.

Distracted by laughter and kisses, he had lost his way. But it wouldn’t happen again.