The Problem with Seduction

Chapter Twenty-Six

AT LONG LAST Con was well enough to arise from his bed, don his clothing and make her a proper apology. The more he thought about it, the more resolved he became that she deserved a full accounting of his change of heart. Not just the certainty that he’d forgiven her, for they’d had days during which she must have realized his resentment had ebbed, but she deserved to hear a complete apology, full of groveling and begging for forgiveness and all the things women adored.

Yes, she had acted ignobly and selfishly. He didn’t pretend she hadn’t. The fact that she’d had so little trust in him at the end frustrated him, when, from the beginning, he’d given her no reason to doubt him. But he also knew she’d been scared. And had her fear been unfounded? No. In the end, he’d done every lawful thing he could think of—and a few unlawful things, too—and he’d not been able to keep faith with her. His failure didn’t excuse what she’d done, but after a month and a half of being without her, he also knew his feelings weren’t going to change.

He loved her. He wanted Oliver back. He wanted all of them to be together, even if it meant sitting on Finn’s stoop with her. Yes, he knew about that, too. His mother had spare no details when it came to painting Elizabeth in a sympathetic light.

He’d never forgive himself for losing their son. But he wanted his life with Elizabeth again. Their old life, but better. He wanted a little brother or sister for Oliver, and a house to call their own.

He gathered his courage and braved the autumn chill to pay the most important call of his life. She’d been to visit him earlier in the day, as she had every day, but he’d kept his progress from her secret. He wanted to surprise her.

He walked to her townhouse because he was too anxious to sit in a carriage. Also, because the sway and jostle of a carriage was abominable. It put him in mind of his illness, and of the ship. He smelled the hulks less often now, but just the thought of sitting in a closed conveyance made his stomach roil.

His steps slowed when came in sight of her townhouse and observed the nursery window awash in a gold glow. His belly tightened. If he found her rocking empty arms in the nursery chair, what would he do?

Had she been this way the entire time he’d been ill? What if she never came out of her grief?

He allowed himself to wonder what if for just a moment. Then he firmly put the thought away. “What if,” nothing. He marched up her steps and rapped on the knocker. He’d vowed to be her husband in sickness and health. She’d been at his side in his sickness—twice. The least he could do was sit with her while she mourned their son.

Rand opened the door. He gaped before recalling himself. “My lord,” he said, stepping back and opening the portal wider. “It’s good to see you’re standing.”

“So I agree. Is my wife about?” He shouldn’t be looking for his wife. They ought to be together. He should have come to her directly after being released. His frustration with her at the time now seemed like a foolish waste of opportunity.

“She is, my lord. Shall I call her down to the drawing room?” Rand turned his eyes to the landing, as if she would materialize on her own. Or…as if he hesitated.

Uneasiness again unsettled Con, but only for a moment. He didn’t want to shock her while she was actively mourning Oliver’s empty room, nor would he be frightened away. He made for the drawing room. “Yes, do. Once you’ve sent for her, ring for tea.”

He paced impatiently as he waited for his wife to arrive. At long last, he heard her footfalls. They slowed to a more sedate pace just outside the drawing room door. Then she turned into the room. He sucked in a breath at the sight of her. She was radiant.

Her worried smile graced him.

Her upswept hair was done simply, and if there were dark circles under her eyes, they were only more evidence of her concern for him.

Once, he’d turned away from her fussing over him. Tonight, he yearned to take her in his arms and kiss her thoroughly.

He didn’t. They were just coming to trust each other again. He must be patient.

He crossed the room in four strides and swept her into his arms. Forget patience. He needed to feel her now.

She let out a soft moan as he crushed his mouth to hers. God, she smelled so much better than the hulks. Like woman and baby.

He didn’t stop to think harder on the fact that he, too, hadn’t let Oliver go from his mind.

Instead, he explored her parted lips as if tracing a memory. He ran his hands over her, searching, asking for permission, and she allowed him to. He’d gone hard at the sight of her. With her in his arms, his every muscle screamed for release. But through the haze of his desire, and his underlying need to talk to her, he realized she was allowing him to kiss her, but she was holding herself back.

He didn’t blame her this time.

Panting with the need to have her, body and soul, and the determination that he couldn’t, not yet, he set her away from him. “Elizabeth, I’m sorry. I should have said what I came to say first. Without further ado, here it is. I hate that you deceived me. Because I hate what it means, that you didn’t trust me.”

She tried to speak but he couldn’t let her. “Please, don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry. I can’t bear to hear it again.”

Her eyes glistened. He took that as his cue to move on. “You couldn’t have known how I felt about you because I didn’t tell you. I’m rectifying that mistake now, so it can never happen again. The day I married you, I made the best decision of my life. But it wasn’t the only decision I’ve made. I’ve made some downright poor ones.” He paused when she cracked a smile. “It’s my wish,” he said, “that I’ll be forgiven for those. I’m sorry I didn’t come home to you after I was released. I was despondent.” The next words were poised to lay his heart on the table. “I wish I could bring our son back, Elizabeth, but I can’t. I don’t want that defeat to be the end of us. I want to see you round with my child. I want—” He paused when her gray eyes welled with tears and her lips parted, again as if she meant to interrupt him. He set his finger across her lips, savoring the silkiness of her skin against his. “Three children. No, five. Six. However many we’re blessed with, Elizabeth. I love you. I want all of my children with you.”

She smiled widely and, pushing his hand away from her lips as she came onto her tiptoes, she kissed him. He held himself still as her arms encircled his neck. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself as he’d done before. But God, he wanted her.

Her warm lips caressed his gently before becoming more insistent. She pressed her body toward him until he stumbled back against a settee. When his calves brushed the furniture, she pushed him down until he sat. Then she climbed into his lap and looked into his eyes. “But you see, Constantine, you did get Oliver back. You didn’t fail me.”

Con looked at her in disbelief. All thought of having her warm and willing and on top of him deserted him. “What?”

She beamed. “Finn brought him back. He said Oliver deserved you almost equally; I suppose it was the way you refused to yield at the trial. There’s more to it, having to do with his wife’s sense of honor and a lengthy assignment for him in American seas, but ultimately, he said without your commitment to Oliver, he never would have considered such a thing as granting custody to me. You’re the reason he gave our son back.” Her soft gaze held his, so full of adoration and hope. “Constantine, I already loved you, but…you went to prison for me. A move so drastic, even Finn was brought around to the fact that you truly, truly love me. How can I not say yes to you and your seven babies?”

He grinned, feeling like he’d been put on this earth just to make her happy. He’d done it! They’d done it. “Seven?”

She widened her eyes innocently. “However many we’re blessed with.”

He eyed the square neckline of her gown. On the one hand, he wanted to run up to the nursery and reunite with his son. It figured that he’d never let himself dream that Oliver might be returned, even when it was clear now that she must have told him, for she’d spoken of little else but Oliver’s ever-increasing mischievousness since the first time she’d been to see Con—and why would she have done that, if not because she wanted Con to know what he had to live for?

On the other, she might have lost a stone during the last two months, but she was still round in all the right places. He glanced at the drawing room door, which stubbornly remained wide open. Not quite the right time, then, to consummate their marriage.

He kissed her anyway, threading his fingers through her hair to draw her lips closer to his. She moaned and relaxed against him, settling just where he wanted her to. But while the majority of his mind had turned back to sex, a very small part of his brain now knew why she smelled like babies. Oliver was no doubt awaiting her return.

He needed to go up to see Oliver. But at some interval, sometime very soon, he and his beautiful wife were going to need to see about siring the next baby. And the next…