“I didn’t?” she exclaimed, apparently horrified by the idea. He bit back a smile. “How remiss of me. Now then, I got to here I think?” she murmured, planting a kiss over his heart. “But really, husband, I think I’ve kissed you better everywhere.”
“Not ... everywhere,” he said, holding her gaze, challenging her and wondering just how brave she really was.
“I ... Oh!” He gave her a wolfish grin. “Really?” she asked, sounding just a little doubtful.
“Really,” he replied, laying back and folding his arms behind his head. He raised one eyebrow and she huffed at him.
“I can’t believe you were injured there,” she objected, and Edward just smirked at her.
“So? I never said I was.”
“Well, alright then.”
To his surprise, she whipped the covers away, and he shivered a little as he lay exposed to her gaze.
“Where do I start?” she demanded, and Edward had to choke back a laugh.
“Why don’t you start at the bottom, and work your way up,” he suggested, wondering how in the name of God he kept a straight face. It wasn’t a problem he had to worry about for long, as all of the breath left his lungs in a rush.
“Oh God, Belle.”
Edward tangled his fingers in her curls and felt like his sanity was leaving him as pleasure uncoiled beneath his skin. What his wife lacked in finesse, she certainly made up for in enthusiasm.
“Like this, perhaps?” she asked, trailing her tongue over his sensitive flesh.
Edward gave a slightly hysterical laugh and clutched at the bed covers. Married life really wasn’t so bad after all.
Chapter 24
“Wherein nothing is ever that simple.”
Belle awoke early, aware that something had disturbed her sleep. Probably just fretting that all was as it should be. The day after tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and Lord Falmouth and his wife would be returning that afternoon to stay for the celebrations before taking Lady Russell and Lady Sinclair back to London with them.
With a sigh of content, she looked back on the past few nights. Edward was still distant and kept away from her most of the time during the day, but the nights ... the nights were different. He was different.
Edward came to her room every night now. It was so strange, though, almost as though he really was two different men. She thought perhaps the one she shared her bed with was the real Edward, maybe the closest to the one he’d been before the war. But during the day, the shadows of the past seemed to lay heavy upon him, and it was impossible to break through. She felt sure she was making progress, but it was painfully slow.
He wouldn’t speak to her about ... well, about anything, really.
When she was in his arms, he was loving and giving and ready to laugh, but afterwards, if she tried to draw him out, to talk about the future, about his plans for Longwold, he would simply say he was tired and turn over and go to sleep.
She had once asked about children; should they have any? How many would he like, boys or girls? Were there any family names?
Edward had simply turned his back on her and said he left that kind of thing entirely to her.
It was terribly frustrating. She simply couldn’t get him to let her in.
Belle was tugged from her thoughts as she realised that Edward was growing restless beside her. The poor man was lost in another nightmare she guessed.
“Edward,” she whispered, not wanting to wake him too suddenly.
She placed a hand on his chest to find his skin clammy and his heart racing beneath her hand. His breathing was growing harsh and erratic, and she saw with horror that there were tears streaming down his face.
“Edward!” she said, getting to her knees beside him. She spoke to him, stroked his face and told him he was safe. But this time it didn’t work. He was too caught up in the depths of his nightmare. He would not wake, and the horror of whatever he was seeing was only too evident. His face was full of anguish, his body rigid as he began to cry out, his voice harsh with the terror of it.
Belle was terrified for him, needing desperately to stop his suffering.
“Edward!” she shouted, shaking him hard now.
What happened next was not entirely clear to her, but she knew he still wasn’t awake. He lashed out, shouting with fury and fear, and Belle went flying backwards, with such force that she tumbled off the bed and hit the floor. For a moment, she was dazed and clutched at her head, feeling it wet and warm. As she pulled her hand away she realised it was covered in blood, and she was shaking.
“Belle?”
She looked up, seeing Edward looking down at her, his face a mask of horror.
“I’m alright,” she said, though her voice was rather unsteady. She held onto the side of the bed, pulling herself upright and got to her feet, walking, albeit a trifle unsteadily, to the wash stand. She rinsed her hands and face and pressed a towel to the cut to staunch the blood.
“There, it’s only a scratch,” she said with a sigh. “My father always used to say head wounds bleed like the devil. I hit my head once as a child, you see, nothing serious, but there was so much blood that my mother fainted, and she’d never done that in her life before.”
Belle prattled on, somehow aware that whatever horror Edward had been seeing in his dreams was still present in the room. She pulled her dressing gown on, unable to stop the trembling in her limbs, and returned to the bed. Edward was still there, frozen, staring at the bloody hand prints she’d left on the white linen of the bed sheet.
“Edward,” she said, keeping her voice soft. “Edward, I’m fine. I shouldn’t have tried so hard to wake you like that. It was an accident.” Belle watched but saw no reaction, no flicker of a response. There was a glassy and dreadful look in his eyes, though, and she felt certain that he was still caught in the nightmare, his mind and body too at war for him to move at all. “Edward?” she tried again, holding his hand, raising it to her lips.
No response.
His skin was freezing and damp with sweat, and she realised he was trembling harder than she was. Stripping a blanket from the bed she wrapped it around his shoulders. “Edward, I’m here, love. Everything is alright. I’m not hurt. You didn’t hurt me. We’re both fine. You’re safe.”
She kept up a soft murmur of words of reassurance, feeling more and more afraid that something inside of him had simply snapped.
“I love you, Edward,” she said, holding his hand to her face and kissing the palm. “I love you so much. Won’t you let me in, darling? Let me help you.”
She looked up then to see he was staring at her, a look of utter panic in his eyes. “Charlie,” he rasped, his breathing harsh.
“You want me to bring Charlie?”
He nodded and she smiled at him. “Of course. I’ll fetch him. Right now. Don’t worry, love. I’ll be right back.”
Belle ran, running down the corridor as fast as she could, and burst into Edward’s room, praying the valet would be there waiting, but he wasn’t. Heading back out, she ran down the stairs, heedless of the servants seeing her in such disarray. She was almost at the bottom when Garret called out to her.
“Lady Winterbourne! Is anything amiss?”